CLAY

Samuel Thornhill

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07794327674
EXT. MOOR - DAWN
A thick fog shrouds the moorland. At the woodland’s edge, a
man (gaunt, clothes ragged, his hands and ankles shackled)
is led slowly through the foliage by two men. Shaken by
exposure to the elements, his progress is slow.
MAN
Please. It never arrived. We never
got it. Please.

As he attempts to determine his whereabouts, he begins to

whimper. Condensation leaves his mouth with every utterance.
MAN
Pl-pl-please... you know I had
nothing to do with it. Come on. I
didn’t take it, I wouldn’t know
what to do with it. Please.
Silence.
He begins to sob, whimpering as he pleads with his captors.
His pace slows as he tries to halt proceedings, the cold
precipitation of the morning soaking into his clothing as he
shivers. He hangs his head, exhausted by his travails.
MAN
I’ll do anything. Please, just let
me go.
He is hoisted to his feet again before slowly resuming
progress. As they reach a secluded part of the woodland,
they stop.

MAN
Don’t do this. You don’t have to do
this. I’ll make up for it, I can
take more on. Please, I’ll do
anything. Just let me go.

The man continues to plead as he is lowered to his knees.

MAN
Please, I have a family. Don’t do
this. I’ll do anything.

His pleas are unanswered as he regretfully falls silent. His

hands restrained, he clears the tears on his shoulder before
closing his eyes and lowering his head. He begins to pray
under his breath.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 2.

MAN
(sniffling) ...with all its
pains, penalties and sorrows,
in reparation for my sins, for
the souls in purgatory, for
those conversion of sin-
His voice becomes muffled as a burlap sack is placed over
his head, a thick tape securing the garment around his neck.
The man’s muffled whimpers can be heard as he is pushed
forward, his head becoming submerged in a pool of water.

INT. MORTUARY - DAY

FRANCIS (mid twenties, pale skinned with dark hair) emerges
from washing his face in a basin. We follow as he enters the
postmortem suite tucking a packet of cigarettes into his
jacket pocket. ALAN (mid-late fifties, greying/balding), a
senior mortician and friend, is working. The room is a small
but efficient workspace for both men to carry out their
business alongside one another. FRANCIS takes his place
behind a mortuary slab. A portly gentlemen lies before him,
his body concealed by a sheet.
ALAN
Is it still raining?
FRANCIS
Pissing it down.
ALAN
Serves you right. Those things’ll
kill you. Where are you up to with
this chap?

FRANCIS
Came in this morning. No autopsy so
I can get on with the arterial.

ALAN
Okay, he’s due out on Monday.
FRANCIS
No problem.

FRANCIS begins preparation on the man.

ALAN
Did you see the game last night?

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 3.

FRANCIS
No, tele’s still broken and the
signal’s shit anyway. Les Dennis
has never looked better to be
honest.

ALAN
You should have seen it - an
absolute classic. Took me back to
being on the terraces in the
80’s...

As ALAN begins a detailed analysis of the game, FRANCIS’

focus turns to a poorly sutured incision present on the
torso of the deceased man. Intrigued, FRANCIS slowly
attempts to reopen the wound. With considerable application
of force, he individually cuts each stitch to examine the
wound. As the final stitch is broken, a series of bloodied
isotropic stones ooze from the wound. FRANCIS is enraptured
by their diamond-like properties. ALAN’s prolonged analysis
is interrupted by the sound of one of the stones rattling
across the slab before dropping onto the mortuary floor.

ALAN
Are you alright?
FRANCIS
Me? Yeah I’m fine... Sorry what
were you saying?

ALAN
Anyway, Isabella came in and turned
the bloody thing off just as...

ALAN resumes their conversation as FRANCIS’ focus returns to

the incision. Intrigued, he opens the wound further to
reveal a package with a vast amount of similar sized stones
occupying the abdominal cavity of the deceased man. Unable
to alter his gaze, FRANCIS breaks his infatuation only to
glance over to see if ALAN has noticed his muted surprise.

ALAN
Are you even listening to me?
FRANCIS
Yes, of course. Liverpool ’83,
Isabel ruining your evening - it’s
always the same.
ALAN
Oh really Francis. Insightful as
always. You’re about as good
company as he is.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 4.

(pointing to the deceased man)

FRANCIS takes a knee and anxiously seeks out the fallen
stones.
ALAN
I bet you’ll miss me tomorrow.
FRANCIS
What?

ALAN
I’m not due in. Isabella’s family
are in town for the weekend -
unfortunately. So you’ll be on your
own for the day. You’ll see just
what it’s like when ’boring old
Alan’ isn’t here to keep you
entertained.
FRANCIS finally grasps hold of the stone before rising to
his feet. Placing the loose stone into his pocket, FRANCIS
closes the incision, sealing the contents back inside the
deceased man.
FRANCIS
So - I’ve almost finished the
arterial but I’m gonna need some
more time to finish the set.

ALAN
Alright, let’s call it a day then.
Before joining ALAN in putting his coat on, FRANCIS glances
back to the source of his discovery as ALAN turns the
mortuary lights off. Silhouetted in the doorway, ALAN pats
FRANCIS on the shoulder.
ALAN
Don’t make it a late one, I need
you in early doors in the morning.

EXT/INT. MORTUARY CAR PARK - DAY

A car speeds across the mortuary car park, screeching to an
abrupt halt, stopping across a number of parking spaces.
FRANCIS emerges from the vehicle before running towards the
mortuary doors only to see ALAN leaving the building.
FRANCIS
Alan? What are you doing here?

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 5.

ALAN
Finishing the work that you should
have done this morning. How many
times have we been through this now
Francis?

FRANCIS
(clearly exasperated)
I’m sorry, Alan. I didn’t think-
ALAN
I know you didn’t think. It makes
me wonder whether you actually do
any work whilst I’m away or if you
just turn up whenever you bloody
well feel like it.

FRANCIS
I’m sorry, Alan. It won’t happen
again. This is the last time,
I’ll-I’ll work as many weekends as
you want-

FRANCIS moves towards the mortuary door.

FRANCIS
I’ll finish it - it won’t take me
long.

ALAN
Well, you can’t do much about it
now. When the family rang the
mortuary and no one answered, I
knew I’d have to come in and get it
done.
FRANCIS
Get what done?
ALAN
The family of the bloke you were
prepping yesterday moved the burial
forward, something to do with bad
weather forecast next week.
FRANCIS
(mortified)
They moved it forward?
ALAN
Yes, Francis, they moved it
forward. Now if you’d have turned
up on time then you’d have handled
(MORE)
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 6.

ALAN (cont’d)
it and we wouldn’t be having the
same conversation we seem to be
having week in, week out.

FRANCIS lets out a sigh of exasperation, throwing his head

back in despair. ALAN begins to walk past him, keys in hand.
ALAN
Come on, tomorrow’s another day.
You’ve probably saved me enduring
those miserable bastards harping on
about the WI all day anyway. It’s
almost knocking off time. Let’s get
a swift half in.
FRANCIS remains rooted to the spot. He furrows his brow with
his hand.
ALAN
(gesturing towards the car)
Come on!

INT. BAR - DAY

FRANCIS and ALAN are sat in a booth tucked away to one end
of the room. The bar is dated with dark wooden panels
adorning the walls whilst a small number of patrons line the
bar, dimly illuminated by the occasional overhanging,
exposed light bulb.
FRANCIS absent-mindfully plays with the ice in his drink.

ALAN
I mean it’s like talking to a brick
wall with John, he’s not interested
in his old man, but at least a
’hello’ would be nice.

FRANCIS
(distracted)
Well that’s how teenagers are,
isn’t it?
ALAN
And Isabella - I mean, I get back
and all she wants to do is lecture
me about the person she wishes I
was. Honestly, I get home, have a
brandy and I can’t wait to get to
bed - and I’m too old for any of
that nonsense, so...

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 7.

FRANCIS continues to clink the ice cubes in his glass, the

sound becoming more noticeable as ALAN pauses for a moment
before realising it’s fallen on deaf ears.
ALAN
Jesus Francis. You were late, I
said it was fine and I’ve bought
you a drink. The least you can do
is pretend to be interested.
FRANCIS
Sorry.
ALAN
What’s the matter with you? It’s
like you’re not really here at the
moment.

FRANCIS takes a prolonged pause, considering the merits of

what he’s about to reveal. He takes a deep breath before
engaging in a determined eye contact with ALAN.
FRANCIS
Something happened yesterday.
ALAN
What do you mean?
FRANCIS
I was working on that man. He had a
suture on his side - at first I
thought it was a pace-maker but...
it was amateur. So I opened it and
this fell out.

FRANCIS slides one of the small isotropic stones into the

middle of the table. ALAN maintains his position, glaring at
the stone placed before him. FRANCIS anxiously checks that
their conversation hasn’t been overheard.

FRANCIS
He was full of them Alan. They were
spilling out of him.
ALAN
What is this Francis?

FRANCIS
I don’t know exactly what they are
but they’re obviously in there for
a reason. I think they might be-

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 8.

ALAN
(raising his voice angrily)
They might be what Francis?

FRANCIS
(Attempting to stop Alan from
raising his voice)
Sh-sh-sh!

A couple of patrons sitting at the bar cast fleeting glances

at the men before slowly returning to their glasses.
FRANCIS
(In a hushed voice)
I’m sorry Alan, I wasn’t trying to
deceive you. I didn’t know what to
do so I slept on it. I was going to
tell you. I was.
ALAN
(matching Francis’ hushed
whisper)
Oh you were going to tell me were
you?
FRANCIS
Yes I was going to tell you!

ALAN
You don’t tell me anything! This is
just another entry on the list of
things that you’ve fucked up. What
were you thinking? This is my
business - my business! I put
myself out for you and all you do
is let me down. You break the law,
you risk everything I’ve worked for
and then you lie to me - you lied
to me Francis. And on top of that,
you waltz in here and put this
thing in front of me and expect
what? A pack on the back?
FRANCIS
I didn’t waltz in here! Don’t treat
me like an idiot, Alan. We’ve
worked together for how long now?
Not everything revolves around the
fucking mortuary. We all end up on
the slab eventually. Do you really
want to spend any more time staring
at the people already on it?
The pair share a moment of silence.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 9.

FRANCIS (CONT’D)
You’re miserable Alan. You’ve got a
wife and kids that you can’t stand
to be around so you’d rather spend
all day with corpses than-

ALAN
DON’T YOU TALK ABOUT MY FA-!
The bar falls silent as its occupants stop their
conversations to glare at the men.

ALAN (CONT’D)
You’ve lost it.
FRANCIS
Just think about it Alan, think
what you could do with it - what we
could do with it. You could take
Isabella and the kids away - patch
things up. Forget bodies. Forget
funerals. Forget fucking formalde-

ALAN, having heard enough, rises abruptly and storms out of

the bar bursting through the doors. The occupants of the bar
glare in FRANCIS’ direction.
FRANCIS
(calling after ALAN)
Just think about it. If you found a
winning lottery ticket why would
you bury it in the ground?
The patrons of the bar stare at FRANCIS before eventually
returning to their drinks. FRANCIS sinks forward, his head
in his hands. He anxiously mulls over the events just passed
before he sits back, exasperated his head sinking back into
his shoulders as he closes his eyes.
After a considerable silence. ALAN abruptly re-enters the
booth.
ALAN
He’s being buried on Nichol’s Mount
tomorrow.

INT. CAR - DAY

FRANCIS and ALAN sit in a stationary vehicle aside a road as
it bends around the hillside. Below them, a modest memorial
is taking place. A miserable drizzle engulfs those paying
their respects.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 10.

FRANCIS retrieves a small carton from the inside pocket of

his jacket before pulling out and lighting a cigarette.

ALAN
D’you mind?
FRANCIS
what?

ALAN
Smoking in my car!
FRANCIS
Oh jesus. Come on Alan.

Both men share an uncomfortable silence as FRANCIS opens a

small partition in the window. The silence is broken as ALAN
reaches over and takes a cigarette from the carton.
ALAN
(looking at his cigarette)
It’s been a while since I had one
of these. My mother used to say you
can tell a lot about a man by the
small habits he keeps.
They smoke their cigarettes in silence.

FRANCIS
Smoking a cigarette doesn’t make
you a bad person, Alan.

ALAN
Robbing a dead body does.
FRANCIS
It’s not as black and white as
that.

They share a further silence before FRANCIS leans forward to

adjust the radio control. Music is quietly heard.
ALAN
I used to know a guy, worked down
the road for 25 years - a real
pillar of the community. Between
us, we used to put respectable
people in the ground but times
changed. He moved on, took up a
position in a prison mortuary
burying the murderers and rapists.
There’s no sentiment in our line of
work. They’re just bodies.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 11.

FRANCIS
You sound old, Alan.
Guests at the memorial remain by the burial plot,
disregarding the weather to pay their respects.

FADE TO BLACK.
ALAN awakes to find FRANCIS asleep in the passenger seat.
Night has fallen, the only sound is that of a news report
detailing a murder that’s taken place on the moors quietly
emanating from the radio. ALAN wakes FRANCIS before
switching it off.
ALAN
Let’s get this over with.

ALAN retrieves a spade from the boot of the car before

throwing it to FRANCIS.
FRANCIS
Where’s yours?

ALAN
Have you seen the boot?
FRANCIS
Oh for god’s sake.

EXT. BURIAL PLOT

FRANCIS and ALAN are illuminated by only the flooded
headlights of their car overlooking the burial plot. FRANCIS
systematically wields his spade. With a final thrust, the
spade connects with a solid thud. ALAN moves closer as
FRANCIS kneels scraping the dirt aside with his hands. They
exchange a solitary glance before Francis places his spade
in the joint of the casket and forcefully opens it as ALAN
looks on, checking they’re not being watched.

FRANCIS casts the spade aside as he clambers next to the

casket.
ALAN
(Passing a small leather
sleeve)
Here.
From the sleeve, FRANCIS retrieves a small scalpel. He
pauses before taking in a large intake of breath. He kneels
beside the body and begins to retrieve the missing
contraband. ALAN turns away. The camera remains with ALAN as

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 12.

the sound of FRANCIS rooting through the cavity of the

deceased is clearly distinguishable. The camera returns to
FRANCIS.
FRANCIS
Torch, give me the torch.
ALAN hands FRANCIS a torch before he illuminates the
package.
FRANCIS
This is it Alan! Look at this, I
told you. I told you. This is it.
As FRANCIS celebrates jubilantly, his arm covered in residue
aloft in the air clutching the package, ALAN is no longer in
position.

FRANCIS
Here take this. Help me out. Alan?
ALAN emerges from behind FRANCIS wielding the spade
forcefully down upon his head.

CUT TO BLACK.
FADE IN FROM BLACK
The sound of shovel noises can be heard as ALAN is revealed
(sleeves rolled up, a smoking cigarette in his mouth)
replacing the soil atop the burial plot before striking the
spade in the ground aside the plot.
END TITLES.