by
Editor
Bleu Gato
The Hole in the Yard is copyrighted by the author and is not to be used or modified without permission. All rights reserved.
Contact: bard@xena2.com
Blog: www.xena2.com/blog
FADE IN:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
A large bay window gazes benevolently upon the perfection that is the green spread of grass in front of the cookie-cutter residence. Stamped in neat rows, sharing the same color and front yard arrangement, the homes stretch up and down the street of the subdivision.
Interestingly, among the feature-rich yet cloned blob, this residence stands out. It just looks … better. The stucco is move vivid, the paint brighter, the driveway lighter, and the vegetation – well, it's the real winner.
Clearly the occupant's pride and joy, the immaculate carpet screams issues. There is taking care of your lawn, there is obsessing, and then there is this. Fittingly, the sunny start of the day reveals a zit marring the beauty.
The hole is near the sidewalk, glaringly obvious among the manicured, golf-course quality plants. Not for its size, being only an inch in diameter. It's the additional one inch collar of exposed sand that seals the atrocity perpetrated on the uniform green. Now the only thing missing is the reaction.
In answer, a pale, white face appears when the curtains part and sweeps over the well-maintained domain. The brows furrow when the possible fault is spotted and the color drains from the visage. Just as soon JEFFREY vanishes.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
The front door bangs open and a frantic, barefoot man rushes out, leaving the door ajar in his haste. A cry of lament is ripped from his throat as he visually confirms the damage wrought against his baby. In coincidental, yet funny fashion, his robe falls open.
The now open robe flapping over a pair of striped shorts and T-shirt losing a containment fight with a prominent belly, Jeffrey huffs back inside and comes back shortly with the water shutoff valve key.
Inserting the long, metal fork with a handle on the end, he aims to measure the depth of the offense. However, Jeffrey is clearly not prepared for the entire thing dropping down to the wide handle, the only thing stopping further descent. It appears the hole is substantial indeed.
Jeffrey, cursing angrily
JEFFREY
<BEEP>!
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
War is declared. Jeffrey, in full gardening regalia - including a ridiculous, super wide-brimmed sun hat – attentively administers to the wounded patient. Surrounding him are the instruments of impromptu surgery: water hose, a precut, round patch of grass, various liquid and solid plant supplements in bags and containers, sand to fill the opening back up, and various metal tools.
Casting one last, accusing look at the neighbors, none of whom are present, Jeffrey sets to work.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – FOLLOWING DAY/DAWN
An OLD WOMAN walking the poodle stops and gazes curiously at the two inch opening in the ground, framed by the cleared circle matching it. The hole is back, doubling in size. Someone is not going to be happy.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – DAWN
The OLD WOMAN walks away, shaking her head. She does not see Jeffrey watching her depart through the bay window, suspicion in his eyes and expression.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – NEXT DAY/DAWN
The hole has taken its vitamins and returns triumphantly. Sprouting an eight inch diameter, it splits evenly between the dark emptiness and lighter collar.
The OLD LADY is back as well, scratching her head. She raises it on quick footsteps and observes Jeffrey cross over the lawn, water shutoff valve key in hand.
Jeffrey, fake cheerful
JEFFREY
Morning, neighbor.
OLD WOMAN, bluntly
OLD WOMAN
I think you got a hole in your lawn. Yep, you do.
Jeffrey, thru clenched teeth
JEFFREY
Yes.
OLD WOMAN, amiably
OLD WOMAN
I think it's getting bigger, dear.
Jeffrey, twitching, dropping any pretense of friendliness, spitting
JEFFREY
Yes.
OLD WOMAN, enjoying tormenting Jeffrey, sweetly
OLD WOMAN
I think you should do something about it, my dear.
Pause.
OLD WOMAN, walking away without looking back, to the dog, charming
OLD WOMAN
Come along, Charles, the nice dear is missing something.
Jeffrey raises the metal object as if to strike her, but thinks better of it and puts it down.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – FOLLOWING DAY/LATE MORNING
The MAILMAN rings the bell insistently and after a few attempts meets death. Well, not right away. Soon.
A bleary eyed and disheveled Jeffrey answers the summons, wearing his trademark bathroom robe (thankfully, it's closed).
Jeffrey, snapping
JEFFREY
What?!
MAILMAN, not knowing when to shut it, officiously
MAILMAN
Sir, are you aware that there is a hole on your property?
Jeffrey, evenly
JEFFREY
You don't say. You shouldn't, but you did.
Pause.
Jeffrey, quietly
JEFFREY
I thought I took care of that problem last night. Oh, well.
Jeffrey reaches back as the MAILMAN drones on, searching for something by the door.
MAILMAN
I have to report this potential safety hazard to the city. Think about the children!
JEFFREY
Yes, poor children and me caring. Show me.
The MAILMAN turns around as Jeffrey brings forth a water shutoff valve key.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – NEXT DAY/DAWN
Jeffrey slowly and cautiously circles the nearly three foot hole. Each day it relentlessly doubles in size, with no end in sight.
Jeffrey, sweeping the glare over the neighbors' houses, darkly
JEFFREY
Stronger measures have to be taken.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – FOLLOWING DAY/MORNING
The hole passes five feet; always the same distance from the sidewalk, but swallowing more and more of the grass. Conquest of the entire lawn is definitely on the agenda and in sight.
Jeffrey is a broken man. Unshaved, unwashed, and dead tired, he stumbles to the edge and fall onto his knees, crying in defeat.
Jeffrey, hanging his head, pitifully lamenting
JEFFREY
Why?
There are footsteps and two people in coveralls stop on the other side.
MAN #1, concerned
MAN #1
Wow, Gene, this is bad.
MAN #2
You right, Mark. Build on the ancient Indian burial ground and watch man's hard work and pride perish completely.
Jeffrey, worried
JEFFREY
Perish?
Mark, with great sorrow
MARK
Shame that.
Jeffrey, panicking now
JEFFREY
Completely?
Gene, illustrating with his hands, dramatically
GENE
Poof!
Jeffrey, shouting in despair
JEFFREY
NO!!!
Mark, starting to state something that just occurred to him and then dismissing it
MARK
Course there is … nah, wouldn't work.
Gene, thoughtfully
GENE
What about, you know: that other thing?
MARK
Hmm, that could work.
Gene, apprehensively
GENE
Expensive …
Jeffrey, seizing the chance to save his lawn, happily exclaiming
JEFFREY
I got money!
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURB – JEFFREY'S HOUSE – FEW DAYS LATER/AFTERNOON
Two uniformed POLICEMEN walk past the mostly repaired lawn. The hole had been vanquished and where the replacement plants are missing, new blades sprout shyly.
The senior officer takes the lead at the door. He rings the bell and adds his knuckles on the wood for a good measure.
Jeffrey, opening the door, politely
JEFFREY
How can I help you?
SENIOR OFFICER
Sir, we are investigating a case in the neighborhood. May we enter?
Jeffrey, proudly
JEFFREY
The lawn is safe.
SENIOR OFFICER, exchanging silent understanding with his partner, humoring Jeffrey
SENIOR OFFICER
Yes, it's very nice. What happened to it?
Jeffrey, cryptically
JEFFREY
Previous owners.
CUT TO:
INT. INTERSTATE REST STOP PARKING LOT - VAN - AFTERNOON
Gene and Mark sit in the front, counting stacks of hundred dollar bills. Their vehicle is far from the others and there is nobody close.
Mark, guiltily
MARK
The Jeffrey dude killed the old lady and the dog, neighbors up and down the street, at least one mailman, and the gas meter reader. I feel kind of bad.
Gene, indifferent
GENE
Fifty thousand reasons to not care.
Mark, sad
MARK
So many lives bludgeoned …
Gene, waving cash under Mark's nose, meaningfully
GENE
That's fifty each.
Mark, sighing
MARK
Okay, Gene, you win. Next time thou, let's not pick a slightly homicidal lunatic. How about that?
Gene, eagerly considering the next score, musing aloud
GENE
I hear a guy in Beverly Hills really loves his 65 Shelby GT350 …
FADE OUT:
THE END