The following story is the opening eight pages of a much larger screenplay about the final years in the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and so appears here in script format. It was first published in Irreantum in 2003 as 3rd Place winner in the short fiction contest for that year.
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FADE IN:
EXT. TINY PIONEER VILLAGE OF HAUN'S MILL - DAY
The setting is late afternoon, nearing dusk, in a tiny
settlement set in a wooded cove in frontier Missouri, 1838.
A watermill turns slowly, driven by the quiet flow of a slow
river. Although ledges of ice and patches of snow hang into
the river, a number of children play on the banks while
women wash and rinse clothing nearby. The women talk amiably;
the children giggle and tease, tossing pebbles, floating
sticks.
A SUPER READS:
"HAUN'S MILL, NORTHWESTERN MISSOURI, OCTOBER 30, 1838"
AMBIENT SOUND ONLY
INTERCUT TO:
TIGHT SHOT
Horses, moving quietly yet steadily, almost as if in a march,
down a shaded trail. Horses go by, revealing boots of riders,
dozens of them, one after another after another.
INTERCUT TO:
THE VILLAGE
Above the mill a large pile of fresh dirt reveals labor
underway. Men are gathered around, their breath showing in
the crisp fall air. A change of angle allows us to peer into
a deep hole, six feet in diameter and a good twelve feet
deep. JACOB HAUN, 40, and his 16-year-old son, WILLIAM HAUN, are in the hole, digging. We get a good look at Jacob, who speaks:
JACOB HAUN
Take it!
Two men on top begin to pull a rope leading through a pulley
hung from a hoist arranged over the hole. A large bucket
filled with dirt emerges and the men dump it on the growing
pile. Then they return their hands to their pockets for
warmth.
BACK TO HORSES
THE HORSES are restless, prancing and blowing clouds of steam
in the cool air of dusk. The sound of a DOG BARKING can be
heard in the distance.
A wider shot reveals the riders, all men, carrying guns;
heavily armed, grim faced, focused.
Again, six, eight, ten go by. The shot is too narrow to see
the full extent, but we can't help but wonder, "how many are
there?"
VILLAGE
A wider view of the village shows it a tiny thing, barely
sprouting from the ground. The shack-houses are neat, but
clearly built in some haste, and from the limited resources
of poverty. Within the unchinked-as-yet log walls of a
building adjacent to the mill, one man, WARREN SMITH, 36, works
the implements of a farrier's trade, shaping something on
an anvil. Two young boys, SARDIUS SMITH (10) and ALMA SMITH
(8), play hide and seek around tools and apparatus of
the shop.
Assorted activity occupies our view, the sounds of fun and
industry our hearing.
Off screen a DOG BARKS again. Little Alma breaks off from the
chase and calls for his dog from the doorway of the
blacksmith shop.
ALMA
Pirate! Come here, boy! C'mon.
WARREN SMITH
(To the older boy)
Sardius. Hold this for me. C'mon.
Now keep it level.
Sardius moves to help his father as the dog barks again,
twice, this time clearly agitated. Alma continues to look for
his dog.
HORSEMEN
Now a widening shot reveals the extent of the approaching
militia, more than 300 men and horses, all armed, gathering
into a meadow. A single uniformed man, CAPTAIN WILLIAM O.
JENNINGS, late fifties and coarse looking, parades haphazardly
at the front of the crowd. At his side and following him closely is WILLIAM REYNOLDS, 40ish, wearing a uniform shirt, but dungarees and boots.
JENNINGS
Your mission is clear, men. The
squatters on the river are
occupying land that belongs to the
citizens of Missouri. They have
come here without invitation, and
they will leave without farewell.
The Honorable Governor of the
state has spoken. Now enact your
duty.
REYNOLDS
Rogers, lead out!
JACOB ROGERS, 38, determined and smiling, lurches his horse
forward, and the others fall
in behind, rapidly, urgently, in a line that fills the road
and spills into the woods for 30 yards on either side..
TITLE READS:
"A TRUE STORY."
VILLAGE POV
Alma runs along the small river, bouncing a stick on the
rocks as he moves. AMANDA SMITH, 33 and pretty, rises up from
the stream with a load of wet clothing and moves off toward
her cabin. Alma runs past her, following his dog, who has
stopped at the crown of the hill, his hair bristling. Amanda
calls out to Alma.
AMANDA
He's okay, honey. Let him run.
As she turns to watch Alma move toward a rise on the wagon
road that enters the village, Jacob Rogers moves quickly into
sight out of the woods. He is followed immediately by two
more riders, guns at the ready, then the entire force begins
to pour over the rise. The dog scrambles for cover and Alma
runs back toward the village.
AMANDA
(continuing)
Alma!
Amanda runs out to grab Alma by the hand and then runs back
toward the village.
AMANDA
(continuing)
Warren!
All the villagers look up now at the approaching militia.
Amanda rushes Alma to the blacksmith shop and shoves him
inside. Then she turns and screams for another child.
AMANDA
(continuing)
Elizabeth! Elizabeth!
She sees ELIZABETH, 5, by the river and runs to her, where other
women are rising from their work, gathering children, who
have frozen in their play. Men scramble away from their work
to face the horsemen. Rogers kicks his horse forward and
raises his musket. The line of horses begins to stream past
the well and fill the little village.
MAN AT WELL
What do you want?
He is shot in the chest in response, falling half into the
well. The balls begin to fly. Women, grabbing children, pound
back across the stream, running for cover of the woods. Most
of the men run for the mill or the blacksmith shop.
HAUN (FROM WITHIN THE HOLE)
Hey! What's happening?
Haun emerges from the hole only enough to be knocked back
into it by the passing hoof of a horse. He falls in to the
well where his son catches, then cradles his body, in
absolute fear.
Balls are flying everywhere, more than 60 riders now in the
village. Women and screaming children are shot
indiscriminately. Men are bludgeoned and shot. 100 riders in
the village, some dismounting and pummeling men with the
butts of their muskets, some chasing the women into the
woods, laughing, whooping, as they drag some down, ripping
their clothing. Two dozen men are poking their muskets
through the gaps in the blacksmith shop logs and firing over
and over at the men there who are attempting to fight off the
muskets with iron working tools, pokers, brooms.
Several riders in the village are holding back, unsure of
what to do, clear confusion on their faces.
CONFUSED RIDER
(Yelling to Jennings)
These are women and kids, Captain!
Lord Jesus, we're killing kids!
One rider, about 18 years old, leans over the neck of his
horse and throws up. Others are pulling back into the woods,
clearing out.
Reynolds drives his horse right up to the door of the
blacksmith shop and peers in. The gunmen move off, their work
completed.
Outside, they begin to strip the dead and dying, taking
watches, checking pockets, etc. Some poke at the dead with
their guns, testing their prey. Jacob Rogers rides up to 60-
year-old THOMAS MCBRIDE, lying on his back, gut-shot, and
demands his shotgun, which is laying over his wound.
ROGERS
You're supposed to be unarmed,
squatter. Your "prophet" signed a
treaty.
MCBRIDE
Take it.
ROGERS
Why, thank you. Reckon I will.
Rogers dismounts, takes the gun, turns it on the old man and
fires. He then mounts up and rides away.
INSIDE THE BLACKSMITH SHOP
The light is dim, but we can see that William Reynolds has
entered the blacksmith shop, still mounted, and is picking
his way around the bodies when he sees the two boys clinging
to their father, who is trying to keep them silent although
he is bleeding and in pain. Reynolds shoots the man, then
turns the gun on Sardius and fires again, splattering Alma
with the debris. Alma continues to hold to his father's leg.
Another man, MURPHY, steps into view, dismounts and speaks but weakly
at Reynolds.
MURPHY
God, Bill, he's just a damn kid.
Let him go.
Reynolds looks at Murphy, as if he's considering his logic,
and spits tobacco without regard. Then he re-aims the gun at
Alma.
REYNOLDS
(As if he's sorry)
You can see his poor daddy's dead,
Murphy. And probably his mama,
too, about now. Little nits grow
up to be lice.
Reynolds shoots Alma (it appears to be a gut shot), spits
again, and rides out of the building.
OUTSIDE
Outside the only ones moving are the militia gunmen,
stripping the dead, firing rounds into those still breathing
or even those long gone.
Several gunmen are coming back out of the woods on the far
side of the stream; one, 25ish, is force-dragging Amanda
Smith, one hand wrapped tightly into her hair, another at his
side holding a pistol. She is battered and holding her ripped
dress up over her upper body, but oddly silent and uninvolved.
VIGILANTE
Looky here, fellas, I got me a
live one. There'r several back
yonder still kicking if you're
interested. And some that aren't
if'n that's more to your taste.
Reynolds rides out into the open, where Jacob Rogers is just
sheathing his knife. One man is sitting on the ground,
holding his head, having clearly been sick. Reynolds just
bumps right through him on his horse.
Captain Jennings rides up and watches the woman with
interest.
REYNOLDS
(to Jennings)
This is a piss poor lot of
soldiers you got here, Captain.
Crap their pants at the sight of
blood.
Jennings mounts his horse, spits. Other men move toward their
horses. The vigilante approaches a group of them where,
laughing, they begin to pass Amanda around among them,
groping, acting romantic. She is powerless, near catatonic.
She can only stare toward the blacksmith shop, her eyes
vacuous.
JENNINGS
(To the crowd)
Let her go.
VIGILANTE
Ah, c'mon, Captain. You can see
she likes me. She needs me.
OTHER MAN IN CROWD
Maybe she needs all of us!
Laughter.
JENNINGS
Mount up.
Jacob Rogers mounts his horse and moves toward the road.
Reynolds holds back watching Jennings, but other marauders
begin to ride out of the village. In the background of the
shot, the Vigilante pushes Amanda away from him and
aims his pistol at her, but just fakes the shot and holsters
his weapon. She falls to her knees, then to her hands, and
then falls prostrate in the dirt.
REYNOLDS
Now what? Does Boggs expect us to
shoot every damned Mormon in
Missouri?
JENNINGS
That he does, Mr. Reynolds.
The dog, Pirate, is sneaking back into the village, his
hackles up, his lips curled in fear and anger. Jacob Rogers
fires once, wounding it horribly but not killing it. He
saddles his gun and rides off.
REYNOLDS
There's about 5,000 of them in
Caldwell County alone. How're we
supposed to do that?
The general exodus of the village proceeds, Rogers at the
head.
JENNINGS
(Casually)
One at a time.
REYNOLDS
I say we shoot their damned
prophet and they'll all just fade
away, go back to New York, or
wherever they run them out of last.
JENNINGS
I'll just do what the honorable
governor tells me.
REYNOLDS
And what'd he tell you to do with
Joseph Smith?
Jennings spits, and looks at Reynolds directly.
JENNINGS
Hang him.
Reynolds holds the stare, then, breaking eye contact for only
a second, turns his head and spits tobacco at a body, hitting
it square in the back of the head.
Reynolds ‘hmphs’ in satisfaction, then looks up to admire the
beautiful day, the clearing sky, the colors of autumn.
REYNOLDS
(Smiling)
Hell of a day, ain’t it, Captain.