For the Young Writer’s Initiative Summer Camp, one of the tasks was to turn a scene from my in-progress novel (The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, find out more in Upcoming Releases!) into a ‘screenplay’ format. Personally, I found using a different format really fun, and it helped me to focus on the dialogue and consider how I write it. So, I’m sharing it here, in the hopes that you’ll enjoy it too!
THE DEMON OF DARKENHALL LANE
Chapter II, Scene 3
It is late afternoon in a small, quiet office, where Chance Poe, a slim, young man dressed in businesswear, sits at his untidy desk taking a telephone call. Mr. Ambrose, his employer, has been absent all day, and he is looking after the office. Deep orange sunlight streams in through two windows on the wall opposite to him, separated by a closed door. Some muffled noise from the street outside can be heard, such as the occasional clopping of hooves or the shouting and giggling of children playing.
AMBROSE: (yelling from the other side of the door) Chance! Chance, get over here!
CHANCE: (quickly, to the telephone receiver) Um, I, ah, I’m so sorry, there’s an emergency, I must go, have a lovely day, sir.
Chance bolts up and hastily puts the telephone receiver back on the hook just as the front door bursts open, revealing a huge, staggering man, dressed in similar attire to Chance. He takes a few swaying steps into the room, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other limp at his side. He does not have any obvious external injuries, but appears extremely tired and in pain. Chance rushes to his side and helps him into a wooden kitchen-esque chair by the front of his desk, intended for clients to sit and wait on.
CHANCE: (stuttering, kneeling beside the chair) Where are you–are you–I mean… Mr. Ambrose, are you… okay?
AMBROSE: (grunting) Close that door.
Chance gets up and hurries to the door, which swings outwards. He reaches out and pulls it closed, as Mr. Ambrose takes off his jacket and shirt with great effort, breathing heavily. This reveals a muscled torso covered in bruises, but no open wounds. Chance turns back and widens his eyes at this sight.
AMBROSE: (struggling to speak) Help–to my–apartment.
Recovering from his shock, Chance scurries over to the chair, picking up the deposited shirt and suit jacket and hanging them over one of his arms, before using the other to support the larger man while he stands up. They walk excruciatingly slowly across the office, to a frosted glass door adorned with the name ‘Mr Matthias Ambrose’. Chance opens the door to reveal a second, larger office, with richer furniture and another door behind the desk, which is then opened. A staircase lies behind it, which the two work their way up, until they finally arrive on a landing. Mr. Ambrose breaks away from Chance here and lunges towards a door, leaning against it.
AMBROSE: (breathing heavily) I’m fine. You can leave me here, Chance.
CHANCE: (uncertain, nodding) Should I telephone for, um, a doctor? Mr–
AMBROSE: (wrenching open the door) I am quite–quite fine, Chance. Leave me.
Mr. Ambrose disappears into the room beyond the door, slamming it behind him. Chance stands still on the landing for a few moments, visibly trembling, before sighing and descending the stairs.
Oskar Leonard 