INT. BASEMENT – DAY

A dank cellar, lit by flickering candlelight. A HOODED FIGURE hunched beneath cobwebbed rafters chants. Symbols are drawn in white powder around a hexagram on the floor.

The chanting grows louder, building into frenzied shouting. At each point of the star, red candles burn low. The hooded figure’s voice climaxes into a final, guttural cry.

SUDDENLY: A blinding beam of daylight floods the room.

MOM (O.S.)

(cheerfully)
Honey, I made lunch!

The hooded figure groans, dropping his arms in frustration.

HOODED FIGURE

Ughhh, MOM! I told you I’m NOT
HUNGRY!

REVEAL: This is SAM DURANGO, 28, amateur occultist, Dungeons and Dragons aficionado, and Frank Sinatra obsessive. Sam still lives with his mother.

Sam tosses off his robe, blows out the candles, and heads upstairs.

INT. KITCHEN – DAY

Sam emerges into the kitschiest kitchen — a rooster clock, a cat-themed spice rack, crayon drawings on the fridge, crochet knick-knacks.

A creepy The chipped porcelain smile of a teddy bear cookie jar is eerily frozen in place as Sam emerges from the basement. Sam frowns at the bowl on the counter.

SAM

SpaghettiO’s again?

MOM (O.S.)

I thought you liked SpaghettiO’s.

SAM

I do, ma, but… I like the one with the meatballs… Never mind. It’s fine.

SANDY DURANGO, 55, a single mother worn thin, enters. A silver necklace with a crucifix hangs against a faded floral blouse.

SANDY

Well, I’m sorry, honey. I can cut up some hotdogs for you.

SAM

No, it’s not the same, it’s fine, really. Thanks mom.