送上第8级英文剧本
SAM AND DEAN HUNT AN ANTI-SANTA It's Christmas time and Sam and Dean investigate a series of murders where the victims were pulled up through the chimney. Sam realizes they are dealing with a sort of Anti-Santa, a demon with roots in pagan lore. Dean wants to celebrate Christmas the old fashioned way as this is his last, but Sam refuses, not wanting to accept that Dean won't be around next year. Sam flashes back to a certain Christmas when he waited for his father to come home to give him a special gift. J. Miller Tobin directed the episode written by Jeremy Carver
Full Synopsis
Inside, night
A little boy is talking to his uncle, asking if he is going to get presents this year. The uncle asks him if he’s been a good boy, and the boy says yes. The uncle says that maybe Santa will come tonight then. Later on that night, the uncle, dressed in a Santa suit, fixes his beard, and then rings some bells until he hears the little boy come to the top of the stairs, then he begins putting presents under the tree. “Santa!” the little boy says as he watches. Suddenly there is a loud bunch of thumps on the roof, and they both look up. “Reindeer!” the little boys says excitedly. The uncle continues. He hears more thumps on the roof, and then he sees dirt coming down the chimney. He walks over to look, putting his head in the fireplace. The little boy is watching still. Suddenly, hands come down and grab the uncle, pulling him up the chimney. “Santa?” the little boy says, as a bloody boot falls out of the chimney.
Ypsilanti, Michigan; present day
“My daughter and I were in our beds. Mike was downstairs, decorating the tree,” a woman is saying to Dean, who is taking notes. “I heard a thump on the roof, and then – I heard Mike scream, and now I’m talking to the FBI,” she finishes. “You didn’t see any of it?” Dean asks, and when she says no he asks if the doors were locked, and if there were any signs of forced entry. Once again she replies in the negative. “Does anybody else have a key?” Dean asks, and she says yes, her parents, but they live in Florida. Sam comes out of the house and says, “Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we’ve got just about everything we need. We’re all set.” “We’ll be in touch,” Dean says, and the boys start to walk away. “Agents,” says Mrs. Walsh suddenly, “The police say my husband might have been kidnapped.” “Could be,” Dean says. “Well then why haven’t the kidnappers called? Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she asks. “We’re very sorry,” Sam says.
As the boys walk away, Dean asks Sam if he found anything. Sam says that he found stockings and mistletoe and, he hands Dean a tooth, and says he found it in the chimney. Dean says there’s no way the dad could’ve been dragged up the chimney, because it’s too narrow. “Not in one piece,” Sam replies. “Alright so if Dad went up the chimney,” begins Dean, “We need to find out who dragged him up there,” Sam finishes.
Motel
Dean comes in to where Sam is doing research on the laptop, and asks if it’s a serial killing chimney sweep. “Yup. It’s actually Dick Van Dyke,” Sam replies. “What?” Dean asks. “Mary Poppins?” Sam says. “Who’s that?” Dean asks. “Nevermind,” Sam shakes his head. “Well it turns out that Walsh is the second guy to get grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean says, taking off his jacket. “Yeah? The other guy get dragged up the chimney too?” Sam asks. “Dunno. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean continues. “So what do you think we’re dealing with?” “Actually I have an idea,” Sam says. “It’s gonna sound crazy…” “What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean asks. “Um… evil Santa,” Sam replies. Dean stares at him a second and then says, “Yeah that’s crazy.” “Yeah,” Sam says. “But I’m just saying, there’s a version of the anti-Claus in every culture. There’s tons of lore.” He goes on to name a few, and shows Dean some pictures. “On what?” Dean asks. Sam says they all say that around Christmas time, Santa’s rogue brother shows up and instead of giving presents, he punishes the wicked. “By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean asks. “For starters, yeah,” Sam replies. “So this is your theory? Santa’s shady brother?” Dean says. “I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says,” Sam answers. “Santa doesn’t have a brother,” Dean says. “There is no Santa.” “Yeah I know, you’re the one that told me that in the first place, remember?” Sam says back. They stare at each other a minute, and then Sam says “I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.” “Maybe, maybe not,” Dean says, and Sam looks at him. “What?” Sam says. “I did a little digging, and it turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean tells him. “Where?” Sam asks.
Santa’s Village
There’s a sign across the entry to a place called “Santa’s Village”, with a rather evil looking Santa holding it. There are some people walking around in reindeer costumes and elf costumes. Dean and Sam walk in, talking about the Anti-Claus, and Dean says, “Speaking of Christmas, we should have one this year.” “Have what?” Sam asks. “A Christmas,” Dean says. “No thanks,” Sam says. “Aw come on! We’ll get a tree, just like when we were little,” Dean says enthusiastically. “Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me,” Sam replies. Dean looks confused. “What do you mean, we had some great Christmases,” he says. “Whose childhood are you talking about?” Sam says. “Oh come on, Sam!” Dean says, turning to face him. “No, Dean. Just… no,” Sam says. Dean stares at him for a minute, and then walks away, saying, “Grinch.” Sam looks down at a little reindeer statue in front of him, and remembers.
Flashback to Christmas Eve, 1991, in Broken Bow, Nebraska
Young Sam is wrapping up a present in newspaper as Dean, standing at the window, looks back at him. “What’s that?” “Present for Dad,” Sam replies. “Yeah right. Where’d you get the money? Steal it?” Dean asks. “No,” Sam says. “Uncle Bobby gave it to me, to give to him. Said it was real special.” “What is it?” Dean asks. “A pony,” Sam replies. “Very funny.” Dean walks over and sits down on the couch next to where Sam is wrapping the present, and opens a magazine. “Dad’s gonna be here, right?” Sam says. “He’ll be here,” Dean says firmly. “It’s Christmas,” Sam says, and Dean replies, “He knows. And he’ll be here. Promise.” “Where is he, anyway?” Sam asks. “On business,” Dean says carefully. “What kind of business?” Sam asks. “You know that. He sells stuff,” Dean replies. “What kind of stuff?” Sam wonders. “Stuff,” Dean answers. “Nobody ever tells me anything,” Sam says. “Then quit asking,” replies Dean, moving to the bed, where he brushes off a bunch of garbage before sitting down. “Is Dad a spy?” Sam asks. “Mmmhmm,” replies Dean, “He’s James Bond.” “Why do we move around so much?” Sam asks. “Cause everywhere we go, they get sick of your face,” Dean says irritably. Sam jumps over the couch. “I’m old enough, Dean. You can tell me the truth.” “You don’t want to know the truth,” Dean says, looking at him. “Believe me.” “Is that why we never talk about…Mom?” Sam asks. “Shut up!” Dean yells, getting up. “Don’t you ever talk about Mom! Ever!” he gets up and heads for the door. “Where are you going?” Sam asks. “Out,” Dean says, leaving.
Santa’s Village, present
“It takes ten bucks to get into this place, you’d think they could scrounge up a little snow,” says Dean, looking around at the green grass and trees. “What?” says Sam, snapping out of his memories. “Nothing. What are we looking for again?” Dean asks. “Well… lore says that the Anti-Claus will walk with a limp, and smell like sweets,” Sam says, starting to walk. Dean follows him. Dean asks why he smells like candy, and Sam says that it’s so kids will come closer. “That’s creepy,” Dean says. “So how does thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” “I don’t know,” Sam replies. The boys stop and look over at the santa, who is rather grouchy looking and talks in a raspy voice. “Come sit on Santa’s knee,” he says to a little boy. “You been a good boy this year?” When the boy replies yes, the santa says, “Good, cause Santa’s got a special gift for you.” Then laughs in an evil kind of way. “Maybe we do,” Dean says, as the little boy get down and walks away. A girl in an elf costume comes up and says, “Welcome to Santa’s Court, can I escort your child to Santa?” “No, but my brother here, it’s been a life-long dream of his,” Dean says, clapping Sam on the back. “Um, sorry, no kids over twelve,” she says, looking confused. “He’s just kidding,” Sam says. “We just came here to watch.” The girl looks over at Dean, who shakes his head, and then says, “Ew.” And walks away. “I didn’t mean we came here to…” Sam trails off and then glares at Dean. “Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that.” Dean laughs, then says, “Hey check this out!” The santa gets down from his chair, and limps past them. “Are you seeing this?” Dean says. “A lot of people walk with limps,” Sam says. “Don’t tell me you didn’t smell that,” Dean says. “That was candy, man.” “That was Ripple,” says Sam. “I think. Had to be. Maybe.” “You willing to take that chance?” Dean asks.
Impala, night
“What time is it?” Dean asks, as the boys sit in the car outside the man’s house. “Same as the last time you asked,” Sam replies as Dean rubs his eyes. “Hey Sam,” he says. “Why are you the boy who hates Christmas?” Sam looks at him. “Dean…” “I gotta admit, we had some bumpy holidays when we were kids…” Dean begins. “Bumpy?” Sam says. “But that was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean finishes. “Look Dean, if you wanna have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don’t involve me,” Sam replies. Dean looks at him, then says “Aw yeah, that’ll be great, me and myself making cranberry moulds.” Sam shrugs. The boys watch as the old man goes to his window and pulls the curtains, then they suddenly hear screaming from inside. They jump out of the car and run to the door. Sam laughs a bit, and Dean looks at him. “What?” “Nothing. It’s just, Mr. Gung-ho Christmas might have to blow away a Santa,” Sam says. Dean looks at him, then opens the door. As soon as they walk in the old man stands up. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, and the boys look past him to see the TV is on, that’s where the screaming was coming from. The boys struggle for a moment, and then Dean begins to sing “Silent Night”. Sam quickly joins in, and the man begins to laugh. The boys sing for a moment longer, then hurry out the door.
House, night
A little boy comes to the top of the stairs as he hears thumps on the roof and in the chimney. He runs down to the chimney, and says, “Santa, you’re early!” Something steps out of the chimney and walks past the little boy, it’s wearing a blood-soaked Santa suit as it walks up the stairs. The little boy is obviously frightened as he watches it go up. It goes into his parents’ room and opens the door. A moment later, the boy hears a scream, and then silence. Then it comes out of the room dragging his father in a bag, the father is struggling. It pulls him down the stairs, and then in front of the chimney, it does something to the father and he stops screaming. It then turns toward the little boy, and goes toward him. The little boy is terrified, but the thing only takes one of the cookies that are left out, and then leaves.
Morning
“So that’s how your son described the attack? Santa took daddy up the chimney?” Dean asks as he and Sam follow the wife through her house. “That’s what he says, yes,” she says. “Where were you?” “I was asleep,” she says, “and all of a sudden, Al was being dragged out of bed, screaming.” “Did you see the attacker?” Sam asks. She shakes her head. “It was dark. And he hit me. He knocked me out.” The boys nod. “I’m sorry,” says Dean. “I know this must be hard.” “Yeah. Mrs. Caldwell, where did you get that wreath, above the fireplace?” Sam asks suddenly. Dean and the woman stare at him a moment before she says, “Excuse me?” “Just curious, you know,” says Sam weakly.
“Wreaths, huh?” says Dean as the boys leave. “Sure you didn’t want to ask about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.” “We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam replies. “The Walsh’s, yesterday.” “I know, I was just testing you,” Dean replies.
Motel
“Alright, well, keep looking, would you?” Sam says into his phone. “Thanks Bobby.” He hangs up. “Well, we’re not dealing with the Anti-Claus,” he says to Dean. “What’d Bobby say?” Dean asks. “That we’re morons,” Sam says. “He also said that it was probably Meadowsweet in those wreaths.” “Wow, that’s amazing,” says Dean. “What the hell is Meadowsweet?” “It’s pretty rare,” replies Sam, “And it’s probably the most powerful plant in Pagan lore.” “Pagan lore?” Dean says. “See they use Meadowsweet for human sacrifice, it was kind of like a… chum for their gods. Gods were drawn to it, and they’d stop by, and snack on whatever was the nearest human,” Sam explains. “Why would somebody be using that in Christmas wreaths?” Dean asks. “Well it’s not as crazy as it sounds, Dean,” Sam replies. “Pretty much every Christmas tradition is Pagan.” “Christmas is Jesus’s birthday,” Dean says. “No, Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall,” Sam corrects. “It was actually the winter solstice that was co-opted by the church and renamed Christmas. But I mean the yule log, santa’s red suit, even the tree, that’s all remnants of Pagan worship.” “How do you know that?” Dean says in shock. “What’re you gonna tell me next, the Easter bunny’s Jewish? So you think we’re dealing with a Pagan god?” Sam says yes, probably the god of the winter solstice. “And all these Martha-Stewart-wannabes, buying the wreaths,” Dean says. “Yup. It’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your door that says, ‘come kill us’,” Sam replies. Looking at an article about the god, he says that in return for sacrifices, the god gives mild weather. “Kinda like no snow, in the middle of December, in Michigan,” Dean suggests. “For instance,” Sam replies. “So we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asks. “No, Bobby’s still working on that,” Sam says. “We gotta figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.” “Think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean asks. “Feeding the victims to this thing?” “Let’s find out,” Sam says.
Christmas store
The boys walk into a store which is packed with Christmas decorations. “Can I help you boys?” the owner asks. “Yeah, we were playing Jenga the other night over at the Walsh’s, and well, he hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath, I dunno, tell him,” Dean says, smiling at Sam. “Sure,” Sam says, looking murderous. “It was yummy.” “I sell a lot of wreaths, guys,” says the owner. “Yeah but this one would’ve been really special, see it had green leaves, white buds… it might have been made out of… Meadowsweet?” Sam says. “Wow. You’re a fussy one,” says the owner. “He is,” Dean laughs. “Anyway I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out.” “Oh. Seems this Meadowsweet stuff’s pretty rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?” Dean asks. “Beats me, I didn’t make them,” replies the owner. “Who did?” Dean asks. He says it was a local lady, and she gave them to him for free. Dean asks if he sold them for free, and the owner replies, “No, it’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this crap.” “That’s the spirit,” Dean says.
Motel
“How much do you think one of those wreaths would cost?” Dean asks as the boys go into their motel room. “A couple of hundred dollars at least,” Sam replies. “And this lady’s giving them away for free? What do you think about that?” Dean asks. “Seems pretty suspicious,” Sam admits. The boys sit down on their beds. “You remember that wreath that Dad brought home one year?” Dean asks. “You mean the one he stole from the liquor store?” Sam asks. “Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans,” Dean smiles. “That thing was awesome. I bet if I looked around enough, I’d find one just like it.” “Alright. Dude, what’s going on with you?” Sam asks. “What?” Dean says. “Since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want to do Christmas so bad?” “Why are you so against it?” Dean asks. “Were you childhood memories that traumatic?” “No that has nothing to do with it,” Sam says. “I just, I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.” Dean pauses for a minute. “Well, yeah. This is my last year.” Sam stares at him. “I know. That’s why I can’t.” “What do you mean?” Dean asks. “I mean I just can’t sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s ok, when I know next Christmas you’ll be dead,” Sam says, his voice catching at the end. “I just can’t.” Dean nods, looking at the floor.
