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The living room of a large suburban home. A Christmas tree stands, knocked slightly off axis, in the corner of the room. Peter Abbott, sits on the floor at the back of the room. He cradles a crying baby, using both his arms and legs to shield the child from the rest of the room. He looks traumatised. A large kitchen knife, stained inky blue, lies at his side.
Around the room lie the bodies, five in total, of what can only be described as alien creatures. They rest lifeless in pools of wet blue blood. Vaguely humanoid in form. Deep blue leathery skin, they wear no form of clothing. Long, stick like limbs, each ending in three probing fingers. At every joint, grey fingernail-like growths protrude. Most of the bodies face away from us but the closest lies facing us, its throat cut. In place of eyes, what look like lipless human mouths – all gum and tooth.
Mr. Abbott: It’s ok son.
Same shot, slightly zoomed out.
In place of the aliens are Peter Abbott’s family. In front, his wife, her throat cut. An expression of horror frozen on her pale face. Behind, the bodies of Mr. Abbott’s four children – two boys, two girls. The blue blood is now bright red.
In place of the baby is a small blue skinned alien creature. Two stalks extend from its “eyes” to masses that have filled Mr. Abbott’s eye sockets. Bloody tears creep down his cheeks.
Mr. Abbott: They can’t hurt you now.