EXT. TIDAL FLATS - BEFORE DAWN
Fog to the waist. The foghorn has stopped. MARA (40s) wades out from the jetty, lantern raised.
Something grey rises and falls in the water. Slow. Like breathing.
A BELL CLANGS. Mara spins round. Only the channel buoy, rocking on a flat sea.
SILENCE. Then a WET CREAK, like rope pulled tight. Something slides past her knees.
MARA
(a whisper)
Tom? Tom, is that you?
Out in the shallows, figures stand in the fog. Too tall. Too still. One of them is much closer.
It turns its head. A horn curls out of the grey. Where the eyes should be, two red embers.
There are two. There are three. None of them seems to move. They are nearer anyway.
The lantern gutters out. Darkness. Two red points open, an arm's length away.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

























