MINISERIES:" PEOPLE ARE STRANGE": EPISODE 4: "FACES IN THE RAIN"

DISCLAIMER:

"THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL EVENTS OR PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THE DOORS AND JIM MORRISON'S ARTISTIC WORKS ARE THE SOURCES OF INSPIRATION FOR THE STORY. STILL, IT IS IN NO WAY ASSOCIATED WITH, NOR DOES IT IMPLY ENDORSEMENT BY, THE BAND OR ITS MEMBERS. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED, AND THIS STORY IS PURELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. ALL RIGHTS TO 'PEOPLE ARE STRANGE' BELONG TO THE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT HOLDERS."

(The episode opens with a rapid-fire montage, a vivid snapshot of daily life across the globe. The camera soars through bustling city streets teeming with people, each absorbed in their routines. It glides over quiet suburban neighborhoods, where the soft glow of televisions flickers through the windows of homes. Teenagers sit in their dimly lit bedrooms, faces illuminated by the cold blue light of their devices. There’s a rhythm to it all, normalcy, but a creeping threat lies beneath this everyday life, waiting to unravel it.

The digital world hums with activity. The camera focuses on a young teenager, slouched in a beanbag chair, scrolling through YouTube on their laptop. Video recommendations flash across the screen until one catches their eye: “Rare Demo of the Doors — People Are Strange.” The thumbnail shows a grainy, almost distorted image of Jim Morrison. Curiosity piqued, the teen clicks on the video. As soon as it starts, the view count ticks up. It's climbing quickly.

The song begins to play, familiar but wrong. The opening bassline of "People Are Strange" feels off-kilter, stretched and distorted. Jim Morrison’s voice is raw, echoing as if recorded in a distant, hollow space. The teenager leans forward, brow furrowing in confusion. Something about the song is unsettling. It feels heavier, darker - like it’s crawling through the headphones. The teen’s hand hovers over the pause button, but they don’t click it. They're transfixed. A nervous energy builds in their chest, yet they can’t stop listening. The music has them in its grip.)

****

(Cut to a high-rise apartment where a social media influencer snaps a selfie against the skyline. Her life is meticulously curated, and every post is designed to dazzle her millions of followers. She scrolls through her phone, deciding what content to share next. As she scrolls, a notification pops up. Another influencer she follows has posted the same rare Doors demo. She clicks on it, curious. The song fills the room, haunting notes wafting like a cold breeze. Without a second thought, she shares it, typing a quick caption: “This version is hauntingly good! Check it out #DoorsForever.”

Her post goes live, and immediately, her followers begin liking, sharing, and commenting. The demo spreads like wildfire, ricocheting through social media, accelerated by algorithms. What was once a rare find is now unavoidable. The viral surge turns the song into something inescapable. Everyone is listening.)

****

(The camera shifts to a cozy living room. A middle-aged man sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His wife watches the evening news, and their daughter plays on her tablet nearby. The man stumbles across the same “People Are Strange” demo that’s been making the rounds on social media. A longtime music lover, he hits play without thinking twice. The eerie bassline pours out of the Bluetooth speaker on the mantle, filling the room with its unnerving presence.

At first, no one seems to notice. Then the room begins to change. The air feels heavier. The wife looks up, her brow furrowed. The shadows in the corners deepen, creeping outward as if alive. The man shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. A sharp, cold tension takes the place of the room's warmth. He glances at his wife, who is now staring at the speaker, her expression confused, almost fearful. His daughter pauses her game, sensing something is off.

The music continues, each note feeling more invasive than the last. The family sits in silence, their minds pulled into the unsettling melody. The room, once a haven of warmth and routine, now feels wrong; colder, darker, and filled with an invisible tension that tightens with every second.)

****

(Meanwhile, across town, a late-night DJ sits alone in his radio studio, flipping through requests from his small but loyal audience. Rain taps softly against the window. His studio, a comforting space filled with records and familiar sounds, feels peaceful. As he scans his playlist, one request stands out. A familiar listener has called in, asking for that rare demo of “People Are Strange.” Without much thought, the DJ shrugs and cues it up.

The DJ leans back in his chair as the eerie melody drifts through the speakers. At first, he barely notices the song. It’s just another request, after all. But then something about it pulls him in. The notes sound different, darker, and more menacing. He frowns, glancing at the soundboard. The lights flicker slightly, and the hum of the studio equipment seems louder than usual. Outside, the rain intensifies, beating against the window like a warning.

****

(Across the city, the song spills through the radio waves. It seeps into cars gliding through the rainy streets, sneaks into diners where night-shift workers sip coffee, and slips into homes where insomniacs lie awake, headphones on. The camera cuts rapidly between these scenes: drivers narrowing their eyes, café patrons shifting uneasily in their seats, sleepless people staring blankly at their ceilings, the eerie music wrapping itself like a creeping fog.

The montage speeds up as the song spreads further. Quick cuts show people reacting with growing discomfort. Faces contort, eyes widen, and breathing quickens. A sense of paranoia blooms. In one home, a mother glances suspiciously at her son, who is hunched over his phone, the glow lighting up his face. In another, a group of friends around a bonfire grows quiet, their laughter dying out as an uncomfortable silence takes hold. Eyes dart nervously between one another, suspicion growing. The song has unlocked something dark in everyone, opening doors in their minds that were never meant to be opened.

The Curse, confined to an old tape, is now unleashed in the digital world. It spreads like a virus, infecting everyone who listens. No one realizes the danger, the slow erosion of their sanity. The song has taken root, and with each play, it grows stronger and more insidious.

As the eerie chorus of “People Are Strange” echoes louder, the camera cuts rapidly across different parts of the world. Faces warp and twist, and movements become erratic. The song is no longer just music, it’s a force. People everywhere begin to act strange, their thoughts darkening, paranoia spreading like wildfire. The camera zooms out, revealing a view of the world from above, the connections between devices glowing like veins. The haunting melody lingers as the camera pulls back, showing a world on the brink of something terrifying, yet no one fully understands what’s happening.)

****

(The scene shifts to a bustling music festival. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over a sea of people dancing and laughing. There’s an energy in the air, an electric excitement as the crowd awaits the next band. Alex Spellman, a vibrant woman in her mid-20s, stands near the front with her friends. She bounces, eager to see her favorite band take the stage. Around her, the festival buzzes with life, friends clink drinks, strangers smile at one another, and the air is filled with music.)

But as Alex scrolls through her phone, she momentarily disconnects from the scene around her. She stumbles upon a post about the viral "People Are Strange" demo. Without thinking, she taps play. The haunting notes flood her headphones. The song's strange beauty holds Alex's attention for a brief time. It feels different from the original - darker, rawer, and somehow more intimate - as if it’s speaking directly to her. She closes her eyes, letting the music wash over her.

But then, the shift happens. It starts small, a nagging discomfort at the edge of her consciousness. When she opens her eyes, the festival no longer feels familiar. The faces around her blur, twist, and stretch unnaturally. Eyes, once filled with joy, are now hollow and dark, their smiles grotesque and mocking. The world tilts, and Alex’s heart races. The laughter of festivalgoers sounds distorted and sinister. The ground beneath her feels unsteady. As if it might give way at any moment.

Her breath quickens. She yanks the headphones from her ears, but the song doesn’t leave her. It hums faintly in her mind, a ghost of a melody she can’t shake. The crowd once filled with friendly faces, now seems full of predators, watching her, waiting. Her paranoia swells, crashing over her like a wave. They know. They’re watching. They’re going to hurt me.

The thought spirals out of control, and Alex’s fear consumes her. She shoves through the crowd, screaming, “Get away from me!” Her wild, erratic movements draw confused looks, but in Alex’s mind, they’re all threats. She stumbles, grabbing a broken bottle from the ground, her hands shaking as she swings it wildly, slashing at anyone who gets too close. Blood splatters; the festival erupts into chaos.

Screams fill the air as people scramble to get away. The music blares in the background, now ominous, as bodies collide in the frantic rush to escape. Amid the chaos, Alex stands frozen, the broken bottle clenched in her hands, her mind shattered by the curse. Sirens wail in the distance as security rushes toward the scene, but to Alex, it’s all noise, all shadows closing in on her. The once-joyous festival has turned into a nightmare.

(The camera pulls back, showing the carnage left in Alex’s wake. People scatter, fleeing the scene as security moves in. Alex, still clutching the bloodied bottle, stands in the center of the chaos, her face twisted in terror, her mind broken beyond repair. The curse has taken her, and there’s no way back.)

****

(The scene cuts to a dim Parisian café.

Jared Melvin, a local journalist, sits at a small wooden table, staring at a cassette tape lying before him. His skin is pale, and dark circles hang under his bloodshot eyes. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his cold coffee. Jared has spent days investigating the viral demo, putting together the truth behind the curse. But with each new discovery, his paranoia grows. His news feed is filled with posts about the song, it’s gone viral. Millions of views, thousands of shares. It’s everywhere.

The haunting melody of “People Are Strange” hums faintly in Jared’s mind. He hears it everywhere: in the café, on the streets, in his dreams. It follows him like a shadow, clinging to the edges of his thoughts. Jared scrolls through his phone, hoping to find some way to stop the curse, but it’s too late. The song has spread beyond his control.)

His phone buzzes. A text message flashes on the screen: “Destroying the tape doesn’t work. The demon is already free.”

Jared’s heart sinks. The truth hits him like a punch to the gut. The curse isn’t tied to the physical tape, it’s in the music itself. It’s in every device, every platform. The song has infected the world, and there’s no way to stop it now.

Suddenly, the faint sound of the cursed song fills the café. Jared looks around, panic rising in his chest. A teenager at a nearby table listens to the demo on their phone, the eerie melody drifting through the air. Jared’s breath quickens. The song is everywhere. It’s too late. There’s no stopping it.

He stumbles out of the café, crashing into the rain-soaked streets of Paris. The cursed song follows him, growing louder with each step. The world around him warps, faces twisting into grotesque shapes as the paranoia tightens its grip. The city, once familiar, now feels hostile, every shadow a threat.

In the distance, Jared spots a figure standing still in the rain. As he approaches, the figure steps into the light. It’s Jim Morrison, or at least, it looks like him. Jared freezes, disbelief flooding his mind. Morrison is long dead, but the figure standing before him is unmistakably him, down to the rain-soaked leather jacket and piercing gaze. Jared’s pulse races. This can’t be real. It’s the curse, twisting his mind, warping his reality. But before he can speak, Morrison vanishes into the mist.

The cursed melody plays louder, echoing in Jared’s mind. There’s no escape. The demon is free, and the world is lost. As the rain pours down, Jared realizes the full extent of the nightmare he’s trapped in. The song has taken hold, and there’s no turning back.

(The camera zooms in on Jared’s terrified face, rain streaming down his skin as the haunting melody crescendos. His expression is one of pure fear and hopelessness. The screen fades to black, leaving only the eerie hum of the cursed song lingering in the darkness, a chilling reminder that the curse has already won.)