MINISERIES: "PEOPLE ARE STRANGE": EPISODE 2: "DEAD MAN'S MELODY"

DISCLAIMER:

"THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL EVENTS OR PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THE STORY IS INSPIRED BY THE ARTISTIC WORKS OF JIM MORRISON AND THE DOORS. 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 scene opens as the camera drifts slowly into Jared Melvin's apartment. The dim glow of his computer casts jagged, eerie shadows across the room, the light seeming to dance across the piles of discarded papers and half-empty coffee cups.

Jared is hunched over his desk, his bloodshot eyes glued to the screen. In the background, a faint, ethereal echo of The Doors' "People Are Strange" plays like a broken lullaby, weaving through the air like an invisible thread pulling him deeper into his descent.

As Jared scans the reports, his hand trembles slightly. The stories are always the same: strange accidents and eerie deaths tied to the haunting song. His eyes flicker to the wall in front of him. The space is a chaotic mess of notes, newspaper clippings, and photographs, all strung together by a red thread, each connection twisting tighter, a web of paranoia and grief. In the center is a picture of his sister, Emily, with her face circled in red ink.)

His phone buzzes suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. The screen lights up with a message from his editor: "You need to drop this story. It's eating you alive."

Jared barely registers the words. His mind flashes back to that night years ago, a prom night turned tragedy. Everyone called it a freak event, but Jared had never believed it. He knows now, deep in his gut, that Emily's death wasn't random. It was connected to this, the music, the whispers.

(The camera zooms in on the old prom photo pinned to the wall. The faces are all smiles, beaming with the carefree joy of youth. But Emily's face, circled in that glaring red ink, stands out like a wound in the middle of the memory, a constant reminder of the pain that has driven Jared to this breaking point.)

****

(Jared stands at Emily's gravesite, the rain pouring down in torrents. His clothes are soaked through, but he doesn't care. Flashes of that fateful night bombard his mind: Emily laughing, twirling in her prom dress, her laughter ringing in his ears before it was replaced by the piercing screech of tires and the deadly silence that followed. He remembers the broken look in her eyes, her body lifeless on the cold pavement.)

The cemetery is empty, and the rain turns the earth around Emily's grave into mud. Jared's shoes sink into it with every step, but he's rooted in place, unable to leave or move forward. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing the weight of his failure.

Emily's name, etched into the tombstone, blurs through his tears. He can still see her that night, vibrant and full of life, her laughter lighting up the world around her like a beacon. It was supposed to be a perfect night, a night of celebration. But that joy, that light, was ripped away in an instant. All that remains now is a suffocating sense of loss and the unbearable weight of guilt.

"I couldn't save you," Jared whispers, his voice breaking. "I should've been there. I should've stopped it." He falls to his knees, the cold mud seeping through his pants, mixing with the rain and tears on his face. "I swear, I'll find out what happened," he vows, the determination in his voice solidifying. "I won't stop until I do."

****

(The scene shifts to a grim, run-down apartment complex. The building's grimy facade oozes neglect, with cracked and yellowed windows and the stench of decay rising from its foundation. Weeds grow unchecked in the cracked concrete, and the flickering streetlight outside offers little comfort to the desolation that surrounds the place.

Jared approaches the door of Lisa McAllister, the last known survivor of a prom night disaster linked to the cursed song. Faded wallpaper peels from the walls, and the staleness of the air feels suffocating, as if the building itself has given up.

He knocks on the door. The sound reverberates through the hallway, unanswered at first, before the door creaks open slowly, revealing a woman who looks more like a ghost than a person.

Though only in her early 30s, Lisa McAllister has the sunken, haunted look of someone who's lived far too long with her trauma. Her once vibrant eyes are hollow, and her skin is pale, almost translucent, as if she hasn't seen sunlight in years. Her dark hair is unkempt, and her clothes hang loosely on her gaunt frame.

The air inside her apartment is stale and thick with the pungent odor of whiskey and cigarette smoke. The once cozy living room is chaotic; empty bottles litter the floor, and ashtrays overflow onto every available surface. The curtains are drawn tight, shutting out the world and casting the room in permanent twilight.)

"Come in," she whispers, her voice trembling like the flicker of the cigarette in her hand. She barely looks at Jared as she gestures toward a battered armchair near the window, its fabric stained and frayed from years of neglect. The springs creak under his weight as he sits, and the oppressive atmosphere of the apartment seems to weigh even heavier on him.

"They don't believe me," she mutters, her voice barely audible, hoarse from years of smoking and crying. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy, that I made it all up." She exhales slowly, the smoke curling around her in lazy spirals. "But it wasn't just the song. It was more than that… something inside the music."

Jared leans forward, his heartbeat quickening at the words. "What do you mean, something inside the music?" he asks, his voice low and urgent.

For a moment, Lisa says nothing, lost in her memories. Her cigarette burns down to the filter, but she doesn't notice. When she finally speaks, her voice is shaky, like someone dredging up a nightmare long buried. "There was something beneath it… something dark, something evil. That night… it wasn't an accident."

Her words send a chill down Jared's spine. He watches her closely as she continues, her voice trembling with fear. "I remember the first time I heard it… the melody. It was beautiful, haunting, like nothing I'd ever heard before. But the more you listened, the more it got inside you. It made you see things, hear things,… things that weren't real. Or maybe they were real, but not in a way we understood."

Her eyes flicker with a spark of terror that still grips her. "People started acting strange, paranoid. And then that night… it wasn't the car crash that killed them. It was the song. I've been hiding ever since. But it's never really gone, you know? I still hear it sometimes, in my dreams… in the silence. It's always there, waiting."

Her words hang in the air, thick with dread. Lisa stares at him, her eyes pleading. "You have to stop it. Before it takes anyone else."

****

(The scene is a dimly lit house party. Warm hues from dim, orange lamps cast long shadows across the room, and the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingers. Laughter and chatter filled the space, and friends gathered around a vintage stereo system playing "People Are Strange" by The Doors.

Lisa glances around the room. Everything appears normal; her friends laugh, swaying to the music, seemingly oblivious. But as the song continues, a creeping unease washes over her. The laughter grows strange, brittle, almost mechanical. She watches closely, her heart racing as one of her friends, Ben, leans against the wall, eyes unfocused. His laughter becomes forced, as though he can't stop himself. His mouth curls into a grin that doesn't reach his eyes, and they've gone glassy, reflecting nothing but the flickering light from the stereo.

Another friend, Amanda, who had been dancing moments ago, suddenly freezes mid-step. Her body jerks unnaturally, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. The others move in sync, their once lively movements now robotic and stiff. It's as if the life is draining from their bodies, leaving only hollow shells behind.

Lisa's heart races as panic starts to claw at her chest. "Something's wrong," she mutters, backing away toward the far corner. She presses her back against the wall, her breath quickening. Then, she hears that whisper again—not words but a voice, a dark, sinister hum that weaves through the song, working its way into her mind.

And then, chaos erupts.

Ben suddenly slams his head against it with a sickening thud. Lisa's scream catches in her throat as she watches in horror. Blood trickles down his forehead, his eyes wide with terror but also…empty. He doesn't cry out, doesn't flinch. He just keeps going, slamming his head again, harder this time.

"It's the song," Lisa whispers to herself, her voice shaking, barely audible over the eerie music still playing. She presses her hands to her ears, backing away as her friends descend into madness. "It's doing something to them."

Amanda drops to her knees, her hands clawing at her throat, her face contorted in pain. A strangled scream tries to escape her lips, but it's trapped, suffocated by the unseen force gripping her. She collapses onto the floor, her body convulsing violently.

Lisa can only watch, paralyzed with fear, as another friend, Mark, lets out a strangled moan before his legs give out beneath him. His eyes roll back, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. He convulses, his body jerking uncontrollably, his fingers clawing at the air as if trying to grasp onto something that isn't there.

The music blares louder now, the haunting lyrics of "People Are Strange" twisting into something darker, something incomprehensible. Lisa could hear the whispers and faint echo of something dark and ancient buried in the melody. It clings to her like a shadow, growing louder and more insistent.

In the deafening silence that follows, Lisa stands alone, shaking, as the song's final notes fade into oblivion, leaving her trapped in a nightmare that has only just begun.)

****

(Back to the present, Lisa trembles, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her cigarette falls from her fingers, forgotten, as her whole frame quivers. Tears well up in her hollow eyes, spilling down her pale, gaunt cheeks, leaving wet trails in the grime of her face.)

Lisa shakes her head, the words spilling like a confession, raw and painful. "It never stops. I thought maybe... if I stayed away and isolated myself, it wouldn't find me again."

Jared can feel the weight of her words sinking into his bones, like the darkness she speaks of is somehow reaching for him, too. Before he could respond, before he could find words to comfort or question her, Lisa's expression changed abruptly. Her eyes widened, all color drained from her face; her body suddenly became rigid with fear. She stands up so fast that the chair she sits on topples backward, crashing to the floor with a jarring thud.

"You need to go," she whispers urgently, her voice thick with panic. "Now." The words tremble out of her, frantic, as though each second he lingers is too long. "It's safer for you if you leave. Now."

"Lisa—" he starts, reaching out to her, but she flinches away from his hand like it burns her.

"No!" she cries, her voice breaking as she steps back. "You don't understand. It knows you're here. It can feel you now. "Her voice lowers to a terrified whisper, her eyes darting between Jared and the stereo in the corner of the room.

Jared follows her line of sight to the old stereo. Its dusty buttons, worn from years of disuse, seem utterly benign. "I don't hear anything," Jared murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but doubt creeps into his mind even as he says the words.

"You will," Lisa whispers, her voice filled with certainty and terror. "It's waiting for you to listen." She shudders violently, her fingers clawing at her arms as if trying to rip herself free from some unseen grip. "Please, Jared. Please, leave while you still can."

Jared's muscles tense as fear crawls up his spine. His gaze flickers back to the stereo. It sits there, silent, but now it feels like it's watching, waiting for him to let his guard down. There's something wrong here, something very, very bad. He wants to help her, but the fear in her eyes and the sheer terror in her voice makes him realize there's no helping her. Not now. Not here.

Without another word, Jared backs toward the door, his heart pounding. He fumbled for the doorknob, his hands shaking, and with one last glance at Lisa, he pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.

****

(The scene shifts to a sepia-tinged vision of Paris in the early 70s. The narrow streets outside are lined with worn cobblestones, slick with rain, and the dim lights from streetlamps flicker like ghosts in the mist. Through a half-open window, the distant sounds of the city drift in, car horns, footsteps, the low hum of conversation, but inside the dimly lit room, all is still, save for the faint rustling of paper and the occasional scrape of a pen against paper.

Jim Morrison sits hunched at a cluttered desk, his back to the window. The light from a single lamp casts long, angular shadows across the room, giving it a haunted, dreamlike quality. Books and papers are strewn everywhere, chaotic and disordered, as if reflecting the turmoil inside his mind. His face, gaunt and unshaven, is twisted in torment. His eyes, usually full of creative fire, are dark, rimmed with sleeplessness and something more, something that gnaws at the edges of his sanity. He scribbles erratically in his notebook, the words barely legible, his hand trembling with the force of his thoughts.

In the corner of the room, the stereo sits like a silent sentinel, looming large in the oppressive stillness. Morrison's eyes dart toward it, and for a moment, he hesitates, his hand hovering over the page. Slowly, he reaches for the stereo with a hand that trembles more than he'd care to admit. His fingers brush against the cold surface, and the world seems to hold its breath momentarily.

He presses play.

For a split second, there's nothing but silence. And then, it comes.

Static, harsh, and grating fill the room. Jim flinches, his hands instinctively going to his ears, but he doesn't turn it off. He can't. Something underneath it is just beyond the static, faint but unmistakable, the whispering voice.

The voice is seductive, pulling at him, feeding on his doubts, fears, and darkest thoughts. It tells him things he doesn't want to hear, whispers of oblivion, death, and the abyss waiting just beyond the edge of his consciousness. And yet, it draws him in like a siren's call, impossible to resist.

Morrison's breath comes in ragged gasps as he stares at the stereo, wide-eyed and terrified. His fingers twitch toward the stop button, but he hesitates, unable to tear himself away from the sound.

And then, suddenly, the static cuts out.

With trembling hands, Jim pushes the stereo away, his breath ragged, his face pale and slick with sweat. The notebook before him is smeared with ink, the pages torn and crumpled from his frantic writing. He stares at it, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The voice hasn't stopped. It never stops.

And he knows, deep down, that it never will.

****

(The night air bites at Jared's skin with a sharp, bitter edge, the cold seeping through his jacket and stinging his exposed face. His breath forms mist in the air, swirling and dissipating into the dark as he stands on the empty street, shivering slightly. His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him from his thoughts. He pulls it out with numb fingers, the glow from the screen casting a pale light on his tense face.)

The message reads: "Le démon est dans la mélodie. Cherche la cassette perdue." His heart skips a beat. Though the words are in French, the meaning becomes all too clear as he processes them: "The demon is in the melody. Seek the lost tape."

A chill that has nothing to do with the cold runs down his spine. He glances around, the shadows lengthening as the streetlights flicker overhead. Then, faintly at first, he hears it.

The eerie melody of "People Are Strange" begins to creep into the night air, so faint at first that he wonders if it's his imagination. It's the same song, the same cursed melody that Lisa had warned him about, the same music that had claimed so many before. But now, it feels different. Darker. More insidious.

He looks around wildly, searching for the source of the music, but there's nothing. No stereo, no car passing by, no open windows. Jared tries to move, to shake himself free from the invisible grip of the music, but his legs refuse to obey.

(Jared stands frozen, unable to move or speak, as the camera zooms in on his face. His eyes widen in terror, his breath shallow and quick, the shadows playing across his features as the sinister song tightens its grip.

The episode ends in a single frame, his wide, terrified eyes staring into the void as the screen fades to black, leaving only the echo of the cursed melody and the haunting, whispered words: "There is no escape.")

End of Episode 2.