FADE IN:
EXT. MACON FARM – BARRENSVILLE, KANSAS
A nondescript black sedan drives down a rural and dusty road. There is little in the way of scenery. The car approached a faded-red barn.
GORST works away on a crooked fence post. He twists at the barbwire, tightens a bolt. He glances up in confusion, follows the car with his eyes as it pulls to a stop.
CASSIO steps out of the vehicle, removes his sunglasses and runs a hand through hair with a failing gel attempt. He approaches GORST.
CASSIO
Might I presume you’re Macon Gorst?
GORST
Who’s askin’?
CASSIO
I spoke with your wife on the phone yesterday. Hear you’re having a bit of a ghost problem.
GORST struggles to his feet, wipes his hands on his shirt. He shakes his head.
GORST
(softly)
There’s no such thing.
CASSIO
Don’t I know it.
CASSIO reaching into his inner coat pocket and withdraws a business card which he hands to GORST.
GORST
Then I don’t know what I can do for you, (reading) Mr. O— Osha—
CASSIO
O’Shaughnessy, P.P.I
GORST
Yep. Sure sounds like Ulyssa, calling a gumshoe over a ghost.
CASSIO
(correcting) P.P.I
GORST
Got some sorta stutter?
CASSIO
Huh?
GORST
(louder) Hearing problem, too?
CASSIO
No. No hearing problem, Mr. Gorst. Just a pen and a paper.
GORST
And that typically scare ghosts, does it?
CASSIO
There’s no such thing.
GORST
Then why are you—
CASSIO
Your wife called.
Drawn-out BEAT.
CASSIO (CONT’D)
Want to show me the barn, now?
GORST
Why the hell not?
The pair begin walking toward the barn.
FADE OUT.