"PSYCHO" (1960)

FADE IN:

Above Midtown section of the city. It is early afternoon, a hot mid-summer day. The city is sun- blanched white and its drifted-up noises are muted in their own echoes. We fly low, heading in a downtown direction, passing over traffic-clogged streets, parking lots, white business buildings, neatly patterned residential districts. As we approach downtown section, the character of the city begins to change. It is darker and shabby with age and industry. We see railroad tracks, smokestacks, wholesale fruit-and- vegetable markets, old municipal buildings, empty lots. The very geography seems to give us a climate of nefariousness, of back-doorness, dark and shadowy. And secret.

We fly lower and faster now, as if seeking out a specific location. A skinny, high old hotel comes into view. On its exposed brick side great painted letters advertise "Transients-Low Weekly Rates-Radio in Every Room." We pause long enough to establish the shoddy character of this hotel. Its open, curtainless windows, its silent resigned look so characteristic of such hole- and-corner hotels. We move forward with purposefulness toward a certain window. The sash is raised as high as it can go, but the shade is pulled down to three or four inches of the inside sill, as if the occupants of the room within wanted privacy but needed air. We are close now, so that only the lower half of the window frame is in shot. No sounds come from within the room. Suddenly, we tip downward, go to the narrow space between shade and sill, peep into the room.

A young woman is stretched out on the mussed bed. She wears a full slip, stockings, no shoes. She lies in and attitude of physical relaxation, but her face, seen in the dimness of the room, betrays a certain inner- tension, worrisome conflicts. She is MARY CRANE, an attractive girl nearing the end of her twenties and her rope.

A man stands beside the bed, only the lower half of his figure visible. We hold on this tableau for a long moment, then start forward. As we pass under the window shade,

A small room, a slow fan buzzing on a shelf above the narrow bed. A card of hotel rules is pasted on the mirror above the bureau. An unopened suitcase and a woman's large, straw open-top handbag are on the bureau. On the table beside the bed there are a container of coco-cola and an unwrapped, untouched egg-salad sandwich. There is no radio.

The man standing by the bed, wearing only trousers, T- shirt and sox, is SAM LOOMIS, a good-looking, sensual man with warm humorous eyes and a compelling smile. He is blotting his neck and face with a thin towel, and is staring down at Mary, a small sweet smile playing about his mouth. Mary keeps her face turned away from him. After a moment, Sam drops the towel, sits on the bed, leans over and takes Mary into his arms, kisses her long and warmly, holds her with a firm possessiveness. The kiss is disturbed and finally interrupted by the buzzing closeness of an inconsiderate fly. Sam smiles, pulls away enough to allow Mary to relax again against the pillow. He studies her, frowns at her unresponsiveness, then speaks in a low, intimate, playful voice.

Mary looks at his smile, has to respond, pulls him to her, kisses him. Then, and without breaking the kiss, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, toe- searches around, finds her shoes, slips her feet into them. And finally pulls away and sits up.

She rises, goes to the bureau, takes a pair of small earrings out of her bag, begins putting them on, not bothering or perhaps not wanting to look at herself in the mirror. Sam watches her, concerned but unable to inhibit his cheery, humorous good mood. Throughout remainder of this scene, they occupy themselves with dressing, hair-combing, etc.

He breaks off, his cheeriness dissolved, goes to the window, tries to raise the shade. It sticks. He pulls at it.

It comes down entirely, and the hot sun glares into the room, revealing it in all its shabbiness and sordidness as if corroborating Mary's words and attitude. Sam kicks at the fallen shade, laughs in frustration, grabs on to his humor again.

She stares at him, surprised at his willingness to continue the affair on her terms, as girls are so often surprised when they discover men will continue to want them even after the sexual bait has been pulled in. Sam smiles reassuringly, places his hands gently on her arms, speaks with gentle and simple sincerity.

He moves away and again the weight of his pain and problems crushes away his good humor. There is a quiet moment.

He looks at her, long, pulls her close, kisses her lightly, looks out the window and stares at the wide sky.

Mary goes out quickly, closing door behind her. As Sam stares down at his shoeless feet,

Shooting down at hotel entrance. Mary comes out, walks quickly to a parked cab, gets in. The cab zooms up the awful street.

A small, moderately successful office off the main street. A cab pulls up at the curb. We see Mary get out of cab, pay driver, cross pavement to the office door.

Mary enters office, crosses to her desk, sits down, rubs her temples, finally looks over at Caroline, a girl in the last of her teens.

She rises, starts for Mary's desk, pills in hand.

She breaks off, distracted by the SOUND of the door opening. MR. LOWERY and his oil-lease client, TOM CASSIDY enter the office. Lowery is a pleasant, worried- faced man, big and a trifle pompous. Cassidy is very loud and has a lunch-hour load on. He is a gross man, exuding a kind of pitiful vulgarity.

Lowery flashes an embarrassed smile at Mary, tries to lead Cassidy toward the private office.

Cassidy pauses beside Mary's desk, hooks a haunch onto the desktop, smiles a wet smile at Mary.

Mary glances, cannot bring herself to smile or make some remark, continues sorting out the deed copies, tries to ignore the man's hot-breath closeness.

He takes out of his inside pocket, two separate bundles of new $100 bills and throws them onto the desk, under Mary's nose. Caroline's eyes go wide at the sight of the glorious green bundles of bills, and she comes close to the desk. Cassidy leans terribly close to Mary, flicks through the bills, laughs wickedly.

He rises, reels toward Lowery's office, pauses, turns, speaks to Mary, meaningfully.

Lowery starts after him, pauses, turns to Mary. Cassidy has gone into Lower's office.

He starts quickly away when it looks like Cassidy is going to come and pull him bodily into the office. When the men are gone and the door is closed, Caroline picks up a bundle, smiles at it.

Mary has put one bundle into a large envelope and takes the other from Caroline. When the bills are away, she putts the filled envelope in her handbag, notices the remaining deed copies on her desk, picks them up, goes to the private office door, knocks, starts to open door as:

Mary opens door, looks in. Cassidy is drinking from a large tumbler, winks at her without pausing in his drinking. Mary remains on treshold a moment, then crosses to the desk, talking as she goes.

Mary goes back out into the outer office, closes door.

Mary goes to her desk, takes the handbag, checks to make sure the money-filled envelope is tucked well down into it. During this:

She goes to the door.

DISSOLVE:

A double bed in the foreground. We just see the far side as the CAMERA SHOOTS across. Mary enters the scene, clad only in her slip. Perhaps she is about to get into bed. Behind her is an open closet, but too dark inside for us to see any contents. As Mary turns to the closet the CAMERA LOWERS to show a close view of the $40,000 in the envelope on our side of the bed. Mary takes a dress from the closet and starts to put it on as the CAMERA RETREATS to reveal a packed but not yet closed suitcase also on the bed. Mary zips up her dress and then brings some final garments from the closet. She comes around to the suitcase and puts them on the top. Mary works with haste and in tension, as if acting on an impulse which might vanish as quickly as it came. The suitcase filled now, she checks around the room, then takes her handbag to the bed, puts in the money- filled envelope, and then slams the suitcase shut. Then she looks at her small bedroom desk, goes to it, removes a small file-envelope from one of the drawers. It is one of those brown envelopes in which one keeps important papers and policies and certificates. She checks its contents briefly, puts it on the bed, opens another desk drawer, takes out her bank book, tosses it on the bed. Then she packs both the file-envelope and the bank book, into her handbag, takes one quick last look around the room, picks up the handbag and the suitcase and goes out of the room.

A two-car garage. One car is gone. Mary's car is parked in the driveway. The CAMERA is low enough so that we can easily read the Arizona number plate in the foreground.

Mary comes out of house, starts for the trunk, intending to put the suitcase in, changes her mind, places the suitcase and her handbag on the front seat, gets in, starts the car, begins to back out of driveway.

We are close on Mary's car, shooting in at her troubled, guilty face. She seems to be driving with that excess care of one who does not wish to be stopped for a minor traffic irregularity. She stops for a red light at a main intersection.

We see Lowery and Cassidy crossing the street, passing right in front of Mary's car.

Mary freezes.

Cassidy, glancing into car, sees Mary, lets out a cheery exclamation, elbows Lowery. Lowery turns, sees Mary, smiles pleasantly, pulls Cassidy on.

Mary watches the entire exchange with a look of stony horror on her face.

Now we look closely at Lowery. As he reaches the curb, a small confusion brightens his face. He remembers that Mary intended to "spend the weekend in bed." He considers, curiously, turns, looks back at her, a slight frown on his face.

Mary sees the pause and the look.

For a moment it even looks as if Lowery might be meaning to cross back to the car.

Mary's tension is unbearable. And at that moment we hear the shrill shriek of the traffic cop's whistle. Mary zooms the car away.

Mary in car, driving, safely away from town. Her look is less tense now, and more purposeful. After a moment, she checks the fuel gauge, frowns, looks along highway for a gas station.

Approaching and leaving city limits.

Looks at gas gauge.

We see Mary's car drive in, come to a stop. There are no other cars about, this being a gas station off the main highway, and the attendant is obviously in the shack. Mary looks worried about having to make this stop, keeps her face turned away from the shack, not wishing it to be seen.

No one comes and for a moment Mary considers driving on, as if the emptiness of the station were a warning, an omen that she should listen to. But the gas registers almost empty. She has to blow her horn.

A YOUNG MAN comes out of the shack, starts toward her car.

At that moment, we HEAR the RINGING of the TELEPHONE in the shack. The Attendant walks a few steps further, toward Mary's car, then decides to go back and answer the phone. The phone's insistent ringing unnerves Mary. She starts her car, zooms off.

We see the Attendant, phone in hand, in the doorway of shack. He looks after the departing car with little or no expression.

CAR

The car grows smaller as it races up the road. The sun is setting. There is something vaguely ominous about the darkening sky into which the car seems to be disappearing.

The oncoming headlights hurt Mary's eyes. She is getting sleepy and her vision is blurring. Her eyes close, involuntarily, snap open again. She stretches than wide, as if forcing them to stay open. The oncoming lights seem to glare to a point beyond endurance. She murmers "Sam - Sam."

A LONG LAP DISSOLVE:

We see Mary's car, dim in the early dawn, tilted on the soft shoulder of the road, looking somehow sad and pathetic, like a child's thrown-away toy. And from this angle it would appear that the car is empty.

After a moment, during which there are no other vehicles passing, we see, coming from the far distance, a HIGHWAY PATROLMAN in a patrol car. He passes Mary's car, notes its apparent emptiness, U-turns, comes back up behind the car. He gets out and approaches the driver's side window.

The Patrolman looks down into the car.

Mary turns with a start, sits up, is startled and unnerve by the sight of the Patrolman, and, as if by automatic reflex, turns the ignition and presses down on the starte.

The Patrolman holds up his hand.

Mary slams down on the brake, tries to pull herself together. The Patrolman raps again, less gently. Reluctantly, Mary rolls down the window. The Patrolman studie her for a moment.

Mary seems about to object, thinks better of it, turns off the ignition.

Mary starts the car, her face turned as if she wishes the matter were all settled and the Patrolman had already gone. The Patrolman isn't exactly one of those civil servants who demands a thank-you, but he does feel her manner is a bit too abrupt. He calls:

The Patrolman gazes at her a moment, then:

Mary pulls her handbag up from the floor, where she'd placed it when she stretched out for sleep. She puts her hand in it, rummages for her wallet, cannot find it. The Patrolman is staring at her. She glances at him nervously, pokes in her bag a bit more, sighs, realizes she'll have to remove some of its contents. Nervously, badly controlling her fear, she takes out the money- filled envelope, and then the important papers envelope, then a couple of other items, places them on the seat, finally finds her wallet, opens it, hands it to him. He looks at the wallet, then at the car.

The Patrolman walks around to the front of the car, checks the license plate, and returns.

The Patrolman peers in, checks the car registration on the steering wheel, returns Mary's wallet.

She takes it, looks at him for a flicker of a moment. He says nothing. She starts ahead, fast.

The Patrolman stares after Mary as she drives off, then starts back to his automobile.

She is quite shaken, realizes she caused herself a great deal of trouble and placed herself in unnecessary danger. She is disturbed and angry and frightened at her inability to act normally under the pressure of guilt. As she drives, she glances into her rear-view mirror.

The Patrolman is following in his automobile, keeping behind her at a matched speed.

She glances out at her surroundings.

The Freeway ahead.

She suddenly turns off the highway.

She checks her mirror.

The Patrolman is no longer following, has not turned off after her.

She breathes a sigh of relief, thinks a moment, makes a quick decision.

DISSOLVE:

The big sign reads "California Charlie - Automobile Paradise." We see Mary's car drive onto the lot and stop. Mary gets out of the car, glances toward the lot office, turns her attention to the line of cars, notice the California licence plates on all of them. The CAR DEALER calls out from his office:

Mary nods, starts walking along the line of cars as if making a selection. Her eye is caught by the iron newspaper stand on the corner, just outside the lot. She stares at the papers, turns away, as if what she is fearing would have to be impossible, then, having to satisfy herself, goes to the stand, drops a dime in the iron slot, picks up a LOS ANGELES newspaper, starts back into the car lot as she glances worried at the front page. As she goes, we see, coming up the street toward the lot, the same PATROLMAN. He sees Mary, slows, swerves over to the opposite side of the street, stops by the curb. Mary, engrossed in the newspaper, and walking back ease the lot, does not see the Patrolman. The car dealer is out on the lot now, standing and waiting for Mary. As she approaches, lost in her newspaper, he smiles.

She stops suddenly, almost with a gasp. She has seen the Patrolman.

He is staring over at her, his face dispassionate.

Mary has to force herself to look away.

He starts into Mary's car. She looks at him, in near panic, wanting to skip the whole thing. Torn, wondering if the presence of the Patrolman doesn't negate the value of changing cars, wondering how she can get away, wondering if she'll be followed, or if the Patrolman will go away if she does stay here.

All these panic-fears rush her mind and she can do nothing. The Car Dealer has driven her car into the garage. She stands in the middle of the lot, feeling like a shooting target. She looks toward the garage.

Mary's car is in it.

Mary decides she cannot back out now without arousing further suspicion, is compelled to look again at the Patrolman.

He still watches. With a self-angry sigh of resignment, she goes to a close car, looks at it. The Car Dealer is returning.

As the car dealer looks at her in amazement, she reaches into her bag, feels the money-filled envelope, pauses.

Mary starts for the building, glancing once in the direction of the Patrolman.

He still sits, his motor throbbing, his face quiet.

Mary goes into the office building.

Mary enters, locks door, takes envelope out of her handbag, extracts one bundle of bills from the envelope, counts off five, puts the bundle back into the envelope and the envelope back into the bag. Then she remembers, takes out the important papers envelope, goes through it, finds several papers having to do with her car, takes them all out, puts back the envelope, starts out of the ladies Room.

The Car Dealer has moved the car of her choice out of the line. It stands in the clearing.

He starts toward the office building. Mary follows, closely, anxiously. She glances, sees:

He is still at the far curb.

The Car Dealer goes into his office. Mary follows.

A second later, he starts his automobile, checks traffic, comes across the street, slowly, and drives onto the lot. He pauses a moment, then drives across the lot, passing the office, going on to the other exit, stops there as Mary's car is driven back onto the lot. The MECHANIC stops Mary's car, hops out, waves to the Patrolman. The Patrolman waves back, goes on a bit until he is behind Mary's car, stops again, looks over at the office. In a moment, Mary comes out, hurries across to her new car, gets in, starts the motor. The Mechanic yells:

Mary pauses, turns, sees the Patrolman, then the Mechanic. Her face goes white. She doesn't know which man called her. Then the Mechanic waves, starts forward with her suitcase.

The Mechanic smiles, throws the suitcase in. Mary zooms off. As she drives out of lot we see the Mechanic, the Car Dealer and the Patrolman all looking after her.

Mary is driving tensely. She checks the rear-view mirror, is more shocked than pleased when she sees...

No sign of the Patrolman.

She turns her face, looks out at the highway.

It is heavy with traffic.

Again she checks the mirror and although ...

There is still no sign of the Patrolman.

She cannot relax or feel safe, cannot convince herself that nothing will come of the man's watching and suspicions.

CAMERA IS CLOSE on Mary's face now, recording her anxiety, her fears. Her guilt shines bright in her eyes and she is a person unaccustomed to containing this much guilt in this realistic a situation. Suddenly, we hear the SOUND of the Used Car Dealer's laugh, hear it as clearly as Mary hears it in her imagination. The "imagined voice" we hear is actually the voice of the Car Dealer:

Mary blinks, shakes her head, as if trying to shake away these voices of her imagination. She checks the rear- view mirror.

Still no sight of the Patrolman.

She tries to force herself to relax, almost succeeds when she is sprung to tension again by ....

The sight of a police car. As she drives past, we hear the squeaky, unintelligible voice coming over the car radio. Mary zooms down on the gas, whizzes ahead.

Mary's car dashing along.

Mary looks weary, tired with strain and with hard driving. Her eyes are heavy with worry and deep thought.

We can see that it is much later in the day, almost dusk.

We HEAR the sound of an agitated BUZZ of an intercom system, a sound emanating from Mary's imagination. After the second BUZZ, we HEAR the voice of Caroline.

Again Mary shakes her head, forces herself to stop hearing these "invented" scenes of her imagination.

Now we cut to the view of the road, from Mary's viewpoint. Darkness of evening is coming. In the dim twilight we see the neon sign of roadside restaurants and gas stations beginning to blaze on.

Back on Mary's face, and after a moment, the imagined voices again:

A flush of painful guilt and regret rises up in Mary's face. She closes her eyes for one tight swift moment.

We cut again to the highway. The first oncoming headlights slash at the windshield.

Cutting back to Mary, we can sense by the tense muscles of her face that she is driving faster. The oncoming headlights blurt at her.

Suddenly we HEAR Lowery's voice, loud now and frightened, as if the anxiety in the man's voice was strong enough to break through Mary's effort to keep her mind silent and her imagination blank.

It is completely dark now, night.

We cut back to her face.

Fast cut back to Mary's face. Oncoming headlights throw a blinding light across her features.

A look of revulsion makes Mary close her eyes.

Big drops of rain begin to appear.

She is becoming aware of the rain starting.

The rain increasing and backlit by the oncoming headlights.

Mary starts the windshield wipers.

The wipers are having a battle with the now torrential rain.

Peering through the blurred windshield.

slowing down in the flooding highway.

peering through the windshield. The oncoming lights are fewer.

almost coming to a slow turn.

just blackness and rain.

peering.

An almost undiscernible light in the far distance, a neon sign blurred by the rain-sheeted windshield.

She presses down, forces the car to move on through the flooded road.

As we move closer, we see the neon sign more clearly and can faintly make out the large letters which read "Motel." Mary stops the car, lowers the window slightly, looks out. We see the sign clearly now: "BATES' MOTEL." Mary opens the car door and dashes out into the rain and up onto the porch of the motel office.

Mary pauses on the porch. The lights are on within the office. She tries door, finds it open, goes into office. CAMERA FOLLOWS her into office. There is no one present. Mary goes to the desk, rings a small pushbell. There is no response. Mary rubs her forehead in weariness and frustration, goes back out onto the porch. She looks off in another direction, slightly behind the office, and sees ....

A path from the motel office leads directly up to this house. There is a light on in one of the upstairs rooms. A WOMAN passes the window, pauses, peers out. We see her in clear silhouette. She quickly goes away from the window.

Mary, having seen the woman, expects now that she will get some attention. She stands a few moments, waiting. No one comes. Impatience and anger rise in Mary. She dashes out into the rain, to her car, gets in, opens the side window, begins to honk the horn. After a moment, a YOUNG MAN open the front door of the house, pauses, starts down the path. After a few steps, he turns and runs back into the house. Mary leaves her car, starts a dash for the shelter of the porch. As she runs, we see that the Young Man has gone back only to get an umbrella. Seeing that Mary is on her way to the porch, he runs quickly, the umbrella unopened in his hand. He gets to the porch a moment after Mary has reached it. He stops short, looks at her, then at the umbrella hanging useless in his hand, then back to her.

There is something sadly touching in his manner, in his look. Mary's impatience goes and she smiles and this makes him almost smile. He gestures her into the office, standing back to indicate that he will go after her. She goes into the office.

The Young Man follows Mary in, closes the door. He is NORMAN BATES, somewhere in his late twenties, thin and tall, soft-spoken and hesitant.

He is behind the counter now, pushing forward the registration book.

Mary has placed her handbag on the counter. She takes the registration book, picks up the pen, is suddenly struck with the realization that she'd better use an allies. She writes the name Marie Samuels.

She realizes he didn't ask her to tell him, merely to write it down. She smiles, writes Los Angeles beside the false name. Norman smiles, stops smiling out of embarrassment.

He removes a key for Cabin One. We see that there is a remaning key on the board.

He goes to door, opens it. The rain has slowed down considerably. He smiles at this fact, as if to communicate some pleassure he finds in it. Mary follows him to the door, goes out on the porch, waits and watches as Norman runs to her car, gets in, drives it to the parking space in front of Cabin One. Mary walks along the porch, waits before the door of Cabin One. Norman gets out of car, with suitcase, runs to the door, opens it, pushes the door open, puts his hand in and switches on a light. Mary goes into the cabin. Norman follows her.

Norman places suitcase on bed, goes to the window, opens it.

He pauses at the door, gazes at her. She smiles.

Mary closes the door, goes to suitcase, opens it, starts to take out a dress. Her handbag is next to the suitcase. She glances down into it, pauses, drops the dress, reaches into the handbag, takes out the money- filled envelope, stares at it, almost with regret, contemplates hiding it, decides to, starts looking for a reasonable hiding place. She looks about, at the closet, the drawers etc., realizes all such places are obvious. Catching sight of the newspaper in her bag, she hits on a solution. She opens the newspaper, places the envelope within it, lock-folds the paper again and then places it on the bedside table as if it were there for later reading. She considers this for a moment, accepts it, goes to her suitcase to start unpacking. Suddenly the quiet is shattered by the shrill, ugly sound of a woman's voice, raised in anger.

Mary walks slowly to the window, realizing that the terrible voice is coming from the house behind the cabins. CAMERA FOLLOWS her to window and once there we see the light is still on in the upstairs bedroom and the voice is coming from that room. The rain has stopped and the moon is out.

There is the SOUND of a door closing in that room up there. Mary has stood by the window, listening with mounting distress and concern and sympathy. She turns her face away now, gazes sadly at the little empty room. In a moment there is the SOUND of the house's front door slamming shut. Mary turns, looks out the window.

We see Norman coming down the path, carrying a napkin- covered tray.

Mary looks at him for a moment, then turns quickly, goes to the door, opens it and goes out onto the porch.

Mary pauses outside the door, is about to start forward when Norman comes round the building and walks along the porch, past the office, stopping only when he is close to her. He stares with painful embarrassment at the knowing look in her eye.

Norman flinches, realizing she has heard his mother's reference to Mary's appetite.

She begins to back into her room. Norman starts to follow, hesitates as he sees the total picture of an attractive young woman and a motel room. Bringing down the tray of food, in defiance of his mother's orders, is about the limit of his defiance for one day. He cannot go into Mary's room.

Without waiting for approval or disapproval, he turns, hurries to the office. Mary looks after him, her face showing amused sympathy, then follows.

Norman looks about, tray in hand, sees there is no reasonable place to spread out a supper. He turns, sees Mary standing in the doorway.

Mary nods. Norman walks on, behind the counter and into the darkened parlor. Mary follows.

In the darkened room, lit only by the light from the office spilling in, we see Norman placing the tray on a table. Mary comes to the doorway, pauses. Norman straightens up, goes to lamp, turns on the light.

Mary is startled by the room. Even in the dimness of one lamp, the strange, extraordinary nature of the room rushes up at one. It is a room of birds. Stuffed birds, all over the room, on every available surface, one even clinging to the old fashioned fringed shade of the lamp. The birds are of many varieties, beautiful, grand, horrible, preying. Mary stares in awe and a certain fascinated horror.

As Norman goes about spreading out the bread and ham and pouring the milk, we follow Mary across the room. She studies the birds as she walks, briefly examines a bookcase stacked with books on the subject of "Taxidermy."

She notices, too, the paintings on the wall; nudes, primarily, and many with a vaguely religious overtone. Finally Mary reaches the sofa, sits down, looks at the spread.

Mary begins to eat, her attitude a bit tense. She takes up a small slice of ham, bites off a tiny bite, nibbles at it in the manner of one disturbed and preoccupied. Norman gazes at her, at the tiny bite she has taken, smiles and then laughs.

He trails off, his exuberance failing in the rushing return of his natural hesitancy and discomfort. Mary looks at him, with some compression, smiles.

She hesitates. Norman turns, slowly, looking at her with a striking coldness.

The fury suddenly dies, abruptly and completely, and he sinks back into his chair. There is a brief silence. Mary watches the troubled man, is almost physically pained by his anguish.

She goes out of the parlor. We see her, from Norman's viewpoint, as she crosses the small office, goes out into the night. Norman turns and looks at the table, and we see his face now. It is bright with that drunken- like look of determination and encouragement and resolve. He starts to clean up the table, pauses as he hears the closing of Mary's door in the cabin next door. He holds still, listens. He goes into the office and looks at the book.

He goes back into the parlor with a mystified expression. The sound of Mary moving about her room come over, soft SOUNDS, somehow intimate in the night quiet. Norman turns his ear from the direction of the SOUNDS, seems to be fighting an impulse to listen, or more than listen.

But slowly, he is forced to surrender to the impulse and, resisting himself, he goes to the wall, presses the side of his head against it. The SOUNDS come louder, as if we too had our ear pressed against the wall. Now Norman looks at a picture hanging on the far end of the wall he is leaning against. Slowly he starts toward it. He reaches it, touches it, reluctantly lifts the small frame off the wall.

A tiny circle of light hits Norman's face, coming from the hole in the wall behind the picture. This end of the room is very dim and thus we are able to see clearly the light striking Norman's face.

We move close to Norman, extremely close, until his profile fills the screen. The tiny spot of light hits his eye. See the small hole through which the light comes. Norman peeps through.

Through the hole we look into Mary's cabin, see Mary undressing. She is in her bra and halfslip. She stoops over a bit, places her hands behind her upper back, begins to unhook her bra.

He watches as Mary removes her bra. We see his eye run up and down the unseen figure of Mary.

Mary, just slipping into a robe, covering her complete nudity.

NORMAN

He turns from the hole, faces us for a moment, continues turning until he can look out the small parlor window. We see, as he sees ...

NORMAN

He turns his face away, quickly, resentfully. In his face we see anger and anguish. And then resolve. Quickly, precisely, he rehangs the picture over the hole in the wall, turns, starts out of the parlor. We see him go through the office and out onto the porch, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

Norman walking along the porch, in the direction of the big house. Once on the path he pauses, looks up at the light in the bedroom window, then pulls himself up, squares his shoulders, strides manfully up the path. CAMERA follows behind him. He opens the door of the house, enters. We see him pause at the foot of the stairway, look up at the bedroom door just at the head of the stair. He holds for a moment, and then his resolve and courage evaporates. His shoulders slump, sadly, mournfully. He by-passes the stairs and slowly makes his way to the kitchen. At the far end of the hall. He enters the kitchen, drops wearily into a chair. After a moment, he stretches out a leg and gently pushes the kitchen door closed.

Mary is seated at the small desk, engrossed in figuring in a small notebook. We see from these figures a calculation which indicates her intention to make a restitution of the money she has used of the forty thousand dollars. We see, too, her bankbook. The paper reads thus: top figure, 40,000; directly beneath it 500, the amount used for the new car; total after subtraction, 39,500. In another spot we see a figure which matches the balance in her bankbook; 624.00. Beneath this is the figure 500, and the amount after subtraction, 124.00. She studies the figures, sighs, not wearily but with a certain satisfaction, with the pleasure that comes when one knows that at any cost one is going to continue doing the right thing. After a moment she tears the page out of the notebook and, rising, begins to rip it into small pieces. She goes into the bathroom, drops the pieces into the toilet bowl, flushes the toilet. Then she drops her robe and steps into the tub and turns the shower on.

Over the bar on which hangs the shower curtain, we can see the bathroom door, not entirely closed. For a moment we watch Mary as she washes and soaps herself. There is still a small worry in her eyes, but generally she looks somewhat relieved.

Now we see the bathroom door being pushed slowly open. The noise of the shower drowns out any sound. The door is then slowly and carefully closed. And we see the shadow of a woman fall across the shower curtain. Mary's back is turned to the curtain. The white brightness of the bathroom is almost blinding. Suddenly we see the hand reach up, grasp the shower curtain, rip it aside.

As she turns in response to the feel and SOUND of the shower curtain being torn aside. A look of pure horror erupts in her face. A low terrible groan begins to rise up out of her throat. A hand comes into the shot. The hand holds an enormous bread knife. The flint of the blade shatters the screen to an almost total, silver blankness.

An impression of a knife slashing, as if tearing at the very screen, ripping the film. Over it the brief gulps of screaming. And then silence. And then the dreadful thump as Mary's body falls in the tub.

The blank whiteness, the blur of the shower water, the hand pulling the shower curtain back. We catch one flicker of a glimpse of the murderer. A woman, her face contorted with madness, her head wild with hair, as if she were wearing a fright-wig. And then we see only the curtain, closed across the tub, and hear the rush of the shower water. Above the shower-bar we see the bathroom door open again and after a moment we HEAR the SOUND of the front door slamming.

Lying half in, half out of the tub, the head tumbled over, touching the floor, the hair wet, one eye wide open as if popped, one arm lying limp and wet along the tile floor. Coming down the side of the tub, running thick and dark along the porcelain, we see many small threads of blood. CAMERA FOLLOWS away from the body, travels slowly across the bathroom, past the toilet, out into the bedroom. As CAMERA approaches the bed, we see the folded newspaper as Mary placed it on the bedside table.

beside the bed. The CAMERA now moves away over to the window and looks up to the house, and as it gets there we HEAR, coming from within the house, the SOUND of Norman's fearful, shocked voice.

We cannot entirely distinguish these exclamations. After a moment or two of silence, Norman emerges from the front door, dashes down the path toward the motel.

Norman is coming AT CAMERA, running head-on. He dashes into an extreme close up and we see the terror and fear ripe in his face. CAMERA PANS as Norman races past, holds as Norman runs to the porch and quickly along it and directly to Mary's room.

Norman pauses a moment in the doorway, glances about the room, hears the shower going, sees the bathroom door is open. He goes to the bathroom, looks in, sees the body. Slowly, almost carefully, he raises his hands to his face, covers his eyes, turns his face away. Then he crosses to the window, looks out at the house. Shot is so angled that we see the bedside table with the newspaper on it.

After a moment, Norman moves from the window, sinks onto the edge of the bed.

Norman sitting on bed, the bathroom in b.g. of shot. We can see only the hand of the dead girl, lying along the tile floor. Norman presses his eyes, fights to find a way out of his dilemma. Slowly, a kind of settling comes upon him, the peace that comes with decision.

Norman rises, goes to the window, looks out, and then, with resolution, closes the window and draws the curtain across it. Then he crosses to the front window, facing the porch, and draws those curtains closed. Then he switches off the bedroom light, leaving the room lit only by the spill from the bathroom. He opens the front door, goes out.

Norman comes out of Mary's cabin, closes the door carefully behind him, goes along the porch to his office, goes in. We stay outside. Immediately, the "Vacancy" sign goes off, and then the motel sign goes off. As CAMERA GOES closer to the office, the lights within go off and we HEAR a closet door opening and then the SOUND of a pail being picked up. Norman comes out of office, closes door, looks cautiously about, goes along porch, carrying pail with mop in it, goes into Mary's cabin, closing the door after him.

With the paper in the foreground, Norman enters. We can see him in the dim spill of light. He pauses by the door, then gathers his strength and goes into the bathroom. We HEAR him set the pail on the tiled floor, and then we HEAR the shower being turned off. And there is total silence. CAMERA MOVES FORWARD so that we can see into bathroom.

CAMERA is ANGLED that we see Norman only from the waist up. Quickly and deftly he unhooks the shower curtain, emerges with it into the bedroom. CAMERA PANS down and we see him spread the shower curtain on the bedroom floor, just outside the bathroom door. He spreads the curtain so that one end of it comes up against the bathroom threshold and slightly over and onto the tile floor. Again he goes into the bathroom and CAMERA TILTS up so that we see only the upper half of Norman. He works carefully, with his arms extended away from his body, slowly pulls the dead body out of the tub, drags it across the tile floor and onto the spread-out shower curtain in the bedroom. Having arranged the body, he straightens up, examines his hands, sees bloodstains on them. He returns to the bathroom, goes to the hand- basin.

We see his hands being washed, see the bloodstains being diluted and washed away by the gush of the faucet water.

NORMAN

We see Norman shake his hands free of the water, then turn to the job of cleaning the bathroom.

He places the pail in the tub, runs water into it, dips the mop in, swabs the tile floor. With a towel he wipes off the wall over the tub and the edges and sides of the tub and even the shower curtain rod. Then he takes a second towel and goes over the cleaned areas, carefully drying them. Finally he rinses and squeezes out the mop, empties the pail, cleans out the tub, and goes out into the bedroom.

Norman steps carefully around the unseen body, crosses to the desk, starts going through Mary's handbag, in search of her car keys. He suddenly notices them lying on the desk, where he'd thrown them after parking her car. He picks up the keys, crosses the room, goes out.

We see Norman pauses at the door, check cautiously, then hurry across the porch and into Mary's car. He circle- turns the car, so that its trunk is backed up to the porch, directly opposite Mary's door, as close as it can go.

Then he alights, goes to the trunk, opens it with the key and, leaving the trunk lid raised, goes back into the cabin.

From a raised angle, we see Norman bend down and begin to wrap the shower curtain around the body. We see the edges of the curtain as they are raised and laid down again. Then he picks up the wrapped body, crosses to the door, uses his foot to pull the door open, and, leaving the door open behind him, goes quickly across the porch and gently lays the body in the trunk. He closes the lid then, but does not lock it. He comes back into the cabin, closes the door completely, flicks on the light.

Again the newspaper is in the foreground. For a moment he pauses, closes his eyes against the realization of what he is doing, then quickly pushes all thoughts away, continues with his work. With the room lighted, he now proceeds to gather up all Mary's articles and toss them into the suitcase. He checks all drawers and the closet, gets down and checks under bed and bureau, goes into the bathroom, checks that room again, comes back into the bedroom, looks about carefully, spots Mary's handbag, throws even that into the suitcase, is finally satisfied that all traces of the girl are gone from the room. Then he closes Mary's suitcase, picks it up. With his free hand he picks up the pail, in which are the mop and the used towels. He crosses to the door, switches off the light with his shoulder, pulls open the door, starts out.

As Norman stands in the doorway, he is suddenly and blindingly lit by the bright headlights of a passing car. The flash of the lights and the SOUND of the SPEEDING CAR are over in a flicker of a moment, but it takes a few seconds for Norman to regain his former tense composure. Then he goes to the car trunk, raises it with his foot, throws the suitcase and the pail into it, slams it shut. He pauses a moment, then realizes he has left the bathroom light on in Mary's cabin. He returns to cabin. As he enters, his eye is caught by the newspaper on the bedside table. He goes to it, takes the newspaper, and looks once again into the bathroom. His glance goes right over the toilet bowl. He turns out the lights, crosses the darkened cabin, goes out onto the porch.

He reopens the trunk, tosses in the newspaper and closes it. He goes around and jumps into the car and starts away.

We HOLD on the trunk, follow it for a while, then

The car pulls away from a CLOSE ANGLE on the trunk and as CAMERA HOLDS we see that we are now in a swamp area. It is quiet except for the irritating noises of night insects. Norman stops the car at the very edge of the swamp, turns off the lights, gets out, leaving door open. He looks at the swamp, seems doubtful of its ability to swallow up the car, realizes he has no choice. He leans into the car, releases the emergency brake, starts to push. The front of the car begins to roll into the swamp. Suddenly there is the LOW, THROBBING SOUND of a motor. Norman freezes, listens. The SOUND grows louder and Norman realizes it is an airplane flying overhead. The car is rolling quickly now. Norman jumps away, slams the door shut, stands tense. The SOUND of the plane overhead grows louder. Norman looks up.

We see no plane. The SOUND of the motor is beginning to diminish.

NORMAN

We see the relief in his face. He looks at the car. More than two-thirds of it have already sunk into the swamp. The trunk alone seems to hold poised above the sand and slime, as if refusing to go the rest of the way. Norman begins to panic, he steps dangerously close, pushes with his foot. And slowly the car sinks, until finally it is gone and we hear only the gentle plop of the swamp's final gulp, and see only the small after-bubble, like a visual burp.

Norman waits a moment, then begins stamping out the tire marks, so obvious in the wet ground around the swamp. He stamps and drags his feet over the markings as we:

standing on the porch of the motel, leaning against a post. He is staring out into the night, a look of guarded, casual innocence on his face, as if he were taking one last moment of peaceful night air before retiring. Then he glances down and CAMERA follows his gaze. A hose is lying on the ground outside Mary's cabin, its stream of water obliterating the tire marks. After a moment, Norman's hand comes into shot, picks up hose, places it in a new position. As CAMERA PULLS BACK, we see that the water from the hose has erased and rearranged the road markings so that it would be impossible to tell that a car had been parked here. After a short wait, Norman goes to the hose-faucet, turns it off, unscrews the hose. As he rolls the hose, he walks away from the spot, past the office, heading for the path that leads to the house. He goes up the path, pauses at the steps of the house, tosses the curled hose onto the lawn, goes up the steps and into the house. CAMERA FOLLOWS him in, PAUSES as he pauses at the foot of the stairs. Norman goes up the stairs. On the landing he stops. The door to his mother's room is closed. Lying in a heap outside the door are a blood- stained dress and a pair of elderly-woman's shoes.

From an EXTREMELY HIGH ANGLE, we look down on Norman as he bends to pick up the stained dress and shoes.

He rolls the shoes into the dress, tucks the small, neat bundle under his arm, and starts down the stairs, heading for the basement.

It stands silhouetted against the sky. There is a long wait. Then, slowly, a curl of smoke comes out of the chimney.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

Sam is seated at his desk, writing a letter. Sequence begins with CAMERA IN CLOSE, over Sam's shoulder, and we can read as mush as he has written of the letter. The letterhead reads "Sam Loomis - Hardware," and the letter reads:

"Dearest right-as-always Mary:

I'm sitting in this tiny back room which isn't big enough for both of us, and suddenly it looks big enough for both of us. So what if we're poor and cramped and miserable, at least we'll be happy! If you haven't come to your senses, and still want to ...

CAMERA begins PULLING AWAY as Sam turns the sheet of paper over, continues backing away out of the small back room and heads, backwards, down the corridor, we see a young clerk, BOB SUMMERFIELD, Sam's assistant, standing behind the counter, a look of handsome patience on his face. He is waiting on a meticulous, elderly woman customer, who is holding and examining a large can of insecticide. As CAMERA PASSES:

CAMERA, by this has reached the front door of the hardware store and we now see a girl standing just inside the door. She is an attractive girl with a rather definite manner, a look of purposefulness. She carries a handbag and a small overnight case. She is Mary's sister, LILA CRANE.

Bob Summerfield has noticed Lila, smiles brightly at her, gives her an I'll-be-with-you-in-a-moment nod. Lila starts to walk toward the counter, never taking her eyes off Bob. As she approaches, she asks quietly:

Lila looks to the back room. The woman customer goes on worriedly examining the fine print of the insecticide can. Sam comes to the door of his room, pauses, looks at Lila a moment, starts toward her, his expression indicating that he does not know her. Lila studies him with a quiet, worried expression.

Lila glances at the customer and the clerk, turns, starts toward the front of the store. Sam holds a moment, then follows. As he reaches her, she turns, her eyes studying him intently as she says:

Sam is mystified, and is also aware of the worried, hostile expression on Lila's face. He studies her for a quiet moment. Behind them is a display of various size carving knives.

As Sam is about to speak, the Woman Customer comes sailing past, speaking as she goes and wearing a satisfied smile.

She speaks "quick" with a kind of delicious bite, nods happily, goes on out of the store. Sam is now staring apprehensively at Lila.

She stops, the anxiety and fear building up in her, her eyes beginning to fill with worried tears. Sam studies her for a moment, then turns and calls:

Bob gets the message, goes out through the back way. Sam goes closer to Lila, speaks with soft seriousness.

Their attention is distracted by a man who has strolled quietly into the room. He ignores them, walks past them, goes behind the counter, takes down a sign reading "CLOSED FOR LUNCH," walks back to the door, closes door, hangs the sign across the door window, locks the door, turns to Sam and Lila, folds his arms, smiles a particularly unfriendly smile.

There is a moment's silence and then, unable to tolerate the sudden frightening happenings, Sam explodes.

Sam looks at Arbogast in utter shock and in that state asks one of those seemingly ridiculous questions.

A real look of anguish comes into Lila's face. And Arbogast studies it, then speaks.

Lila turns from Sam, a flush of guilt and regret in her face. Arbogast looks at her, quiet sympathetically.

He nods, takes down the closed-for-lunch sign, sails it to the counter, opens door, goes out into the street. After a quiet moment:

He hangs the sign on the door, ushers Lila out, closes door behind him.

They emerge from the store and walk along to the hotel. As they enter, Arbogast is in the act of taking over a white Ford sedan from a rental car man. They glance at him and he returns a cynical look.

Outside another hotel we see Arbogast alight from the white car and go into new hotel.

The white car speeding along the highway.

Arbogast going into the office - we see the sign above him.

A high shot showing the freeway and Bates house and motel on the side old highway. A pause and then across the bottom of the picture a white car speeds by on the freeway.

Another Hotel. Arbogast goes in.

The white car speeding along the freeway again going in the opposite direction to last time. Norman, a tiny figure, is seen going up the steps to his mother's house.

Arbogast's search is getting down in the scale. This is an entrance to a cheesy boarding house. "Rooms to Rent," etc. He looks at his list and then goes in.

The white car goes by on the freeway again.

Arbogast goes in.

Heavy traffic on the freeway. A beat or two - again the white car. It slows up opposite the distant motel. It makes a turn and goes back out of scene. A pause and it reappears on the old road and slowly makes its way toward the Bates' Motel.

We now see Norman. He has brought out an old rocking chair and has placed it on the office porch and is sitting hunched in it. And he is darning one of his own socks. CAMERA HOLDS. Beyond the porch, and Norman, we see the old house and can barely make out, in the twilight dimness, the figure of his mother seated at the window. Here, too, there is that quality of quiet peace surrounded by a vague foreboding.

Now Norman looks up at the SOUND of the approaching car. And continues looking as the car comes to a stop and Arbogast gets out. Arbogast gives the place a quick once-over, gazes at Norman, starts forward. In his steps and manner there is that bored, routine-logged quality of a man who has seen too many motels and asked question of too many hotel managers over too short a period of time.

Norman rises as Arbogast comes forward.

Norman is holding the door open, so Arbogast walks in. Norman follows.

Norman switches on the overhead light, starts for the linen closet, suddenly pauses, turns, studies Arbogast, who has remained standing by the door.

He waits a moment, then opens closet, starts counting out sheets and pillow cases, keeps his back to Arbogast. Arbogast takes a photograph out of his pocket, talks as he crosses to Norman.

Norman glances, briefly, turns away, lifts sheets and pillow cases off the shelf holds them close, almost protectively.

He goes to the wall, flips a light switch.

Norman says nothing. Arbogast goes to the desk, pulls the registry book around, flips back a page or two. Norman simply stares at the man. Arbogast hums faintly, pleasantly, as he examines the pages. Then:

He takes a slip of paper out of his pocket, lays it beside the signature in the registry book, all the while nodding and smiling nicely, as if this discovery will make Norman as happy as it is making him.

Arbogast has reached him, the picture extended. Norman looks dutifully at it.

He starts out. Arbogast pauses, momentarily confused by the young man's openness.

Norman walks down the porch, hesitates before Cabin One, walks on a bit toward Cabin Two, stops, turns to see if Arbogast is following. Arbogast has come out onto the porch, but is not following. He has walked to the opposite end of the porch and is standing at its edge, looking up at the old house. The upstairs window is in darkness. The neon of the Vacancy and Motel signs splash strange light over the scene.

Arbogast does not reply. Norman becomes apprehensive, starts to Arbogast, forcing himself to remain calm and cheerful.

Arbogast turns, gazes seriously at him.

Norman does not respond. Arbogast gets in his car, starts the motor. Norman looks up, studies the man's face, his own face showing apprehension. Arbogast backs the car around very slowly, his gaze divided between the old house and the lighted window of Cabin Two. As he turns the car out, his headlights light up the porch. Norman stands, watching him drive away.

The car pulls up and Arbogast gets out of car, leaving motor running. As he starts to walk across the highway, CAMERA PULLS AWAY and we

Arbogast gets to the phone booth, enters. CAMERA STARTS FORWARD, and we see Arbogast remove a small notebook from his pocket, check on a number, drop a dime in the slot and dial this number. As we reach phone booth,

He hangs up, gets out of the phone booth.

A distant view of the House and Motel. There is a light on in the house. There is also a light on in Norman's office. We see Norman emerge from his office and move along the porch toward the distant cabins. He carries sheets on his arm. He goes into the last cabin and switches the light on. Into the foreground the hood of the white Ford enters the scene and stops. Arbogast gets out. He goes over to the Motel office.

Arbogast goes in.

Arbogast looks around the empty office and calls.

He goes over to the door to the parlor and enters. He looks around the bird-ridden room. He stops short as he sees:

goes over to it. He finds it unlocked. With a quick, cautious look around he opens it.

straightens up and goes out.

Arbogast comes out and looks off. He sees:

The door ajar.

would go along but he stops with a new thought. He turns around and looks off.

comes to a decision. He goes off.

dashes up the stone steps to the House.

CAMERA HOLDS as Arbogast goes up onto the porch. The house is dark within except, as wee can now see, for a faint spill of light in the foyer, light which comes from the upstairs hall. Arbogast goes to the living room window, looks in, sees only darkness. Then he goes to the door, listens for along moment, hears nothing. Very slowly, almost painfully, he turns the knob of the door and pushes gently with his arm and shoulder. The door begins to open. He allows it to open just enough for him to slip through and into the foyer.

Arbogast gradually eases the door closed, stands against it, waiting. He looks up in the direction of the light, sees no one. The door at the head of the stairs is closed. Arbogast listens, holds his breath, hears what could be human sounds coming from upstairs but realizes these could also be the sounds of an old house after sunset. After a careful wait, he crosses to the stairs, starts up, slowly, guardedly, placing a foot squarely on each step to test it for squeaks or groans before placing his full weight on it. CAMERA FOLLOWS, remaining on floor level but TRAVELLING ALONG the stairway as Arbogast makes his way up.

We see Arbogast coming up the stairs. And now we see, too, the door of the mother's room, opening, carefully and slowly.

As Arbogast reaches the landing, the door opens and the mother steps out, her hand raises high, the blade of an enormous knife flashing.

The knife slashes across his cheek and neck. Blood spurts. The sudden attack throws him off balance. He stumbles back and staggers down the whole of the staircase. He frantically gropes for the balustrade as he goes backwards down the stairs. The CAMERA FOLLOWS him all the way. A wicked knife keeps thrusting itself into the foreground. As he collapses at the bottom, the black head and shoulders of Mrs. Bates plunges into the foreground as the CAMERA MOVES IN to contain the raising and descending murder weapon.

FADE IN:

Lila is sitting close by the phone, and looks as if she hasn't moved from it in the last hour. Sam is pacing, occasionally stopping at the window, glancing out, pacing again. The ash tray close to Lila is filled. There is a thick atmosphere of smoke, tension and weariness in the small, otherwise cozy room.

Sam stares at her, frowns in concern over her very real anxiety, goes to the phone, dials operator.

He presses down the receiver, releases it, dials Bates' Motel. The faint other-end ringing tones can be heard, repeatedly, annoyingly. He waits.

He starts for the door. Lila follows after him into the store.

He pauses halfway down, turns, puts his hands on her arms.

He hurries down to the street door and out. CAMERA HOLDS on Lila as she stares after Sam. As she stands alone in the darkened store, all the hardware seems to take on sinister shapes.

Among some bathroom fittings a nozzle from a shower falls onto the floor.

Lila turns and picks if from the floor and puts it back in its place. She turns and again looks to the deserted street with a touch of anxiety. She gives a slight unconscious shiver.

Tell and lonely still against the moonlight, the figure of Norman, silhouetted. He doesn't move, merely stands there at the edge of the swamp, staring down at the now calm and quiet face of it.

All light are out, except the light in Norman's mother's room. And her figure can be seen sitting in the window, relaxed in a high-back chair, her face turned into the room. After a second, we hear the SOUND OF A MOTOR, and then Sam's small pick-up truck swings into the driveway.

Sam stops the motor, automatically switches off headlights, pauses as he observes the silence and darkness of the area. Then he hops out of the cab, goes quickly to the office, knocks on the door. As he waits for a response, he looks down the long porch, studies the darkened cabins, knocks again, louder, looks in the other direction and sees the house and the figure at the one lit window. He stares a moment then calls loudly:

The silhouette of Norman. He is still. Over shot, very dimly, comes the SOUND OF SAM'S VOICE, calling again for Arbogast.

Norman turns slowly until, in silhouette, we see his profile, his chin lowered furtively as he looks over his shoulder in the direction of the house. There is silence for a moment, and then again the SOUND of Sam POUNDING at the door.

The store is in darkness, only the glow from the back room spilling in.

With CAMERA placed with its back to the street door, we can see the distant tiny figure of Lila seated and waiting in the back room beyond. There is a SOUND of a car pulling up. The tiny figure jumps up and runs all the way from the back room down the aisle of hardware and comes into a BIG HEAD. We see Lila's desperate anxious look.

From her viewpoint we see Sam alighting from his truck and coming toward the door of the store. He enters. He and Lila exchange quiet glances.

Lila goes quiet. Sam starts toward the back room, pauses at the doorway, turns. Lila has remained by the door, looking out at the street. She feels his pause, turns, and for a moment they share at each other across the darkened room.

As he starts forward.

A dark, quiet, tree-ceilinged street, the small neat houses dim in the moonlight. Sam's pick-up truck comes down the street, pulls up before the house of Sheriff Chambers. CAMERA MOVES IN on Sam and Lila as they remain for a moment in the truck's cab, staring quietly at the sleeping house.

He gets out of cab, goes around to help Lila. She is already out. CAMERA FOLLOWS them up the small path to the front door. Sam presses the bell button. Both he and Lila are almost knocked over by the shocking, clanging, ear-splitting BLAST OF THE BELL within the house, a ring which sounds more like a fire alarm than a doorbell.

He tries to smile, fails. Lila doesn't even try. The downstairs hall light goes on and a moment later the door is unhesitatingly opened by MRS. CHAMBERS, a small, lively stick of a woman wrapped in a thick flannel robe and a corona of hospitality.

As she opens the door wide,

Fat roses splatter the wallpaper. The stairs are carpeted. The lighting is bright.

There is a perfectly fitting wall phone by the parlor arch. Mrs. Chambers goes to the stairway, yells up.

Sam is about to close the door behind him. Mrs. Chambers motions for him not to, scurries across the hall, leans outside, presses the doorbell. The RING within the house is even more shattering. She closes the door, starts to the stairway, pauses as the SOUNDS of movement above COME OVER SHOT.

SHERIFF CHAMBERS comes down the stairs, in a bathrobe which matches his wife's. He is a tall, narrow man with a face originally destined for Mount Rushmore. He nods at Sam, looks at him with wide-awake eyes and a no- nonsense concern.

Mrs. Chambers goes to phone, dials operator.

She hands the receiver to the Sheriff. He takes it, reluctantly, listens to the dim sound of RINGING on the other end. After a moment:

The Sheriff looks long at Lila, shakes his head sympathetically.

There is a long silence. Sam and Lila stare at the Sheriff.

The Sheriff stares at both of them, and when he finally speaks there is an almost inaudible tone or irony in his voice.

Norman sits in the dim, one-lamp light, the phone next to him, his hand still near it as if he had not been able to move his hand after hanging up. He is staring at the shrike-like bird which is perched on the lamp shade. Decision and resolution are beginning to show in his face. Suddenly he rises, starts quickly out of the room, tries to switch off the lamp as he goes and in so doing succeeds only in knocking the bird off the shade. He watches it fall, does not try to catch it. It hits the floor with a thud and sawdust spills out. He stares sadly at it, for a moment, then tends down, scoops up the sawdust, tries to press it into the split seam, picks up the bird, puts it in a drawer. Then he puts out the lamp, goes out, crosses the darkened office and goes outside.

Norman comes off the porch, walks to the path and directly up to the house, opens the door and goes in.

Norman goes up, pauses one moment outside his mother's door, then opens it and goes in, leaving the door open. For a moment we hear only Norman's low, quiet voice, his words indistinguishable. Then we hear the cold shot of his mother's derisive laughter.

During all this the CAMERA has been slowly creeping up the stairs. It does not stop at the top however, but continues on the same high angle that we had in Scene 57.

She starts to laugh, a terrible sound like an obscene melody.

Norman comes out of the room, his mother held in his arms, her head leaning against his shoulder. He carries her down the stairs, along the lower landing to the cellar stairs, and then down those stairs to the basement.

An overcast morning, but a sunny-faced crowd. The service is just over, there is contentment, and peace, and just a little I-went-to-church-smugness in the faces of the churchgoers as they come out of the chapel, and spread their separate ways away.

Amongst the crowd, waiting and searching the faces, are Sam and Lila. In their expressions there is no peace, no contentment. CAMERA MOVES IN CLOSE. They are not speaking. Lila looks as if she has had no sleep. Suddenly, Sam becomes alert, takes Lila's arm, starts toward the church.

CAMERA MOVES WITH THEM, stops as they approach Sheriff and Mrs. Chambers. The Sheriff stares rather sympathetically at Lila. Mrs. Chambers smiles nicely.

He moves away and the others follow. CAMERA PANS them to the curb.

She smiles brightly, as if having invited them over to discuss this year's charity fandango, takes the Sheriff's arm, starts away. The Sheriff nods as he goes.

Sam and Lila are alone now, at the curb, before the deserted chapel. For a long moment they just stand there, their faces as gray and overcast as the sky.

Sam takes her arm, starts walking her up the street toward the spot where his pick-up truck is parked. CAMERA FOLLOWS them.

Lila does not answer. They reach the truck. Lila looks directly at Sam as he helps her into the cab.

He slams the door, hurries around truck, gets into driver's seat, starts motor. As the truck drives off,

For a moment, both are silent; Sam watching the road as if there were other cars on it, Lila staring at nothing in particular, except perhaps her own inner fear.

Sam looks as if he'd like to say something humorous, something to cheer her. He cannot. He remains silent.

Lila looks quizzically at him, is too concerned to pursue it.

Sam slows the truck to a stop, sighs, starts to light up a cigarette. Lila looks questioningly and impatiently at him.

As truck starts to drive on,

The place is empty and silent and washed dirty by the deep gray of the cloudy sky. We see Sam's truck turning into the driveway and pulling to a stop. After a moment, Sam and Lila get out of the truck.

Close on Sam and Lila as they meet on the porch side of the truck. The motel office and the house beyond can be seen in b.g. of shot. Sam and Lila merely stare for a moment, then turn and gaze up at the house. There is no figure in the window and the shade is drawn. Same goes to the office door, peers in, knocks, opens door, enters. Lila remains on the driveway, beside the truck.

Close angle on Norman standing by the window. He has pulled the curtains very slightly apart, is staring out and down at the motel, his eyes studying the lone figure of Lila, who is standing by the truck and looking up at the house. Norman studies her, and as her eyes look up at this very window he closes the curtains, turns away. We see the suspicion and fear in his face, the surge of panic and his struggle to contain it. Then he goes away. CAMERA remains on window, shooting out and down, and through the frail curtains we can see Sam as he comes out of the motel office and joins Lila.

Sam takes Lila's arm.

He starts with her toward the path which leads to the old house. CAMERA PANS with them, and as they turn around the office corner, they see Norman coming down the path toward them. They pause and Norman pauses. He does not smile, nor speak. His usual grin and soft friendliness are gone; containment and impassivity lie in their place.

Norman walks past Sam, giving him the sort of quick, disapproving glance one gives a man who is obviously lying, goes onto the porch and into the office. Sam and Lila follow Norman.

Norman crosses to the desk, goes behind it, takes the key to cabin number twelve off the keyboard. Sam and Lila have entered and are almost to the desk-counter by this time.

Sam eyes scan the counter, looking for a registration book.

Norman stares at Sam, as if he'd like to yell at him, call him "liar." Instead he reaches under the desk counter, brings out the registration book. Lila moves closer, studies the book as Sam signs in. Sam signs "Joe and Mrs. Johnson." The signature and city of "Marie Samuels" and after it, the notation "Cabin One," can be clearly seen three registrations above Sam's. When Sam has finished he closes book, hands it back to Norman. Norman does not take it, starts out from behind counter.

As he starts for the door, Sam laughs. Norman stops, turns, looks at him.

Sam smiles as if at a funny remark, takes a bill out of his pocket.

Norman returns to Sam, takes the extended bill, is about to start out again.

Norman goes reluctantly behind counter, lays down the key to cabin twelve, takes a receipt book out of the drawer under counter, starts to write. Lila steps up to the desk, picks up the key, quickly, starts out.

Norman looks up, gazes her as she goes out door.

Lila comes along the porch, pauses before cabin one, tries the door. It opens. She closes it quickly as she hears Sam and Norman coming out of the motel office, continues on down the porch.

He goes on down the porch, doesn't even glance at cabin one, walks quickly and catches up to Lila just as she reaches cabin twelve. CAMERA REMAINS with Norman, who is standing by the office door, looking after Sam and Lila, his face alert and no longer impassive. He waits a moment, after they have closed their cabin door, then crosses to the pickup truck. CAMERA MOVES with him. He studies the truck, then leans in through the driver's window, twists the registration card around, reads it. It gives the correct name and address of Sam Loomis. Norman comes back out of the window, glances once more toward cabin twelve, then at the old house. His suspicions are confirmed, and now there is the relaxation of relief in his face. He takes on a purposeful air, turns, strides up the path, up onto the porch of the house, opens the door, goes in.

Lila is at the cabin's rear window, looking out, straining for a glimpse of the old house, which cannot be seen from the window of this cabin.

She turns, frustrated, anxious. Sam is standing at the foot of the bed, staring at the smooth coverlet, his brow creased in a sadness.

He pulls his eyes from the bed, crosses to the desk, sits wearily, lights a cigarette. Lila watches him for a moment, feels a real compassion, goes to the bed, sits on its edge, turns again and looks at Sam's back.

Sam considers a moment, nods agreement, rises.

He goes to the door, opens it slightly, looks out, then, back to Lila:

Lila goes to the door. He holds it open and she goes out.

Sam closes the door, joins Lila, takes her hand. Together they walk along the porch in the direction of Cabin One. CAMERA FOLLOWS. They pause before the door of Cabin One. Sam motions Lila to wait, to hold still, then goes on to the office, opens the door, calls in:

He waits, there is no response. He goes in and in a moment comes back out, closes the door, goes to Lila. She has already opened the door of Cabin One and has started to enter.

The blinds are closed and the room is almost night-dark. Sam comes in after Lila, closes the door behind him. For a moment they just gaze at the room, as if willing it to tell them some satisfactory story.

Neither speaks. Then, in dark silence, they begin to search, going methodically and thoroughly through all drawers, the closet, the desk, searching under the bed and in dark corners, not knowing what they expect to find and yet expecting to find some thing. Lila opens the bathroom door, looks in. The windowless room is very dark. She switches on the light, goes in. Sam moves toward the bathroom, is about to follow her in when he notices which room it is and automatically catches himself up, backs out.

Sam goes in, glances around, nods. Lila goes through the medicine cabinet, finds nothing but a glass and two tiny tabs of soap. Sam leans against the door-jamb, looks at the tub, the shower pipe above it. He continues to stare, more interested suddenly, as if bothered by some off-key evidence he can't put his finger on. Then he looks at the shower curtain rod. And realizes there is no shower curtain. He frowns, is about to say something when Lila, who has been momentarily out of shot, interrupts.

Sam turns, CAMERA TURNS, and we see Lila is standing above the toilet bowl, a tiny piece of wet paper stuck to the tip of her right index finger.

Sam lifts the piece of paper off her finger, studies it, takes out his wallet, presses the wet scrap to his driver's license shield, puts it back in the wallet and puts the wallet away.

She starts out of the bathroom. Sam takes hold of her arm, stops her.

CAMERA STARTS TO PAN AWAY from them, moves slowly over the room, very slowly.

CAMERA HAS PANNED clear across to the opposite wall now, and is moving up closer and closer to the tiny-flowered wall paper, finally closing in on one small rosebud.

Now we see that the rosebud has been cut out, that this is the reverse side of the hole Norman peeped through to watch Mary. And we see the pupil of Norman's eye now.

The eye moves away and there is a brief flash of light before the hole is covered, on the other side, by the wall-hung painting.

They are about to start out. Sam stops her again.

Lila nods quickly, hurries to the door. Sam gets to it first, opens it a slight crack, looks out, then opens it wide enough for Lila and Himself to pass through.

Angle close on cabin one as Lila comes out, turns to her left, goes along porch toward cabin twelve. Sam remains at the door, then turns right, heading for the path. As he passes the office, he is shocked to see Norman standing just inside the open door.

Sam starts into the office. Just before going in, he glances down the long porch, sees Lila standing outside the door of cabin twelve, waves her a tiny "all clear" signal.

LILA

CAMERA ANGLES to include Lila and her point of view. She watches Sam disappear into the office, waits until she hears the door close, then looks about for another way to reach the house. She sees the small alley at the end of this L of cabins, starts toward it.

Behind the motel Lila hesitates. She looks ahead.

The old house standing against the sky.

Lila moves forward.

The CAMERA approaching the house.

Lila glances toward the back of Norman's parlor. She moves on.

The house coming nearer.

Lila looks up at the house. She moves forward purposefully.

The house and the porch.

Lila stops at the house and looks up. She glances back. She turns to the house again.

The CAMERA MOUNTS the steps to the porch.

Lila puts out her hand.

Lila's hand pushes the door open. We see the hallway. Lila ENTERS PAST CAMERA.

Lila closes the door, remains by it for a moment, quiet, listening. Her eyes scan the layout, the closed door which leads off the hallway, to the dining room on the right and the parlor on the left. Down at the end of the hall is the kitchen, the door wide open, the room beyond dim and silent. She notices the stairs leading down to the basement, stares at them, then back to the stairs leading to the second floor. She starts forward, and seems about to investigate the parlor and dining room.

Norman is behind the counter, standing, staring at Sam who is sitting relaxedly on a small sofa. Norman has the look of one who is protecting himself, as if the counter were a protective wall against the threatening world across it.

Lila is halfway up the stairs. As she climbs she is startled by the creaks and groans of the old wood of the steps. She steps more carefully. CAMERA remains at foot of stair, TILTING UP as Lila climbs. She pauses at the head of the stair. The door on her right, which opens into the mother's room, is closed. To her left is another door, half-open. Directly before her is a third door, closed. She holds a long moment, trying to picture in her mind which room would look out on the front of the house, decides, chooses the correct door, the one on her right. She goes to it, knocks lightly.

We hear Lila's second knock, then, faintly, her soft call.

There is quiet for a moment, then the door begins to open, and we see Lila. She stands on the threshold, looking in at the room, instantly disturbed by it, almost chilled, her expression indicating an impulse to close the door and go away from this room forever. After a moment, she enters, leaving the door open behind her. CAMERA PULLS BACK AND AWAY and we now see the room as Lila sees it.

It is ornate, damask-and-mahogany, thick and warm and ripe, an olla podrida of mismated furnishings and bric-a- brac of the last century. The bed is four poster, but uncanopled; the dressing table is fancy and flounced with satin; there is a great chiffonier, a big-doored wardrobe, a large, oval, full-length pier-glass (this against the wall directly opposite the door), a satin recamier, an upholstered armchair by the window, a white marble fireplace, its grate cold but piled with ashes.

And there is in the room an unmistakably live quality, as if even though it is presently unoccupied, it has not been long vacated by some musty presence.

Lila glances at the bed. The damask coverlet is thrown over it, but it is not neat, there is the imprint of a body on it, a body which obviously has slept in a curled- up, womb-like position. Lila stares at it for a moment, then goes to the dressing table. Its top is scattered with boxes and jars of cosmetics and creams, traces of fresh powder, an opened bottle or perfume, a comb, and a brush with traces of hair in its bristles. Lila moves on, catches a glimpse of herself in the pier-glass, is startled, turns away, goes to the chiffonier, is about to open a drawer, sees the high wardrobe out of the corner of her eyes, goes to it, hesitantly. She opens one door. Fresh, clean, well pressed dresses hang neatly. Lila opens the other door. The sweaters and dresses and robes hang freely, none in moth-proof, storage-type bags. There is even a well-brushed collar of foxes. Along the floor of the wardrobe is a line of clean, polished shoes. Lila stares, then closes the door, turns, looks once again over the whole room, starts out,

Lila comes out of the mother's room, closes the door behind her, looks down the stairs, then starts across the hall to the room whose door is half-open. The room within is dark, the shades drawn full.

Lila pauses on the threshold, reaches in, feels the wall, throws on a switch.

Sam has risen, is standing by the counter now.

Norman snaps a sharp, fast, ugly look at him.

Lila is standing in the doorway, staring at the room in sick dismay. The room is grotesque, a horrible, ludicrous fantasy of childhood held beyond the point of decency.

It is a small room. The walls are fancied with romping silhouettes of teddy-bears and sailboats and carousels and fat cows jumping over aghast moons. The bed is small, far too short for a man of Norman's height. And yet the rumpled covers indicate that it is in this bed that Norman sleeps. Next to the bed is an old-fashioned toy chest. On its top there are a bird-in-a-cage lamp, a plain-bound book, and an ash tray filled with ashes and cigarette stubs. A grown man's shirt hangs on a child's clothes tree.

Against one wall there is a narrow, high bookcase filled with thick, unchildish-looking books. On the small, white chest of drawers there is an old, child's victrola. The record on the turntable is discovered, on close inspection, to be Beethoven's Eroica Symphony.

Lila studies the room, fascinated and repelled. She glances at the bookcase, comes into the room, goes to the bookcase and pulls out a thick, large, plain-bound book. She opens it. Her eyes go wide in shock. And then there is disgust. She slams the book closed, drops it.

Norman, behind the counter, has moved back against the wall. Sam is still on the other side of the counter, but is leaning forward, his eyes hard on Norman's face. Norman's face is no longer expressionless. It has the stark, high sheen of a cornered animal.

He is close to panic now. He turns, swiftly, dashes back into his private parlor. Sam goes quickly around the counter, follows.

Norman hears Sam following, wants to run, to never be reached by this man. He crosses the small room, drawn to the rear window, as if he might fly through it. Sam enters, pauses. Norman turns, back against the window, as unable to fly away as are the many still, stuffed birds. Sam registers a brief flicker of reaction when he sees the birds, but continues to gaze at Norman, hard.

Something self-assured and confident in Sam's tone gives Norman a new, more terrified alarm. He turns his head, glances out the window at the old house. He looks back at Sam and there is terror in his voice.

Sam does not respond, smiles a half-smile, turns to examine a stuffed owl. Norman looks back at the house.

Lila, shaken and disturbed, almost sickened, is coming out of Norman's room. She has left the light on. She pauses in the middle of the landing, looks at the closed door opposite the stairs, goes to it, opens it, sees that it is the bathroom, pulls the door to, turns, starts toward the stairs.

Sam is lying on the floor, face downward, unmoving. A candlestick is on the floor, close by his head, still rocking as if just dropped. OVER SHOT comes the SOUND of Norman's footsteps and CAMERA TURNS in time to catch a brief glimpse of him going out into the office, almost at a run.

Lila is on the top step, looking down toward CAMERA. She is listening, hoping to hear some human sound, some sound she might follow, pursue. She hears nothing. She starts down the stairs. Just below the halfway step, she looks at the front door, sees out through the door window:

Norman coming.

For a moment Lila panics, then she hurries down the steps, cannot go in the direction of the front door, remembers the stairway behind her, turns and runs in that direction. The SOUND of Norman bounding up the porch steps can be heard. Lila turns and dashes down the stairs which lead to the basement, going down far enough to conceal herself, crouching there.

Norman enters the hallway, closes the door softly, listens. He glances once in the direction of the basement stairs. He seems about to smile, when suddenly all expression vanishes from his face, and he appears to enter a no-place, no-time state. He crosses to the stairway, goes up.

Lila remains crouched on the basement stairs, listening to the SOUNDS of Norman. His footsteps on the stairs followed by the fast noises of doors opening, of fast moving about an upstairs room. Convinced that he is searching the upstairs for her, she decides to chance an escape. She starts up the steps, is about to turn into the hallway when her eye is caught by a glimmer of light down in the basement. She pauses, looks down, sees the crack of light coming from behind the not entirely closed door to the fruit cellar. The swift moving SOUNDS of Norman continue to come from upstairs.

Lila is torn, knows she should get out of the house while she has the chance, is unable to resist the impulse to check that hidden-looking room down below, a room in which, she desperately believes, there must lie some answer to what happened to Mary. She turns and goes softly and quickly down the stairs.

Lila reaches the bottom, stops, listens, hears the stairboards creaking as footsteps fall hard and measured upon them. She turns, pulls open the fruit cellar door, looks in. The woman is sitting in a comfortable chair, the back of the chair, and the woman, turned to the door. Lila calls a harsh, frightened whisper.

Lila goes into the room.

Lila goes to the chair, touches it. The touch disturbs the figure. It starts to turn, slowly, stiffly, a clock- wise movement. Lila looks at it in horror. It is the body of a woman long dead. The skin is dry and pulled away from the mouth and the teeth are revealed as in the skeleton's smile. The eyes are gone from their sockets, the bridge of the nose has collapsed, the hair is dry and wild, the cheeks are sunken, the leathery-brown skin is powdered and rouged and flaky. The body is dressed in a high-neck, clean, well-pressed dress, obviously recently laundered and hand-ironed.

The movement of this stuffed, ill-preserved cadaver, turning as if in response to Lila's call and touch, is actually graceful, ballet-like, and the effect is terrible and obscene.

Lila gazes for one flicker of a deathly moment, then begins to scream, a high, piercing, dreadful scream. And Lila's scream is joined by another scream, a more dreadful, horrifying scream which comes from the door behind her.

Lila turns.

NORMAN

His face is contorted. He wears a wild wig, a mockery of a woman's hair. He is dressed in a high-neck dress which is similar to that worn by the corpse of his mother. His hand is raised high, poised to strike at Lila. There is a long breadknife in it.

LILA

Close on her face. She is dumb-struck. Her eyes are screaming.

As he is about to start forward, a man's hand reaches in from the doorway behind, grabs Norman's wrist. Sam comes through the door, still holding tight to the wrist, pulling back the arm and at the same time throwing himself at Norman, football tackle style.

Norman and Sam, struggling. The wild fury in Norman's face, the mad noise of his screams and vile curses. The terrified, fight-to-the-death look of Sam. The still, staring Lila.

MRS. BATES

A close of her face, She appears to be watching and enjoying the fight. Over the shot, the SOUNDS of the struggle, the screams of Norman.

There are many people gathered about the steps, the curious and the concerned and the morbid. At the curb, a couple of newspaper cars, two or three police cars, and a mobile unit truck from the local television outlet. There is noise, and chattering as questions are asked and answers given, and the sounds of traffic, and of the television equipment being moved into the courthouse, for on-the-scene reporting, and the stern voices of policemen trying to keep people back. The scene has a bright glare about it, that quality of sudden light thrown on a fearful darkness.

A POLICEMAN trying to make way for the television men, muttering "keep back," etc., to the spectators. A TELEVISION MAN, carrying a piece of equipment goes through door, and CAMERA FOLLOWS him into the courthouse vestibule.

Here, too, there is a crowd, composed of Policemen, Reporters, Television Men. The Television Men we have been following stops beside a Policeman.

Over this exchange, the buzz of other voices, the movement of men. CAMERA MOVES ON, down the corridor, gets to the door of the office of the Chief of Police just as a young fellow with a carton box filled with paper containers of sent-out-for coffee reaches this door. CAMERA HOLDS as the COFFEE BOY pauses a moment, then goes into the room.

Lila is seated in a chair, Sam standing close by. A bit apart from them, we see Sheriff Chambers, in quiet conference with the CHIEF OF POLICE, the COUNTY SHERIFF, the DISTRICT ATTORNEY.

The Coffee Boy stands in the doorway. Sam goes to him, takes a container of coffee from the box, carries it to Lila, checking the notation on the lid as he goes.

Sam smiles encouragingly, hands her the coffee. Sheriff Chambers ENTERS SHOT, gives Sam a container of coffee he has brought for him. Sam takes it, nods a thank you. For a moment no one speaks. Lila looks badly shaken, Sam disheveled, but contained.

Sam looks a question at Sheriff Chambers. Chambers shrugs doubtfully.

Lila is about to answer, when she sees someone come into the room and rises anxiously. Sam and Sheriff Chambers turn, follow her gaze.

A young man with a serious, frowning face has just come into the room. He is DR. SIMON, the Psychiatrist.

He goes to the desk where the box of coffee containers has been placed, takes up a container.

Everyone gazes at him, mystified. He speaks as he removes lid from coffee container.

Lila begins to weep softly, for Mary, for Arbogast, for Norman, for all the destroyed human beings of this world. Sam bends beside her, puts his arm about her, comforts her.

A POLICE GUARD puts his head in the door, speaks, in a near-whisper, to the Chief of Police. The Guard is carrying a folded blanket over his arm.

The Chief of Police nods. The Guard goes away, and CAMERA FOLLOWS him out of the room and out into the hallway. Guard moves through the waiting men, heading down the corridor.

A narrower corridor in the rear of the building. In f.g. of shot, we see a door, the top half of which is wire-covered glass. A GUARD in uniform is posted by the door, looking reprovingly at the two or three people trying to get a glance into the room.

The Police Guard, carrying the blanket, comes down this corridor, goes to the door. CAMERA MOVES CLOSE. The uniformed Guard opens the door, allows the man to go in. Shot is RAKED so that we can not see into the room. After a moment, the Guard comes out and the uniformed Guard closes and locks the door and we

The walls are white and plain. There is no window. There is no furniture except the straight-back chair in which Norman sits, in the center of the room. The room has a quality of no-whereness, of calm separation from the world.

The Police Guard has placed the blanket on Norman's knees. Norman, as we come upon him, is lifting the blanket, unfolding it. His face, although without makeup and without the surrounding softness of the wig, has a certain femininity about it, a softness about the mouth and a kind of arch womanliness about the brows. Calmly, Norman places the blanket about his shoulders, as if it were a cashmere shawl. CAMERA REMAINS in a position so that our view of Norman is a FULL ONE. When the shawl is in position, and Norman is settled, we HEAR, OVER SHOT, the voice of his mother, coming from the calm of his thoughts.

A fly buzzes close, and then continues buzzing and flying about Norman's face.

Norman continues to gaze ahead into nothing. Scene begins to DISSOLVE SLOWLY to:

As END TITLES FADE IN, we see the swamp, the chain of a tow-truck. The chain is attached to Mary's car. The car is coming out of the swamp.