Based on an unfinished comic strip I found mere minutes ago...
SCENE 1 - OUTSIDE
It is dusk and raining heavily over a tall, Gothic building. The lights aren't on. There are Lovecraftian gargoyles on either side of the main door. The surrounding landscape is bleak. Caption: MELBOURNE. A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT.
Dave, Nigel and Andrew walk into view, all three soaked to the skin from the rain and holding bags of possessions (Andrew's is a tramp's pole with a bag tied to the end). They look up at the building.
DAVE: As youth hostels go, this does look a little pricey...
Nevertheless he bangs the knocker on the door. As he does so there is a brilliant flash as a roar of thunder. Andrew blinks as Dave steps back from the door. Nigel stands behind them, ignored.
ANDREW: That's ominous.
DAVE: No. That's thunder.
ANDREW: Oh. Right.
With a creak the doors open slightly. Someone is standing in the doorway, but they cannot be seen clearly. Their voice is genderless, a hissing whisper.
OWNER: [VO] Speak... Speak.
Dave steps forward, smiling winningly.
DAVE: Good evening, sir! We are three young travelers who seek comfortable lodgings...
Andrew leans over in front of Dave to speak to the owner. He grins insanely.
ANDREW: CHEAP lodgings, to be precise!
The door slams shut instantly. A long pause as the trio stand in the rain.
ANDREW: Oh, fantastic.
DAVE: You had to mention the PRICE, didn't you?!
ANDREW: Ah. The seedy issue of money. Considering we have none...
Suddenly the door swings wide open, seemingly of its own accord. The Owner stands in the doorway, still unable to be seen clearly.
OWNER: [VO] Sixty dollars per man. Per night. No alcohol, no smoking, no noise.
Dave and Andrew exchange looks. Nigel remains in the background, forgotten.
OWNER: [VO] Follow.
Dave smiles and leads the way into the building. Nigel follows, as does Andrew.
DAVE: Thank you, sir! That will be fine! You're very gracious...
ANDREW: Sixty bucks? They better have a jaccuzi!
SCENE 2 - BEDROOM
More of a cell than a bedroom. There are three beds, each lined against the wall. Light comes from a candle on a table beside the door, the only wall free of beds. Dave dumps his satchel on the bed and crosses over to the door as if to check it is locked. Andrew puts his pile against his bed and folds his arms in annoyance. Nigel stands in the middle of the room, staring blankly ahead, not speaking.
ANDREW: Great. No television!
DAVE: [SOTTO] Quiet! We don't want to cause a fuss! [ANXIOUS] That creepy guy might come back...
ANDREW: Look. I'm cold. Tired. And the staff of this cheap lodging act like Satanists at Christmas.
There is a faint gurgle from Nigel. No one notices.
ANDREW: And PORRIDGE for dinner?!
DAVE: You're a real snob sometimes, Drew.
Another urgle. Nigel starts to speak in a thick, sluggish voice. Dave and Andrew lean forward and peer at him. He looks very unwell. His hair is lank. He is drooling.
NIGEL: Illuminati... free masons... Jesuit pope... dumpkoff...
His shades fall askew, revealing his eyes are bone white. Suddenly he screams.
NIGEL: AND SILENT BEFORE US, THE COAL IF AKK NIRTAKS! THE DARK VEILED PORTAL! AS STARS OVER US REST AS SILENT AS THE GRAVES UNDERNEATH US!
Nigel falls silent and gives a cheesy grin. Andrew and Dave lean back and resume the conversation as if nothing had happened.
ANDREW: Did you just call me a snob?
DAVE: You could be a bit more polite, that's all I'm saying...
Still grinning, Nigel turns his head to face Dave.
ANDREW: POLITE?! I haven't set fire to the beds! Isn't that POLITE enough?
Nigel's head continues to turn.
DAVE: Do you HAVE to be so... abbrasive?
ANDREW: Dave, unlike you, I have no time to pamper a hotel staff less friendly than the gargoyles out the front.
Nigel's head is now facing entirely the wrong way.
DAVE: And unlike you, Andrew, I don't want to get us chucked out.
ANDREW: What not? The rain's probably stopped by now?
Andrew sits down on his bed and leans against the wall, arms behind his head. Nigel's head continues to turn until it is the right way round, having revolved 360 degrees. He still grins cheesily, his eyes white.
DAVE: [SIGHS] Why didn't we stick with Eve?
ANDREW: You're too dependent on a nubile millionairess.
DAVE: And that's a bad thing? ...Did you see that?
ANDREW: See what?
Dave nods toward Nigel. His head is spinning round and round so fast it is nothing but a grinning blur. Niether of them make any move.
DAVE: You think he's possessed?
ANDREW: Either that or the sexual frustration's getting to him.
We now see Nigel has turned into a strange, plant like mass of tendrils sprouting from his I AM WHAT WOMEN WANT T-shirt. Two tendrils end in giant eyeballs.
DAVE: Why him and not us?
ANDREW: Nigel's psychic defenses couldn't keep out an Amway salesman.
Dave eyes Nigel, now resembling a strange Neanderthal fanged version of himself.
DAVE: Sort of 'psychic spam'?
Andrew shrugs. Nigel now resembles a Zarbi.
ANDREW: Daintility put.
With a loud pop, Nigel returns to normal - albeit with bone white eyes, his hair a mess and he looks incredibly unwell. A beat. Suddenly he projectile vomits everywhere like a broken fire hydrant.
ANDREW: You can't take him anywhere, can you?