DOUGIE DEBUNKSLEY AND THE ALIEN ABDUCTION (SAMPLE PAGES) Screenplay by Jack Pemberton FADE IN: EXT. LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL - MORNING A leafy Boston suburb in full October color. Students funnel through the front doors of a large public high school. Among them — DOUGIE DEBUNKSLEY, 16, lanky, backpack overloaded, earbuds in one ear. He's watching everything. Taking notes on his phone. A hand slaps his shoulder. MARCUS, 16, Dougie's best friend — built like a defensive lineman, gentle as a librarian. MARCUS You hear about the new girl? DOUGIE I just got here. MARCUS She says aliens abducted her. Like, took her up in a ship. Showed her the galaxy. DOUGIE flat Sure they did. MARCUS Man, I knew you'd say that. DOUGIE Because it's the correct thing to say. What's her name? MARCUS Eva Starling. Dougie types the name into his phone. Already researching before they're through the doors. INT. LINCOLN HIGH - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS The hallway buzzes. Clusters of students whisper and crane their necks. At the center of their attention, moving against the current — EVA STARLING, 16. Dark hair, quiet eyes, an unhurried calm that makes the chaos around her seem irrelevant. She notices the stares. Doesn't flinch. Dougie watches her from across the hall. His expression: interested, skeptical, intrigued. INT. LINCOLN HIGH - BIOLOGY CLASS - LATER MR. THOMPSON, 50s, disappointingly enthusiastic about frogs, lectures. Dougie's notebook is open but he's scribbling questions rather than notes. On his page: 'Eva Starling — alien abduction claim. Motive? Attention? Trauma response? Prior history?' A series of question marks. RICK HENDERSON, 17, letterman jacket, leans over from the next desk. RICK low Debunksley. You gonna go interrogate the alien girl? That your thing now? DOUGIE not looking up My thing is finding out what's actually true. You should try it sometime. Rick smirks. Goes back to doodling nothing. INT. LINCOLN HIGH - CAFETERIA - NOON The cafeteria is loud and stratified. Eva sits alone at a corner table, lunch untouched, staring out the window. Not sulking — thinking. Her fingers trace slow circles on the tabletop. Dougie approaches with his tray. He doesn't ask permission. Just sits down across from her. DOUGIE Dougie Debunksley. I heard you were abducted by aliens. Eva looks at him. Not startled. Evaluating. EVA You're the first person to actually say it to my face. Everyone else just whispers. DOUGIE Whispering's inefficient. So — aliens. Tell me. EVA You don't believe me already. I can see it. DOUGIE I believe you believe it. That's actually more interesting to me. A long beat. Eva studies him. Something in his directness seems to earn a point. EVA They came at night. There was light — not like a flashlight, more like the light was the thing. They showed me places. Other systems. Beings. It wasn't frightening. It was like... being remembered by something enormous. DOUGIE What did the inside of the ship look like? EVA Curved walls, no seams. Surfaces that responded when you touched them. Temperature was perfect — not warm, not cool, just... neutral. No sound. DOUGIE No sound at all? EVA Not that my ears could hear. But I understood things. Like the knowing came before the words. Dougie writes something in his notebook. Crosses it out. Writes it again. He's rattled and hiding it well. DOUGIE You said that exactly the same way both times I asked about the ship interior. EVA Because that's what it was. The bell rings. Eva gathers her things. She pauses, then pulls a crumpled slip of paper from her jacket pocket and slides it across the table. EVA If you want proof, come here after school. Don't bring anyone else. She walks away. Dougie unfolds the paper. An address. A time: 6:00 PM. He stares at it. INT. LINCOLN HIGH - HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER Marcus falls into step beside Dougie. MARCUS So? Totally delusional, right? DOUGIE She's consistent. Every detail matches across multiple tellings. MARCUS That's called rehearsing, dude. DOUGIE Maybe. I'm going to find out. EXT. SUBURBAN STREETS - DUSK Dougie pedals his bike through quiet streets. The sun is low, painting everything amber. His expression shifts between doubt and anticipation with every block. EXT. EVA'S HOUSE - DUSK The house sits alone on a gentle rise — not haunted-creepy, just isolated. Older. A little neglected. Dougie parks his bike against the fence. Something catches his eye in the overgrown lawn. He crouches, brushes weeds aside. Partially buried in the soil: a small, DISC-SHAPED OBJECT, metallic, about the size of a hockey puck. He digs it free, turns it over. Unusual surface texture. He pockets it. Before he can knock, the front door opens. Eva, in a plain dark jacket, watches him from the doorway. EVA You came. DOUGIE I came to debunk you. Fair warning. EVA Fair enough. Come in. INT. EVA'S HOUSE - STUDY - CONTINUOUS Surprisingly warm inside. Bookshelves lined with worn volumes — science, cosmology, signal theory. A cluttered desk. This is a working space, not decoration. Eva pulls a stack of photographs from a drawer. Lays them out on the desk one by one. Dougie leans in. The first photos: stars, galaxies — ultra-high resolution, sharper than any amateur telescope should produce. Then metallic objects — components of something complex. Dougie's expression tightens. The last photograph: Eva, surrounded by figures that are distinctly, unmistakably not human. Silence. DOUGIE Photoshop. EVA gentle, not offended I knew you'd say that. Follow me. EXT. EVA'S BACKYARD - NIGHT The backyard holds a makeshift observatory — a converted garden shed with a retractable roof and a bristling array of homemade equipment. Antennas, signal boosters, wiring that disappears into a central console. DOUGIE You built this? EVA Mostly. Some of it was already here. Watch. Eva operates the console. A low hum builds. Then — the sky above them erupts in PATTERNS OF LIGHT. Not random. Geometric. Pulsing in sequences, shapes forming and dissolving with precise choreography. Dougie stares upward. His skeptic's brain visibly working — drones, projectors, coordination — but the scale, the precision... EVA quiet They're saying hello. The lights fade. The sky returns to ordinary stars. Dougie slowly reaches into his pocket and draws out the disc he found in the lawn. In the open air, away from the house — it begins to GLOW. A soft, steady pulse of light from within. He stares at it. Eva stares at it. Then at each other. DOUGIE I found this in your front yard. Buried. Eva's expression shifts. Recognition. And something like relief. DOUGIE What is it? EVA I don't entirely know. But it's been missing for months. DOUGIE Dougie looks at the glowing disc. At the sky. At Eva. DOUGIE I think we're just getting started. CUT TO: EXT. EVA'S BACKYARD - LATER They sit on the back steps. The disc sits between them on the concrete, still pulsing faintly. Two teenagers at the edge of something neither can name. EVA You're thinking it's a setup. Or I'm a messed-up kid with a great imagination. DOUGIE Those are on the list, yeah. EVA They're on my list too. Every day since it happened, I wonder if I'm crazy. And then I see the lights, and it's too real. DOUGIE How do you deal with not knowing? EVA I accept that not knowing is part of it. Every answer opens twelve more questions. It's terrifying. Also kind of exhilarating. DOUGIE almost to himself Yeah. It kind of is. He picks up the disc. Turns it over. The pulse syncs, briefly, with his heartbeat. INT. DOUGIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Dougie's room: a controlled explosion of curiosity. Star maps, printouts, a whiteboard covered in diagrams. He's at his desk, surrounded by open browser tabs — scientific journals, declassified government UAP reports, astrophysics forums. The disc sits beside his keyboard, still faintly glowing. He photographs it from every angle. Measures it with a ruler. 4.3 inches in diameter. No visible seams. No manufacturer markings. Surface material: unknown. He opens a new document. Begins typing. 'EVA STARLING — Case Notes. Day 1.' He stares at the disc. Types: 'What are you?' INT. LOCAL UNIVERSITY - SCIENCE LIBRARY - DAY Dougie moves through towering shelves with the focused energy of a doctoral student. Stacks papers, cross-references. Stops on a physics journal: 'Quantum Entanglement as a Medium for Instantaneous Communication.' Reads. Reads faster. He pulls out the disc. Holds it near his phone's camera. The phone screen briefly flickers — a cascade of static that resolves into a geometric pattern before cutting back to normal. He stares. INT. LOCAL OBSERVATORY - EVENING A domed room dominated by a massive telescope. DR. HELLEN MARKS, 40s, astrophysicist — patient eyes, coffee in hand — listens as Dougie lays out his notes on a table. DOUGIE I'm not asking you to believe the alien part. I'm asking whether these light patterns could be communication. And whether this disc could be a receiver. Dr. Marks examines the disc carefully. Doesn't touch it. Studies it. DR. MARKS Have you considered the possibility that it's not alien — but it is extraordinary? There are government programs working on real-time space communication. Well beyond what's public. DOUGIE Human-made but misread as extraterrestrial? DR. MARKS It's not the strangest thing that's happened in this field. I'll give you access to some satellite tracking data. But Dougie — be careful. Some questions attract attention. She slides a folder across the table. He takes it. EXT. SUBURBAN STREETS - NIGHT Dougie bikes home under a thick canopy of stars. The disc glows in his jacket pocket, a faint warmth against his ribs. EXT. EVA'S HOUSE - SATURDAY MORNING Early morning quiet. Dougie and Eva at the kitchen table inside, surrounded by printouts and journals, the disc between them — when a sharp KNOCK at the front door makes them both freeze. Eva's face drains of color. EVA barely audible They found me. DOUGIE Who? Another knock. Harder. Dougie goes to the peephole. Outside: a MAN in a dark suit — 40s, impassive, military posture. Two more suits visible behind him. Dougie opens the door on the chain. DOUGIE Can I help you? AGENT SMITH Dougie Debunksley. I'm Agent Smith. He flashes a badge — too fast to read. AGENT SMITH We need the item you found on this property. It's government property. National security. DOUGIE I'm not sure what you're referring to. AGENT SMITH You have five minutes. Dougie closes the door. Goes back to Eva. DOUGIE hushed, urgent Government. Or someone pretending to be. They want the disc. EVA We can't give it to them. DOUGIE We can't run either — they've got the front covered. We show them what it does. Cause confusion. Then we run. EVA That's not a plan, that's a prayer. DOUGIE You got a better one in the next four minutes? Eva picks up the disc. EXT. EVA'S HOUSE - FRONT PORCH - MOMENTS LATER Dougie opens the door. Agent Smith and two AGENTS — JOHNSON and RODRIGUEZ — stand on the path. Three dark suits. Three blank faces. DOUGIE Before we discuss anything — you should see what it does. Eva steps forward and holds the disc toward the open sky. The disc activates — a BEAM of structured light erupts upward, projecting slowly rotating images: star systems, galaxy formations, and cascading sequences of symbols in an unknown language. The agents stare. Smith's composure wavers — just barely, just for a moment. Johnson and Rodriguez exchange a glance. EVA to Dougie Run. They run. Off the porch, through the side gate, into the neighborhood. Shouts behind them. The sound of pursuit. END OF SAMPLE This is the opening excerpt of a 38-page pilot draft produced by BookToScreen.pro from the book "Dougie Debunksley and the Alien Abduction" by Jack Pemberton. The complete draft, in PDF and Final Draft (FDX) format, plus unlimited free AI revision passes, is what every order receives. Order your own at https://www.booktoscreen.pro/screenplay/order