THE REALTOR FROM HELL

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🖋️ THE REALTOR FROM HELL

A screenplay treatment for House.Roc Entertainment & Star 86 Studios
By Filipa

🌟 Editor's Note

Please be advised this content is for mature audiences. Regina Young and “Young Realty” are figments of the authors imagination. This is a Human-AI Hybrid Creation. Stay Creative :)

INT. COLONIAL HOUSE – LATE AFTERNOON

A Rochester colonial, once a single family home off Park Ave and Culver, now carved into five apartments. High ceilings, hardwood floors, original woodwork.

REGINA YOUNG leads a Brooklyn couple through the unit.
GUY is restless; MARIE, seven months pregnant, listens intently, one hand resting on her belly. Mid-Showing.

GUY
Oh, you’re an actor… Have we seen you in anything?

REGINA
(laughing lightly)
Nothing worth noting. Now, I play a realtor.

GUY
You seem familiar, though.

REGINA
I get that a lot.

GUY
It’s the voice. You’ve got that—ad voice. (pause)

REGINA
Originally, this was one home — nine bedrooms, two staircases, a library. Then the family scattered, the city of Rochester changed. It’s been tastefully converted into five apartments, and tons of quirks and charm. (She gestures toward the crooked hallway.)

REGINA (cont’d)
This one—6D—used to be the back half of the main house. The original master’s here—now it’s the living room. Oh, I shouldn’t say Master’s.

GUY
So who lived here before?

REGINA
(smiling) A teacher. Lived alone. Loved this place.

MARIE
Is it true that she…died here?

Regina stops. Her smile hold.

REGINA
No. (Regina lied.)

The light flickers. She pretends not to notice.

REGINA
She passed away in the hospital, she was in a coma for several weeks. (she lied again) Her eyes flick and turn white for a split second.

MARIE
It’s very warm in here.

(Regina loosened a button on her blouse, starting to sweat.)

REGINA
Let me open a window — you’ll feel the breeze.

She crossed the room, unlatched the window, and pushed it open.
Nothing moved. The curtains hung perfectly still. The air stayed heavy, unmoved, as though the room had decided to keep its own breath. She stood there a moment longer, pretending to feel a change, then turned back with the same bright smile.

REGINA
See? Much better.

One more little innocent lie. It would hurt no one and everyone would get what they wanted. And that - was show business, as Regina saw it.

A ticking filled the room. Regina smoothed her blazer, smiling toward the couple though her eyes were elsewhere.Outside, clouds had gathered too quickly, pressing the afternoon into a shade of grey that didn’t belong to any hour she knew.

MARIE
“Did the sun just disappear?”

REGINA (forced a smile)
“It’s always cloudy in Rochester,” she said.

Her voice wavered slightly, the kind of crack only she could hear.

Regina glanced again toward a hallway mirror. Her reflection was waiting for her now — full figure, faintly distorted by the warped pane. The grin came first, too broad to be hers. Then the faint outline of horns, curling delicately through her hair as if drawn there by static.

She blinked, and they were gone. She cleared her throat, gesturing toward the next room.

But they didn’t move. Marie was staring at the clock. It had stopped. Regina’s skin itched under her blouse. At first it was just the heat—Rochester humidity trapped in plaster walls—but then it felt sharper, crawling. She pressed a hand to her neck, fingers coming away damp. A thin line of sweat trailed along her collarbone. She scratched lightly at her wrist, then harder, leaving small red crescents where her nails met skin. Regina scratched again, harder this time, a small hiss of relief escaping her lips.

The sound of her own skin breaking was quiet but obscene in the heavy air.

She pressed her palm to her chest.

REGINA
“Forgive them, Father…” (low distorted voice.)
“Forgive them, Father. Forgive them, Father. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

Her hand found her small white rosary she her aunt had sent her from Portugal, — an open house charm she carried more from habit than faith. The beads slipped against her slick fingers as she clutched them, praying faster, breath shallow.

“Forgive them… forgive me…”

GUY

Are you ok?

Regina’s throat tightened. The next breath came out wrong, a low animal sound, part sob, part laugh. Regina clutched the beads harder. The chain snapped. A few beads rolled across the floor like teeth. “Forgive—” she tried again, but the word warped mid-air. Her voice cracked, deepened, reshaped itself into something else, something that wasn’t asking for forgiveness anymore.

A burp escaped mid-word. Small at first, an air bubble caught between sentences. She gasped, embarrassed, and kept going. Another burp, louder. Then a low rumble that wasn’t quite human. Her body jerked forward as if something inside her was trying to crawl up through her ribs.

Guy runs to the kitchen to grab some water but the faucets pour only boiling water. Marie is silent in horror.

REGINA (possessed)

We lie about square footage first. That’s the warm-up. You round up, always.
We lie about sunlight. Call it ‘southern exposure’ even when it faces a brick wall.
We lie about noise — tell them you stop hearing the train after a week. You don’t. You just start calling it home. We lie about people too. The good neighbours, the safe block, the nice community. We lie about the smell in the hallway — say it’s someone cooking. It’s rot. It’s the past trying to leave. But the best lie? The one I tell myself.
That I’m helping. That I’m giving people a new start. That if I dress it pretty enough — ribbon the loan, light the candle, polish the brass — it becomes redemption. I hide the mold reports, the foundation issues, the inspectors warning. I paint over water damage. We steal listings. We copy taglines.

I lie about sleep. Say I don’t need it.
I lie about money — say I don’t care.
I lie about love — say it’s overrated.
I lie about faith — say I still have it

Guy and Marie bring Regina to the living room and lay her down, frightened. The lights are flickering. Regina hand is burning up as she holds the rosary.

REGINA:

Possessio hominis ab spiritibus malignis The sheets stick to me, the ceiling breathes. The pinball in my skull. keeps flashing LIGHT LIGHT LIGHT and nothing scores. Faith is a ringtone. hope is a coupon code the rosary burns a circle into my neck and the beads keep counting down. I scroll through faces that shine like idols and I want to bite them. I said I helped people. semen malum sum. Non loquor veritatem. My kindness is a disease. I call it grace so it doesn’t smell like greed. My holiness was vanity my holiness is vanity we all shine like plastic fruit under retail light. I don’t pray anymore I advertise. The devil wants you full the devil wants you scrolling. the devil wants you calm and I am the devil. The sheets shift; the house breathes with me. My phone glows in the dark—notifications pulsing like tiny amens. I am the property. I am the price. My holiness was vanity. My holiness is vacancy. My body is a model home: everything looks new, nothing’s lived in. I am nauseated of myself, of this body, of this mirror that keeps showing me my own grin. Let the dead bury the dead; I keep digging them up for company. I am withdrawing from my past life, detoxing from the dream that being nice could save me. I tell people I just want to help, but I only want to be seen helping. YOU ARE NOT JESUS. YOU ARE THE CRUCIFIER. Your exes. your parents. How many prayers have been answered for you? ALL of them. cry baby princess from hell. all you wnat is approval. Your calls reek of obligation. You rather spend the day high. But you must hage someone to blame. The client, the roomate, the broker, the boss. YOU ARE HATE. The devil incarnate. My child, my direct child. Veritatem fugio. Ecce ego sum diabolus

Forgive me nothing.

Regina passes out…

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