Amateur thriller by Forfar Cine Club and Brian Dunckley (a member of Newcastle & District Amateur Cinematographers Association) featuring Isabel Farquhar as a woman left alone in an isolated house in the countryside one stormy evening when her husband travels away to work. Radio reports of an escaped convict on the loose fuel her fear. A discordant sound track adds suspense. Credit: Forfar Cine Club presents [credits over picture] A convict escapes from prison using a rope to scale the...

Amateur thriller by Forfar Cine Club and Brian Dunckley (a member of Newcastle & District Amateur Cinematographers Association) featuring Isabel Farquhar as a woman left alone in an isolated house in the countryside one stormy evening when her husband travels away to work. Radio reports of an escaped convict on the loose fuel her fear. A discordant sound track adds suspense. Credit: Forfar Cine Club presents [credits over picture] A convict escapes from prison using a rope to scale the high stone wall. Credit: Isabel Farquharson in Title: Web of Fear Panoramic view over a bleak country landscape, an isolated house located there in the gathering evening gloom.   A business man says goodbye to his wife outside the isolated house, called away to work one evening. She looks worried. They kiss twice and he drives away. She half-heartedly waves as his car disappears into the distance. She pauses briefly to watch, then glances at the sky. The sun disappears behind a cloud. She shivers and pulls her cardigan around her shoulders, heading indoors. Raindrops fall on the doorsteps.   Once inside, she leans against the door briefly then turns and bolts the door. She turns on the radio and lights a cigarette. The news reports that a prisoner serving a life sentence for manslaughter had escaped earlier that day. People in the area are advised to lock all doors.  She turns off the radio and pours herself a whisky to calm her nerves. The cigarette lays in the ashtray half-smoked. Lightning bolts across the darkening, cloudy skies. The woman sits in an armchair and starts as the telephone rings. She picks up the receiver but no-one answers at the other end. She ponders the call, then dials a number but gets no answer. She gets more nervous. She is startled when she sees car headlights through the window and screams. She rushes over and closes the curtains. Shaking, she pulls another cigarette from the cigarette box beside her radio and lights it. She repeatedly tries to ignite the lighter, the spark replicating the continuing lightning outside. She moves to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A tree branch beats against the window startling her. She looks down and she has nervously crushed the glass and badly cut her hand. She returns to the living room bandaging her injured hand. The electricity suddenly flickers off in the storm, plunging the room into darkness. She hurries to light a candle. Shadows flicker around the room. She walks into the hallway with the candle, pausing at the foot of the stairs. Tentatively, she climbs the stairs, the wrought iron stair balustrade casting shadows. A low angle shot follows her slow progress up to her bedroom. She reaches the bedroom and places the candle next to a photo of her husband on a bedside cabinet along with her wedding ring. In bed, she sleeps fretfully. She awakes suddenly as a lightning flash lights up the bedroom during the storm. She clutches her ears and sits up in bed. A man’s elbow smashes in a pane of glass in a door downstairs. Alert now, and scared, she slowly gets out of bed, opens the bedroom door a fraction and listens. A door opens downstairs. She closes the bedroom door and leans against it.  She looks around frantically and spots the shape of a hunting rifle in a corner next to a chest of doors. A low angle shot in the darkness focuses on the feet of someone quietly climbing the stairs. The woman takes off the shotgun cover. As the intruder continues to quietly step towards her bedroom, she searches the drawers for gun cartridges. She finds them.  The intruder’s hand closes on the bedroom door handle. Close-ups of the starkly lit woman’s face, terrified, beaded in sweat. The bedroom door opens.  She cocks the gun and fires. A shotgun blast lights the room briefly. Dazed, she sinks slowly down to the floor clutching the gun. The camera focuses on the face of her husband, eyes wide open, now dead on the floor. Title: The End