Halloween: The Official Movie Novelization

32

Allyson walked along the sidewalk with Oscar, who struggled to carry the case of beer he’d retrieved from under the bleachers. Three times Oscar offered her a can, and three times she declined. She wasn’t sure if he was being generous in his own way or simply trying to lighten his load.

“Believe me,” Oscar said. “After a couple beers, you won’t be so stressed out about the Cameron situation. After three or four, you’ll forget why you were stressed out in the first place.”

After each alcoholic offering, Allyson said, “No thanks.”

“The longer you wait,” he said, “the warmer the beer gets.”

“The more you bring it up,” she replied, “the more irritated I get.”

“Fine by me,” Oscar said. “Just trying to be sociable.”

“Not in the mood.”

“I get it.”

“I’m tired of people letting me down,” Allyson said. “You give them the benefit of the doubt and think they’re going to be different, but then they show you who they really are. Cameron doesn’t want people to judge him, but then he acts like a jerk. Gets drunk, gets arrested.”

Oscar stopped.

Allyson continued a few steps before noticing Oscar was no longer beside her. She walked back to him, confused. Had she upset him? Insulted his friend. “What?”

“You deserve better,” Oscar said, shoving his sunglasses in his pants pocket. “You’re the smartest, most beautiful girl at school. Anyone that doesn’t appreciate that is crazy.”

Allyson expected a punchline, but when one didn’t come, she considered what he’d said and smiled. “Thanks, Oscar,” she said. “That’s sweet.”

Looking over her shoulder, Oscar said, “Check it out. Five-0. Let’s detour this rendezvous.”

Cradling his case of beer, Oscar led the way between two houses. Allyson glanced back and saw a police cruiser two blocks away, approaching at a deliberate pace, side-mounted spotlights slicing through the night, as if searching for fugitives rather than teens breaking curfew. As the car passed by, they ducked behind one of the houses, out of sight.

Officer Hawkins drove his squad car down the tree-lined streets of suburban Haddonfield, searching for a deranged serial killer. Dr Sartain rode shotgun while wielding the side-mounted utility spotlight. Sartain turned the powerful spotlight back and forth through an almost 180-degree arc, from the front of the car to the back, piercing the darkness across yards and between houses.

They were both confident they would recognize Michael Myers if they saw him on the street. Assuming he hadn’t changed out of his dark coveralls—and still wore the deathly white mask. With Sartain surveying houses on the right side of the cruiser, Hawkins focused on everything in front and to the left of the car, where he’d set his spotlight at a forty-five-degree angle.

For a moment, he glimpsed two shadowy figures turning off the sidewalk toward one of the houses, but when he got close enough to the area where he’d seen them, they were gone. Other than general concern for their safety, he had no reason to suspect them of anything but breaking curfew. Myers was a loner. If they spotted him on the street, he would be alone or in the act of breaking into a house. Not walking with a buddy.

Hawkins decided to break the ice with Sartain by tackling something they had in common. “From a clinical perspective, would you say that Laurie Strode has lost her fucking marbles?”

Sartain gave the question some thought. Not that he had much to go on to form a professional opinion since he’d only met her once and that meeting lasted a matter of minutes. “There are many ways for tragedy and violence to change a victim,” he said. “They can grow accustomed to always being afraid. In constant fear. They can become weak or they can become strong. But there is also the other side.”

“What side is that?”

“The effect on the victimizer,” Sartain explained. “This is what has intrigued me through my studies. How does a crime like Michael’s change him? What is he feeling? Is he on a random path or is he emotionally driven? Triggered by something. Some unheard marching order imprinted on his very being? Evil incarnate.” He paused for a moment, hand resting on the spotlight control handle. “Michael and I had a special connection, but without his verbal participation there was an aspect of his emotional journey that I could never understand.”

“Walk a mile in another man’s shoes, or something like that, right?” Hawkins wondered and shuddered at the prospect. “Not for me, brother. That old man has some boots he can keep.”

Obviously, Sartain’s job was to understand patients like Myers, and that was fine with Hawkins. As a cop, he had to deal with some gruesome vehicular accidents and the victims of crimes committed by those like Myers. He doubted Sartain would have the stomach for some of the visuals that plagued Hawkins’ nightmares.

“Tell me what became of his childhood home.”

“That place was a shrine kinda thing but for serial killer groupies and death metal bands,” Hawkins told him.

“Interesting,” Sartain said, nodding as if he could envision it.

“Vandals got the best of it,” Hawkins continued. “A local organization that I work with tore it down and turned it into a community garden. Turned tragedy into beauty, if you can believe it.”

Since they left streets and sidewalks behind to cut through backyards, their progress slowed to a virtual crawl. At least that’s how it felt to Allyson. Tired and irritated, she had no idea what the future held. A promising night had fizzled to a bunch of uncertainties. She’d grown comfortable and happy with Cameron but now was unsure if she even wanted to see him again. Betrayed and embarrassed in front of everyone at the dance. A confrontation with belligerent cops. A boyfriend who maybe had more baggage than she could handle. Every step forward now felt like two steps in the wrong direction. More than anything she wanted to get home, crawl under the blankets and sleep, to shut down and stop obsessing over every little detail. Of course, Oscar offered canned oblivion, but she was at least smart enough to know his option came with a hangover price tag.

They came to a dead-end of sorts; they needed to climb over a retaining wall topped by an abbreviated black wrought-iron fence into the Elrods’ backyard to avoid having to circle back around several houses. Emotionally, she couldn’t deal with having to go backward to get home.

Oscar scrambled over the fence, hampered by the case of beer clutched to his side. He dropped down on the other side, overbalanced for a moment, almost dropping the beer, then almost face-planting on top of it, before regaining his balance. Turning, he looked across the yard of the large property. Allyson followed his gaze. In the moonlight, she could make out the opposite side of the iron fence in the distance.

Allyson started to climb the fence to join him on the other side, grateful that her costume for the dance featured trousers instead of a dress or something even less conducive to nighttime trespassing.

“Watch out for the poison ivy,” Allyson said as she threw one leg over the top of the fence. “It’s all over. This is a dumb shortcut.”

“Extremely treacherous,” Oscar said. She couldn’t quite tell if he was sincere or making fun of her. “Apologies. Let me give you a hand.”

He reached up to help her down from the top of the fence and the cement wall beneath it. With her second leg clear, she almost slipped but Oscar caught her, hands around her waist, and lowered her safely to the ground.

“Thanks,” Allyson said, grateful that she wouldn’t need to hobble the rest of the way home on a sprained ankle—or worse.

After an awkward moment of silence, Oscar continued to hold onto her.

“What?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

“You deserve better,” Oscar said, echoing his earlier sentiment, from before they ditched the police. But this time he leaned in to kiss her on the lips.

“Ew. Oscar. What the fuck?”

She pushed him away, almost a knee-jerk reflex, but Oscar seemed caught off guard by her reaction. “Wait, I thought you said you weren’t with Cameron anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean I want… Get away from me.”

“I thought you were sending me signals.”

“Definitely no signals,” she said. “Just go!”

While he stood there, she brushed past him, crossing the property to get to the other side and out of the yard. She hadn’t made up her own mind about her relationship with Cameron, let alone announced that she’d broken up with him.

And besides, she thought, who does that? Cameron is Oscar’s friend. And I barely know him.

Oscar sprinted to cover the distance between them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please don’t tell Cameron I did that. I didn’t feel anything either.”

“Don’t tell Cameron.” So, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. He’s just a terrible friend. She stopped walking to face him. “You’re disgusting,” she said. “I’m going home. You can figure your own shit out.”

Tired of his lame excuses, Allyson stalked off alone.

The second time Allyson walked off without him, Oscar hesitated to follow. Better to let her cool off, he thought, then I’ll catch up.

He planned to stay back a bit, to keep her in view but wait for the ground to thaw around her. Suddenly, a motion-sensor light activated, and he was bathed in a powerful backyard spotlight. Just what I need. Some nervous homeowner calling the cops on me.

Oscar mumbled to himself, “I’m drunk. Like… really drunk, and I got all horny at the party, I was dancing with some girl, this way-out-of-my-league girl and my brain got all sexed up, and her tits got me all chubbed out when she was feeding me guacamole in sexy ways—”

In the middle of working on his excuse, maybe practicing what he would tell Cameron if—when—Allyson ratted him out, the case of beer slipped through his sweaty hands. One can fell free, hit the ground hard and sprayed foam all over.

“SHIT!”

He grabbed the cardboard container and more cans spilled out through the ripped opening, rolling in different directions. Scrambling around, he grabbed cans and shoved them inside the damaged box. As he straightened up, he saw a dark shape standing twenty feet away in the middle of the yard, cast in silhouette against the motion-detection spotlight. Shielding his eyes from the light, Oscar could only make out a pale mask.

“Happy Halloween, Mr Elrod,” Oscar said, trying to act nonchalant. “Cool mask. Sorry… I’m not trying to trespass on your shit, but I was talking to this pretty girl over there.” Oscar pointed toward Allyson, near the far end of the yard, to bolster his excuse. “It’s just I guess I always kind of liked her. And I know she’s bummed out about Cameron, so I thought maybe… Stupid, right?”

The Shape stood there, unmoving.

If Oscar had hoped for a little sympathy from another guy, an older guy who had probably had an unrequited crush or two back in the day, he was disappointed by the complete lack of response. Not that he knew Elrod all that well, but enough to know he wasn’t one of those “get off my lawn” geezers who hated anyone young enough to still have a life.

“All right,” Oscar said. “Peace. Thank you.”

Suddenly, the motion-detecting spotlight winked out, casting Oscar into darkness until his eyes could readapt to the ambient light. He blinked frantically, blinded by afterimages of the bright bulb, frozen to the spot to avoid tripping over his own feet or a misplaced can of beer.

At the far side of the yard, Allyson heard Oscar talking to someone but thought it as likely that he was talking to himself. The motion-detecting light he’d tripped winked out by the time she reached the fence. On this side, facing an alley, the fence was six feet high and each iron fence was tipped with a spike, a dangerous design to discourage trespassers, although she needed to get out of, not into, Elrod’s yard. Using the calf-high horizontal rail to boost herself up, she carefully climbed the fence, pulling her hand away when it pressed into one of the spikes. It was certainly not razor sharp, but she wouldn’t want to put any of her weight on one of them as she navigated the top of the fence. Taking as much care as possible, she supported her weight by placing her hands on the upper horizontal rail, swinging her legs over the top. Once her body cleared the spikes, she pushed off and dropped down on the other side.

Proud of herself, she brushed her gritty palms on the front of her trousers. She’d scaled the nasty fence on her own, injury-free. A small victory in an otherwise crappy night. But she’d take it. Don’t need Oscar or his grabby hands and lame excuses.

Again, the motion-detecting sensor switched the yard light back on.

Shielding his eyes with his forearm, Oscar looked at where The Shape had been before the lights winked out. Nothing. He looked left and right. More nothing. Oscar had started to get a bad vibe about the time the light went out, beginning to wonder if the figure hadn’t been Mr Elrod after all.

“Yo!” he called. “Where’d you go, bro? You’re acting super sketchy right now.”

Okay, don’t panic, Oscar thought, hoping the fog of alcohol had begun to clear out of his mind. Maybe it was Elrod and he went back inside. He had his back to the light, so his eyes were adapted to the dark. So, after seeing I’m just a goofy, lovesick teen, he ignores me and goes inside. Or decides to call the cops on me. Either way, I’m out of here!

With as many beers as he could recover, he clutched the case to his chest and rushed toward the far fence to rejoin Allyson, who couldn’t have gotten f—

He slammed into the unmoving figure, the dark shape with the creepy pale mask—and gasped. Instinctively, he backed up a step, ready to utter another apology when the figure raised his right arm, revealing a long kitchen knife gripped in his hand, the blade gleaming with reflected light. Oscar’s damaged case of beer slipped free of his numb hands again, crashing to the ground. Several cans hissed.

Desperate, he raised his forearm to block the knife.

The spotlight switched off—

—plunging Oscar into total darkness.