A/N: I figured it was high time to actually post a horror story on an account whose username is HorrorFan6…
Okay, so…explanations. This is actually the first fan fiction I ever wrote. I started it back in 2008 in honor of Halloween's 30th anniversary. I recently rediscovered it, read it again, and determined that it was still pretty darn good, especially for one of my earliest horror stories and very first fan fiction. I'm in the process of fixing it up a bit: adding descriptive passages, altering iffy dialogue, stuff like that. I'm also going to rework the ending a bit. However, most of the story is going to remain as it was back in 2008 when I wrote it. So if you notice a downgrade in my writing style, some lackluster descriptions, and shorter chapters, that's why. Please don't hold it against me.
And just to clear up any confusion, this story takes place in the original series' timeline, not the remakes'. To be a bit more specific (even though it doesn't really matter within the plot of this story), it occurs in the H20-Resurrection continuity, not Halloween 4-5-6.
Halloween is owned by Dimension Films, based on characters created by John Carpenter and Debra Hill.
Without further ado, here's the story. I hope you enjoy it!
Prologue
Haddonfield, Illinois
Halloween, 1963
On Halloween night, 1963, the little town of Haddonfield, Illinois, was shaken by a horrifying event, the likes of which had never been heard of in this typical American small town. Up and down the street, a woman's screaming made people poke their heads out of windows and step out in bathrobes to see what the commotion was about.
It was coming from the Myers house.
And the screaming woman was Mrs. Myers.
There was no one outside the house except a small boy, six years old and dressed in a cheap clown costume. He was standing at the end of the short drive, stock-still and staring straight ahead. His face was void of expression, as though he was a store dummy advertising the latest in Halloween costumes.
But the truly strangest thing about this picture was the thing in the boy's right hand. It was long, pointed, and dripping blood.
A butcher knife.
The boy was Michael Myers. And he had just killed his sister.
Halloween, 1978
Laurie Strode was exhausted.
She had just grappled with death and won, for now at least. It lay in the bedroom behind her, right outside the closet where she had stabbed it in the stomach with its own knife. She sat leaning against the doorframe, breathing heavily and trying to rid her head of the horrific images that would haunt her till her dying day.
Annie, lying on the bed, wearing only a white button-up shirt borrowed from the Wallace house, her throat sliced open.
Bob, hanging upside-down from the rack in the wardrobe, bleeding through the stab wound in his chest.
Lynda, propped up in the closet, her eyes wide and staring, large purple bruises coloring her neck.
Laurie buried her head in her hands, refusing to look back into the bedroom where it lay. The monster that had killed her friends. The thing that had chased her across the street. The creature that she had stabbed in the neck with a knitting needle, then again in the eye with a clothes hanger. The beast that wore the frightening rubber mask, without expression, never saying a word, only killing.
Slowly, Laurie stood up. She had sent Tommy Doyle and Lindsey Wallace to the MacKenzies to get the police, but they had been so terrified, she doubted if they'd even stopped to ring the doorbell before running like a couple of banshees into the night. No doubt she'd have to call the cops herself. She groaned as her right ankle took her weight and throbbed painfully. It must have been broken, sprained at the very least.
She took an uneven step out into the hallway, her head down, staring at the floor.
Thus situated, she did not see the shadow as it stood up and approached her from behind.
Laurie gasped and let out a strangled cry as the thing grabbed her around the neck and started strangling her. This was too much. She could only endure so much pain, so much fear, so much hardship. But instinct had kept her alive so far, so maybe she could win this battle too, give her just a few seconds to escape one last time. She reached out with her hands and grabbed the horrifyingly blank mask and felt it slide off in her fingers.
The thing let go of her with a grunt and snatched the mask away from her. She fell backward into the corner and looked up in utter terror at her attacker's face, finally revealed in the moonlight. His face was pale, expressionless, very similar to the mask that he was now pulling back over his head.
Laurie knew it was over. She was defenseless, weak, tired, and beaten. Once he had the mask back on, he would attack and end it. And she would let him. Living was not worth this much pain.
There was a loud explosion, and the creature jolted backward, back into the bedroom. Laurie covered her ears as she saw a little bald man with a gray goatee and wearing a long beige trench coat running up the hall from the staircase, brandishing a gun. He stepped up to the doorframe and opened his mouth to speak to Laurie, but he was distracted by the shape framed in the doorway.
What the…?
He took aim and fired again. The figure jerked back with the impact of the bullet in his chest but still did not fall. The newcomer fired again, and again, and again, and again, and the thing wrenched back with every shot, finally stepping out the open picture window and toppling over the balcony railing to the front lawn below.
The stranger fired his gun once more, a purely reflexive action, and it clicked in his hands.
Beside him on the floor, Laurie lowered her hands from her ears and stared up at her savior. She glanced at the door to the bedroom and back at him before saying in a weak, shaky voice, thick with tears, "It was the bogeyman."
It wasn't a question, but there was a slight lilt in her voice that made it sound like one, as if she was hoping, praying that the man would contradict her, tell her that he was just an ordinary, if a bit strong, man that was finally dead.
The man with the goatee lowered his gun at last and turned slowly to look at her. He seemed to ponder his answer for a moment before answering, "As a matter of fact, it was."
Tommy's panicked voice echoed in Laurie's head: "You can't kill the bogeyman." She put her head in her hands again and started to cry, because she knew what the stranger knew: it wasn't over yet.
Sure enough, when Dr. Sam Loomis walked over to the bedroom window and peered over the balcony, he saw something that made his blood run cold, something that he would vividly remember for years to come.
The lawn was empty.
It was gone.
October 27, 2008
It was back.
It had been thirty years since Laurie Strode found herself face-to-face with the bogeyman. Thirty long, endless years. And every year, Haddonfield dreaded the coming of October. Whenever the citizens started putting out jack-o'-lanterns and the kids started dressing up, the police force waited for some sign of the return of the beast that massacred so many people that awful Halloween night in 1978. It had returned periodically through the decades, continuing its bloody rampage over a span of thirty years, and no one knew when it would strike again.
But when it came, it always struck on Halloween night.
The thing stood in the dark of the night, only a few days before Halloween, 2008. The little town of Haddonfield was sleeping peacefully, their dreams void of any nightmarish image. The possibility that it could return after so many years in exile was ludicrous. There was no need to be afraid.
Oh how wrong they were.
It stood on the front lawn of the house, staring up at its blank, soulless windows. The wind rustled the trees around it, their branches making unearthly scratching noises against the sides of the old building. Structurally, it was in good condition. But psychologically, it was the last place anyone in their right minds would live in.
The house had been empty for several years. Every time people tried to make the place livable again, it had returned to take care of them, usually without any trouble at all. More often than not, it didn't even have to do much. The house's reputation made it the most undesirable property in town. A few scares here, a dead pet there, and people were more than willing to move out. A couple of the more stubborn ones had to be taught a lesson, but the end results were always the same: the house would become vacant once more.
But now it was starting again.
There was a SOLD sign by the driveway.
