The night was pretty dark, and it seemed like every street light was broken. Carol shivered in the cold breeze, and tried to pull her coat collar up higher, but it didn't really help. She hated walking home alone, and the fact she lived on Elm wasn't helping. Walking past that old dump made her about wet herself, and in the dark? So much "No, forget that".
Not that she believed those damn old stories...who would? They were all made up in the 80's to keep kids from making out, more than likely. Even if there was a real killer before that...
Oh, what the hell?
Why was she worrying about this? It was just a bunch of old stories and legends, that didn't matter anymore. She needed to hurry up to get home: it wasn't going to get any lighter, and whether she liked it or not, the old dump was just around the corner. She'd cross to the otherside of the street, but there wasn't a sidewalk there, and she couldn't really get around going past the house, unless she walked in the street.
She'd just decided to forget it, and walk in the road, when a car filled with booming music and yelling teens raced by, doing at least 20 over the limit (also possibly the blood-alcohol level of the car's occupants).
She closed her eyes, and walked quickly past it: The less she had to look at the ruined hulk of 1428, the better.
She opened them when she'd passed by, but glanced back anyway, making the whole exercise pointless. Some sicko, probably Billy Loomis from the high school, had nailed a jaunty red bow to the house's paint peeled door, and a Merry Christmas sign to the rusted bars on the windows of the downstairs.
"This town's full of weirdos." Carol muttered, walking quicker.
Just to be safe.