Tommy Doyle sat against the back bumper of a black Ford Econoline van with a rope looped around his neck and knotted to the bumper so tightly that he struggled to breathe. His hands were knotted behind his back and his legs jutted out in front of him. Every time he tried to free himself, the rope tightened across his throat, cutting painfully into his Adam's apple and endangering his oxygen supply. He finally gave up and just sat there.

Off to his left, two stone slabs had been set up and torches lit the clearing. He didn't know where Kara and the kids were but he knew that the cult had them. In a short time - maybe even minutes - they would lay Kara out on one of the slabs and Steven on the other. Michael would kill Steven, the last in his bloodline and his very own son, and Danny would kill Kara. The curse would be transferred and every hope and dream Tommy had created in the past year would be dashed to pieces.

Hot, stinging tears flooded his eyes and he blinked them away. He wouldn't be any good to Kara and the kids if he let himself fall apart like this. He tried to turn his head to see the clearing better, but the rope tightened and he turned away. It loosened, but just a tad.

On the ride over, he sat in the cargo compartment of the van, wedged between two men he didn't know, each of whom held a gun shoved into his side. Michael Myers, the second most dangerous man in the world, sat across from him, his hands clasped to his knees and his head up, the ragged holes of his mask seeming to stare at and through Tommy. The first most dangerous man in the world, Dr. Sam Loomis, sat beside his long time patient, his eyes downcast. Shame was clear in his slumped posture, and Tommy could sense something lurking beneath the surface: Dread. "Why are you doing this?" Tommy had asked.

"Because," Loomis said, "it must be done."

That was all the old doctor would say on the matter. The only other time he spoke was to someone on a handheld radio about a man named Sheldon. Tommy ascertained that he was the giant.

Now, Tommy tested his bonds. The rope holding his hands was thick and strong, so tight that it left him little room for movement. He rotated his wrists in an attempt to feel the knot with his fingertips, but there was no give.

Someone appeared on his left, and he looked up.

His heart seized.

Michael Myers stared down at him, head cocked to one side in an almost childlike display of curiosity. Tommy dug his heels into the soft earth and tried to scoot away, but Michael made no move against him. He just stood there...watching.

"He's quite harmless now," Dr. Loomis rasped. He limped into Tommy's line of sight and stopped, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Let me go," Tommy said. "You don't have to do this."

A look of sadness touched Loomis's face and he took a deep breath. "But I do."

"You're not like them," Tommy said. "You can stop this."

Loomis let out a miserable sigh. "I spent thirty years of my life trying to understand Michael Myers. When he first came to Smith's Grove, I saw a child who could be saved. I saw a little boy who was locked in the recesses of his own mind. I did everything I could to reach him. It became an obsession for me. At some point, I wrote him off as evil." Here, he looked ashamed again. "Then came that night. Halloween 1978. He broke out and I...I went after him. I was like Ahab and he was Moby Dick." The old man's voice broke and lowered. "For ten years he was in a coma after that explosion, the one that burned us both. I still didn;t understand him. I could say that he was evil but…"

The doctor trailed off and looked at Michael as if for help. Michael went on staring at Tommy, oblivious to everything.

"I didn't understand it. Now I do. Michael is a victim. He never wanted this." He turned to Michael. "Take off your mask, Michael, show him."

The shape dutifully obeyed. He pulled the white, dirt streaked mask slowly from his head, and though something told Tommy to look away, he was riveted, unable to move or even to close his eyes. Michael slipped the mask off and moved so that Tommy could see him. In the cold light of the harvest moon, his face was chilling. His flesh was dry and brown like old leather, the skin around his mouth rotted away and his yellowed teeth standing prominently out. His eyes were milky white with cataracts and his cheeks were sunken. As Tommy watched in horror, a beetle scuttled from a hole in the side of his face and disappeared into the wispy gray hair on top of his head. Tommy had seen faces like his in a thousand comic books and low grade movies.

Michael Myers, the Babysitter Murderer and the Butcher of Haddonfield, was obviously dead.

"Michael died for the very first time when I shot him six times in the chest, but the curse brought him back. He died again when I blew up that hospital ward. Then again and again. Each time, he came back to fulfill his destiny. You see, the curse drives him, it keeps him going. It defies everything I've ever believed in, but you see it here before you. You see a man who is dead but still alive. He didn't ask to be this...thing. He was chosen to appease the spirits. Had it not been for Michael, the world would have gone to war in 1967 and everything we know would have been destroyed. Millions dead, nuclear winter, the earth knocked from its axis. In a generation or two, humanity would have died out. But the blood of the Myers family saved us. It cost a child his life and led to many horrible acts...but those acts were so much better than what could have been."

The shape pulled his mask back on, thankfully hiding his undead countenance.

"Bullshit," Tommy said.

"It's true," Loomis said, passion creeping into his voice. "I saw it with my own two eyes. I saw war, famine, planes crashing into buildings and a plague from China. These things will come to pass if the curse isn't transferred to Danny."

Rage flared in Tommy's chest. "Stay away from him, you fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

Loomis looked wounded. "I don't want to do this either, Tommy, but I must. I can't allow what I saw to transpire. This isn't about blood for blood's sake, it's about survival."

"FUCK YOU!" Tommy screamed, spittle flying from his lips. He kicked and thrashed from side to side like an animal in a frenzy. Up until now, he held out some hope that he could get through to Loomis, but now he realized that was impossible. Loomis was senile, insane, wrong. None of that would happen, it was all a fever dream cooked up by the forces of darkness, something to trick its followers into giving it innocent blood.

Favoring him with a pitying look, Loomis sighed. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I really am. You will never understand the pain I have suffered up to now. I don't want to do this any more than you want me to do it and I prayed for this cup to be taken from my lips. It has not been so I must drink."

Tommy let out a throat rending howl of fury.

"Come, Michael," Loomis said. He hobbled off, and Michael followed behind him like an obedient dog.

Tommy kicked, gnashed, and spat. "I'LL KILL YOU BOTH!" he screamed.

It was an empty threat.

The only people he would kill tonight were Steven, Kara, and Danny.

Hanging his head, Tommy wept.

Like a lantern in the dark, the Hand of Light lef Lucy Loud. She clutched it in her right hand as she pedaled down the middle of Highway 12, its heat flowing into her. It hummed lightly, and as she got closer to where the Thorn Cult had set up shop, the visions in her head became sharper, clearer. She saw a clearing in the woods, two stone slabs side by side and surrounded by lit torches. The dark knowledge of what was going to happen - every terrible detail - filled her consciousness and she pedealed faster, the cold wind rushing through her hair. It was almost midnight, and if they didn't hurry, all would be lost.

A half mile from the clearing, Lucy left the highway in favor of a dirt road that dipped into a densely wooded holler. The road was rutted and bumpy and the trees so thick that their tops blocked out the light of the moon. At the bottom of the road, Lucy hopped off her bike and leaned it against a tree. Lincoln did the same. "Are you sure you know where we're going?"

Lucy held up the glowing stone and felt a pull to the east.

"Yes," she said. She let the stone guide her into the brush, and Lincoln followed, shooting worried looks over his shoulder. An owl hooted in the night, and he jumped a foot. "Quiet," she hissed.

From the road, they picked their way through thickets and bumble patches east toward their destination. The trees eventually fell away and they came to a big, grassy hill, its ridgeline humped against the starry night sky. The rune throbbed in Lucy's hand like a beating heart and emitted a low, teeth-rattling hum.

They were close.

Crouching low, she and Lincoln climbed to the top of the hill. At the summit, they dropped to their stomachs and peered down the other side. The first thing Lucy noticed were the torches: They were set up around a clearing in roughly the shape of the Thorne symbol: A type of P with sharp edges. Two slabs stood side by side just like in her vision. A number of people dressed in white robes stood before the altar waiting for the ceremony and a few more moved through the camp. Lucy spotted Tommy sitting against the rear bumper of a black van with his hands behind his back and a look of defeat on his face. As she watched, two cluts emerged from around the front of the van. They were holding a woman between them. She, too, wore a white robe and a wreath around her head. She struggled and fought in an attempt to get away from her captors but they were too strong; they led her through the crowd and up to the altar. They laid her out on one of the slabs and tied her hands and feet.

"That's Danny's mom," Lucy told Lincoln. The white haired boy gawked at the scene with wide-eyed horror.

"What are they going to do to her?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lucy asked.

He didn't reply.

The gathered cultists began a low and monotonous chant in Gaelic as more people came toward the altar. One was Danny: He walked beside Michael Myers in a trance, eyes straight ahead. A woman in a robe carried Steven and a man in a robe hobbled slightly ahead of them. Firelight bathed his old and tired face, and even though the only pictures she had seen of him were ten plus years old, she was certain that it was Dr. Loomis, Michael's former psychiatrist.

"What are we going to do?" Lincoln asked.

Lucy licked her lips. She didn't know. She didn't have time to formulate much of a strategy on the ride over. Technically she did but she wasn't in the head space for plotting rescue missions.

The chant rose in tone, filling the night and vibrating in Lucy's brain.

"Create a distraction," she said. She nodded down the hill. "I'm going to untie Tommy."

Lincoln took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Getting up, he went behind her and crept along the ridge, keeping low so that no one in the clearing below could see him. Lucy got to her feet, bent at the waist, and darted down the hillside. There were no trees or bushes, no place to hide. Outside the circle of light, the night was bright and silvery; she didn't know how visible she would be but if someone looked up, they would most likely see her.

She reached the bottom of the hill without incident, swung left, and came to the rear of the van from the side. She knelt in front of Tommy and he lifted his head. For a second he covered her with a blank stare, and he came alive. "How did you get here?" he asked.

Lucy pulled the rune out and held it up. "You dropped something in my yard."

"Thank God," he said. "Untie me."

A rope around Tommy's neck lashed him to the bumper and another was wound heavily around his wrists. Lucy picked at the knot of the latter but it was too tight. She crawled into the back of the van and felt around for something she could use to help. She eventually found a battered metal toolbox stowed under one of the benche seats along the wall. The undid the clasps and opened the lid. She shifted through the contents until she found a screwdriver. She jumped out, knelt beside Tommy, and carefully worked the point of the screwdriver into the knot, loosening it just a little.

The chanting reached a crescendo then cut out. The world was eerily silent for a moment, as though the very night itself was holding its breath in expectation. Dr. Loomis's voice rolled over the assemblage, clear and strong. "We, the children of Throne, gather this night to offer unto him the blood of an innocent so that we may be spared his wrath. We offer up this boy, Danny Strode, as we have offered this man Michael Myers." Michael stood before the stone slab on which his son Steven lay. The little boy stared up at the white faced apparition looming over him, not scared but curious.

Likewise, Danny stood over his mother, who pulled at her bonds and wept. The boy's face was blank, his eyes black and staring.

"Hurry," Tommy said, panic in his voice.

Overhead, dark clouds sailed across the sky, blotting out the moon and the stars. A loud rumble rolled across the world and flashes of lightning shot from one cloud to another. Electricity filled the atmosphere and the hairs on the back of Lucy's neck stood up.

"One shall spill his final blood," Loomis continued, "and the other shall spill his first blood. The spirit of Thorne shall then find new life in the boy. We do this for the village and the people. We do this as humble servants of Thorne."

Come on, Lincoln, Lucy thought, where are you?

On the other side of the clearing, Lincoln crept up behind the altar. Michael Myers and the other man were fifty feet away, almost close enough to touch. Lincoln crouched in a thicket and watched their backs, mind racing. He felt the weight of the gun in his pants and took it out; the smooth grip felt slimy in his hand and his heart raced. Lincoln liked to think he was a fairly intelligent kid and right now, he realized that he had only a few options, neither of them great. He could shoot Michael Myers, which would interrupt the ceremony but end with Michael Myers coming after him; he could shoot the old man, which might end the ceremony completely since he was the leader but still end with Michael Myers coming after him. He could shoot into the air and disrupt the ceremony, but -

Basically, everything he could do would end with Michael Myers coming after him. The best option was to shoot the old guy and then run like hell. He held the gun up in both hands and pointed it at the old man's back. The gun shook in his hands and a chasm of dread opened in the pit of his stomach. He didn't think he could do it. The guy was evil but still, shooting someone?

Lincoln's lungs burst for air.

He couldn't do this.

Michael Myers picked up a knife and so did Danny.

He had to do this.

Wincing and looking away, Lincoln jerked the trigger. The gun jumped in his hands with a loud pop. The bullet struck the old man in the shoulder and shoved him against the altar. A shocked murmur went through the crowd and turned to gasps and cries of alarm when the old man fell. Michael Myers turned his head and locked eyes with Lincoln. Lincoln's chest crushed like a tin can and he jumped to his feet. For a full five seconds, Michael Myers just stared at him, then he started to come.

Lincoln ducked right and ran along the treeline before cutting left. The cultists crowded around the altar to tend to their master. A few came at Lincoln, but he fired the gun into the air and they backed off. He ran toward the van and looked over his shoulder: Michael Myers was a few steps behind him, his breathing heavy and his white-masked face orange in the light of the many fires. Lincoln reached the rear of the van just as Michael caught up with him. Lincoln banged his knee against the edge of the bumper and went down with a pained cry. Michael raised the knife and Lincoln winced.

"MICHAEL!"

The killer turned.

Tommy limped up and thrust the rune into his face. It glowed like fire in his hand and seemed to tremble with its own inner life. Michael stumbled back in fear, his breath catching, and Tommy advanced on him, holding the rune out like a cross on a vampire. Above, thunder split the night and lightning crashed with a terrible sound. A fierce wind sprang up, and the torches went out one by one as if blown away by an unseen spirit. The cultists looked around, terror on their faces, some huddling together for protection and others fleeing altogether.

The rune burned brighter, its light filling the world and stinging Lincoln's eyes. He couldn't look away, though.

Michael's hands went to his face as the mask began to bubble and bulge. His body shook like a wind-tossed ship on rough seas and his breathing turned into a series of fearful grunts. Black, sludgy blood burst from his eyes and oozed through his fingers, staining the backs of his skeletal hands. The mask ripped and fell away from his corpsey face. He threw his head back, and a high, unearthly scream ripped from his vocal cords resounded through the night. Bright white light surrounded him, encasing him in a perfect void, and Lincoln clearly saw what happened next. Blackness shot from the killer's eyes, mouth, and nose, and the screaming intensified; in it, Lincoln could hear death, hell, screeching babies, and the memory of every person Michael had ever killed.

The spirit of Thorne, screaming in rage, defeat, and hatred, was ripped wholesale from Miichael's body, and in one mind-bending moment, Lincoln saw it for what it was, a black shadow with ragged eyes and a gaping mouth from which emanated the most awful sound.

Now the wind was stronger, rocking the van and shirking through the clearing. Lucy and Lincoln clutched each other for protection and elsewhere, Kara, who had freed herself from her bonds, huddled with Danny and Steven. Loomis got to his knees, held onto the slab, and watched, stunned. He screamed Michael's name, but it was ripped away by the wind.

The spirit was sucked into the stone, and with a flash of lightning that consumed the world, it exploded. Bolts of lightning shot from the sky and zapped fleeing culturists. One came down behind Loomis and he fell to the ground with a fearful scream.

Like an empty suit of clothes, Michael Myers fell limply to the ground.

Above, the lightning stopped and the rumble of the thunder petered out. The clouds broke apart and moonlight shone through. The wind died down and in a minute, it was like nothing had ever happened. Tommy walked up to the body on the ground and looked down at it. Its milky blue eyes met his, and in them, Tommy could see understanding.

And peace.

The little boy who had become the Butcher of Haddonfield closed his eyes.

Never to open them again.

Leaving the body of Michael Myers, Tommy rushed across the clearing and threw his arms around Kara, Danny, and Steven. Tears spilled down his cheeks and Kara broke down crying. "It's over," he told her, "it's all over."

"No, it's not."

Dr. Loomis sat against the slab, his white gown soaked with blood and his face the color of spoiled milk. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were dazed, confused. "The things I told you...they're going to happen. Terrible things. You don't know what you've done."

Tommy looked at the old man with pity. "Sometimes, bad things happen," he said. "You can't always sacrifice someone and escape it. Sometimes you just have to deal with it."

That elicited a sardonic laugh from Loomis. "Bad things. You have no idea." He threw his head back and fought to breathe. "You have no idea." Loomis reached undernerath his gown and pulled out a revolver. Tommy tensed, but instead of pointing it at him, the old man shoved it into his own mouth and pulled the trigger. The top of his head exploded in a red mist and blood gushed from his nose. He slumped over, dead.

Tommy held his family close.

Despite what the old man said, it was over.

All over.

October 31, 1997

Lucy Loud left the house at dusk and walked across the street. She wore a black cape over her normal clothes and a pair of plastic vampire teeth. It was a simple costume much different from the elaborate ones she had created for herself in past years, but she didn't have the heart to go all out. It was the first anniversary of Lori and Leni's murders and a funeral pall held sway over the Loud house. Mom was drinking again and had spent most of the past week in bed, and Dad sat in his chair staring into space. Halloween was once Lucy's favorite holiday but now she secretly wished that it would stop coming. She wouldn't have come out in the first place, but she needed to be away from home for a while.

She knocked on the door of 1209, and Danny answered. He wore a red and black plastic mask, a long brown wig, and a black and red body suit. Every Monday night, he and Lincoln watched Raw with Lynn and Lana. Danny's favorite was Kane, who he was dressed up with now.

Seeing Danny and being in his presence made Lucy feel better, and a warm smile touched her face. "Ready?" she asked.

"Yep," Danny said and came out. "Let's go."

He pulled the door closed behind him and they weren't down the flagstone walkway leading to the sidewalk. Kids dressed as ghouls, superheroes, firemen, and princesses surged past on their way to beg candy. Danny and Lucy walked in silence for a time, each enjoying the other's company. The past year had come and gone quickly. Danny started school, Tommy and Kara got married, and Steven had just turned two. Without the threat of the Thorn Cult and Michael Myers, the Doyle family had flourished. "Where do you wanna go first?" Danny asked.

"I don't care," Lucy said.

It didn't matter to her as long as she was with Danny.

Her hand crept into his and his fingers weaved through hers. They smiled at each other and then walked together into the gathering gloom.