'Why do you fight it? Why cling to this sentimentality? If you would only listen, if you would only learn just a little.

Give them something to fear, to talk about around the campfire. Become the rumor that was me. Become...immortal.'

Honey couldn't remember falling asleep, nor could she remember waking up, she just simply - was. She felt a cold breeze on her cheek, the thick dewy smell of fog, the crushing dark that choked the realm, everything that had been locked out with three different deadbolts.

Her eyes adjusted to the soft glow of streetlights and the rhythmic pulsing of red and blue lights of an abandoned cruiser. Someone was chattering over the radio, desperately trying to get in contact with whoever had disappeared from the driver's seat.

The cool metal of a twisted hook found comfort in her grip, wholly familiar to some part of her, but not belonging all the same. She wagered she'd been dragged into another trial, by whatever mystical natures possessed by the Entity and She seemed to confirm the notion within the whispers of the fog.

"Oh for fuck's sake." She muttered to herself. Wasn't one trial enough for the night? Couldn't she just enjoy NOT being pressured to murder people for two minutes? Was that really so much to ask.

She sighed heavily. Her shoulders sagged and she pouted into the spider limb twist of sky. "You suck so much ass, Spider-Lady," she announced bitterly.

A Devil's chuckle hummed within the creeping tendrils of fog.

"Better get this over with," she grumbled. This wasn't stumbling in blind through a hole in a fence, this was an intentional set of play, posed within this Haddonfield playhouse like some macabre doll. She took in her surroundings, more so in hopes of finding the Trapper hidden somewhere within the foliage.

"Trapper?" She whispered his name and paused for response, staring into the shadows as if she might conjure him there. When no answer came she took a few tentative steps down the street and tried again, projecting her voice on a forced whisper now, just a little bit louder. "Trapper?"

Still nothing.

"Oh come on with that silent stalker shit, where are you?" She hissed into the darkness as she crept further on down the street, "I am NOT doing this alone."

Red and blue lights danced over her face and cast eerie blinking shadows along the buildings that lined the road. For whatever reason, Honey poked her head inside, as if she might find him there, as if he would ever even fit through the door.

Nothing and no one.

Heavy boots marked his presence behind her, silent otherwise, breathing quietly through his mask.

Honey jumped and bumped her head off the door frame of the car. Grabbing at the sore spot she cursed him, "What the fuck man? You scared the absolute shit out of me."

She turned around.
And wished she hadn't.

This was most certainly not the Trapper, but a much more sinister Shape. He was dressed in a navy blue boiler suit zipped right up to the neck. Black stains painted his arms and flecked his chest, some grease and others a much less innocent substance. Honey couldn't bring herself to look up past the top of his collar, right where the white of his mask started., instead staring very intently into his chest like it would make any difference in the grand scheme of things.

"Totally thought you were someone else," she admitted, "that's my bad." She took a step back from him, feeling the police cruiser against her back and knowing she was very much screwed in the moment.

Slowly she allowed her gaze to crawl up over him like a horror movie rip off of a Lucasfilm intro.

' A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

Haddonfield sleeps easy tonight, unaware of the horrors that await it. THE SHAPE returns with the young Honey McKeever for a ghastly night of murder, stalking the shadows with deadly intent at the behest of the sinister ENTITY. '

It took a lot of effort to look up into his mask, feeling smaller and smaller the higher her vision climbed until finally she met his gaze. There was no humanity there, no light behind those cold, dead eyes, just an empty, unabashed evil.

Honey couldn't even feign ease.

He had probably known of the impending trial, sought her out on the MacMillan Estate in an effort to gauge her ability and seen her fall down a flight of stairs in an excellent portrayal of a highly trained, professional, serial slasher.

There was no skirting the never-killed-anyone issue under his scrutiny. It was in the eyes - and Honey had the eyes of a Carebear.

Glancing at the hook in her hand she acknowledge that much, she was going to have to kill someone or be killed herself. This wasn't like the Trapper's trial, this was the deep end, and the pool was filled with molasses and steak knives.

She flattened herself weirdly against the cop car as she tried to scooch out from the corner she'd put herself in. The Shape didn't move to block her, only turned his head to follow.

"So," Honey said, still trying to get around him, "Looks like it's you and me, big guy," she gave a little fist pump, "you ready to murderfy some people? Happy Halloween and whatever, right?"

The Shape turned with her as she managed to squeeze out from between him and the cruiser. Indifference marked in his silence.

She took a few steps back from him, reveling in the comfort of the open street behind her, "I won't ruin the whole lone wolf vibe you got going," she said, bobbing her head and waving her hands in exchange for air quotes, "I'll go check the generators over...uh...that way," she pointed down the street. "We'll meet up at the trial's end and compare killings, sound good?"

No answer. She didn't expect it anyway.

"Do you want to do a 1-2-3 BREAK or just go?"

Only breathing.

"Just go then? Alright go!"

Honey didn't wait for him to respond, she knew he wouldn't, not unless it was with extreme violence. She set down the indicated direction, doing her best to remain casual about the whole ordeal, but realizing halfway down the lane she had forgotten entirely how to walk normally.

She didn't want to put her back to him, or her front for that matter, but beggars really couldn't be choosers in a game of life and death, so she opted for distance, and did a weird sideways crab walk.

"Walking normal, walking normal," she robotically willed herself down the street, swinging her arms a little too stiffly and marching along a little too awkwardly.

There had been no dressing up her first trial, decorated in splashes of blood and high expectations. She hadn't lived up to them and suffered the disappointment of her mentor. He hadn't regarded her with brutality though, not yet at least, offering her advice and even a place to lie down after. Humanity betrayed the monstrosity that made up a grim masquerade.

That wasn't the case with Myers.

His was a chill air that crawled up the spine, an empty street you couldn't turn your back on, being shit-pantsingly scared of every closet, drape, and mirror, ears strained knowing you'd never hear him coming anyway.

THAT was Michael Myers.

And Honey was stuck with him for the next - however long four murders took. Possibly five.

She spied an open garage. A rusted old Chevrolet Nova sat empty and abandoned in the lot, rot creeping up the side molding with a large pallet resting against its rear bumper which did nothing at all for the deteriorating finish. She crept beneath the tilt-up canopy and nestled herself there within the shadows of the shelves and car, comforted by the small enclosure knowing there were really only two ways for him to come should he decide to stalk after her instead.

Outside her temporary sanctuary she could hear the splutters of generators, the soft whirs of their gears and the frequent coughs of sparks from a misplaced bolt or tangled wire. It was somewhat comforting to know she was competing with others for his attention. With their focus on powering the generators around the trial grounds Honey knew she had more than enough leeway with her own actions. Even if he avoided her in his pursuit of a successful trial, at the end of it she knew it would only be them.

The thought was not comforting at all. But the trial's end was some time away and at the moment she was safe...well...she was currently not being stabbed.

So that was a plus.

A rustling of leaves and quiet footsteps caught her attention as David crept in through the actual doorway. He hadn't noticed her yet, focused on watching his back and making sure an actual threat wasn't on his tail.

"David?" Honey asked.

Her voice seemed to startle him as he whipped about, brandishing his flashlight like a weapon.

Honey flinched as the light blinded her and held up a hand to block it. She squinted between her fingers, "Holy hell, can you turn that off?"

"Honey?"

"Yeah," Honey said.

"Motherfucker," the manner in which he said it denoted a clear and exhausted irritation, "two trials in a row of this shit, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Sorry?"

"You got Meg killed, you know."

"Who's Meg?"

"The girl you let the Trapper hang up with a bear trap snapped around her fucking foot. Why didn't you stop him?"

"Dude," Honey said defensively, "I'm like, five feet nothing, what the fuck do you think I could have done?"

"Don't give me that shit. You were brought here same as us - and same as them," he threw a hand out as if to indicate the invisible Shape, "and you sure as hell aren't one of them. Which makes you one of us. You could have done anything else, but you stood there and let him kill her. We could have had a chance."

"First of all, I don't know what I am, because l JUST got here like - three hours ago and all you people keep doing is telling me I fucked something up without actually telling me what to do! And getting a silent killer to talk is like pulling fucking teeth. Second of all," Honey scowled and pointed out a vindictive finger, "where were you tough guy? I didn't see you trying to help."

David shot her a nasty glare.

"Yeah," Honey scoffed rather too haughtily, "so we both suck. Want to try again?"

"You're kind of a bitch, you know that?"

"And you're kind of an asshole."

David offered her a rough, but somewhat amused chuckle as he shoved past to peek out the garage door. "Nea says it's The Shape, it's never Haddonfield unless it's him."

"Who's Nea."

"The other girl I was with in our last trial."

"With the beanie?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, it's The Shape," Honey admitted.

There was a pause between them as David assured the streets were clear, "Do you know where he went?"

"Nope," said Honey, which was not at all comforting to either of them, "He was over by the cop car last I saw him, but I split off hella quick. Not exactly high up on my bucket list to go frolicking through Haddonfield with the Bogeyman."

She watched him with his back to her, the cold steel of the hook between her knuckles nagging at some dark part of her. It would be so easy, so quick.

"Why'd the Entity take you anyway?" David asked after a minute.

"I honestly think She thought I was someone else," Honey said, "that or everyone's right and I'm not supposed to actually BE here...you know, on the killing-people side of things."

The street was just as quiet as she remembered it, peaceful almost if you could forget the Boogeyman was somewhere out there waiting to kill you.

"So what did you do?" He asked.

"What do you mean? Like illegally?"

"No, generally."

"Well I was a secretary," Honey said, "nothing really exciting. "I made Excel sheets, answered phones, told people to 'Please wait, Mr. Roman will be with you shortly.' Other than that - nothing really. Computer, phone, TV, the usual Saturday night. I'm real sorry about your friend."

"She's not my friend," said David with some dark inflection Honey couldn't place.

"If she's not your friend, why are you all shit mad?"

"Because one less person means one less chance we're getting out of here alive. Just because we've gone through these trials before doesn't mean you get used to dying."

"That's...fair. Is she uh ... here?"

"No. Bill took her place."

"Cool, cool," Honey nodded, then added, "who's Bill?"

Somewhere down the street echoed a bloodcurdling scream.

"Look, you want to know everyone, come visit the campfire, I'm not doing this here with you again."

"That's fair," Honey said, "how do I get to your campsite?"

"It's always just beyond the trial grounds," he said. He poked his head out the garage one more time, straining his eyes to try and see where the sound might have come from. For a moment they stood in absolute silence, only the distant chatter from the abandoned cruiser giving life to dark streets. Then, David's demeanor seemed to shift and not so unsuspiciously.

"That's Nea," he said, "I think he's hung her up down the street. I can't get to her...but you. You think you can?"

"Uh..." Honey said, "am I supposed to do that?"

"He can kill us," David said, "but he can't kill you. It's a part of the rules or some shit."

"I feel like you're just setting me up here."

"Listen kid, you want to help, right?"

"Definitely feeling like a set up."

"Just go over there and pull her off the hook. You don't have to do anything else."

"Umm..." Honey said and ultimately shrugged anyway, "alright, I guess."

"Good," said David, "and try to keep him busy if you see him. I'm going to fix the generator upstairs."

"You want me," Honey said, pointing to herself, "to quote, 'keep him busy?' Him being Michael Myers? You want me to keep HIM busy?"

"Think you can handle that?" David asked as he crept out of the garage.

"Uh? No?" Honey balked.

"You'll be fine," David assured once more, "Like I said, he can't hurt you."

Honey squinted at his back, "If I get stabbed," she said, "I am so coming right back here and shoving this hook so far up your ass."

David chuckled and disappeared somewhere around the corner, leaving Honey to fulfill an impossible request.

"Well," she said to herself, "what can go wrong?"