Pandemonium reigned at the sanitarium. Police cars and ambulances crammed into every available parking space and even onto the grass. Shouts and cries rang out as orderlies tried desperately to round up and calm all the escaped inmates. Police officers scoured the grounds looking for any clue as to where the infamous Michael Myers might have gone. The excited bays of the police bloodhounds pierced the night air, their howls blended with the screams of those insane beyond redemption.

In the midst of this maelstrom stood Dr. Samuel Loomis, a balding man in his early forties. For fifteen years, he'd been Michael Myers' doctor, self-appointed guardian of the damned. For all these years, he'd kept a silent vigil, forsaking all of his other patients and hobbies so that he could be sure the gates of this one-man hell would remain forever closed. But he had not been vigilant enough, because now the monster was out, seeking to finish what he had begun.

He sighed as he picked through the remains of what had been Myers cell. Two crumpled bodies lay on either side of the doorway, blood pooling in the threshold. A trail of gore on the wall behind the bodies bespoke the violence with which the men's heads had been bashed against the wall. The ruins of their skulls lolled on their broken necks, bulging eyes staring at him accusingly. But it was the word on the door that held his attention.

He stepped gingerly over one of the bodies and reached out to touch the single word. The blood it had been written it was tacky, but not yet dry. SISTER, it read in a large, childish scrawl. Michael never had much penmanship practice. He could've used even a dull pencil to gouge out the eyes or brains of his wardens. It was amazing he'd been able to write this well, all things considered. So, Michael, he mused, you're going after her, aren't you? You're going to try and kill her, to finish what you started all those years ago. I can't let you do that, Michael. You've already taken my life; I won't let you take Laurie's, too.

As he turned to go, he bumped into the imposing Dr. Wynn, the chief psychiatrist at Smith's Grove: Haddonfield Sanitarium for the Criminally Insane.

"Dammit, Wynn," roared Loomis, "how could you let this happen?"

"We thought he was catatonic," he shot back. "It came out of nowhere."

"How many times have I told you to beware of his treachery, his cunning? And now because of your carelessness and ignorance, the devil walks the streets among the unsuspecting innocents!"

Wynn was about to reply when a fat orderly came running, a piece of yellow legal paper crushed in one sweaty palm. "Dr. Loomis, Dr. Loomis," he wheezed, thrusting the ravaged paper in his face," we got a call from the Haddonfield School for the Disabled. One of their patients has been abducted."

"Who?" he asked, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. An answer was already surfacing in his mind

The orderly studied the paper for a moment. "A girl named Macie Alexandra Myers."

"Dear God," he breathed, and ran for the door.