Interlude: Dr. Sam Loomis' Report, 1994
A year before the 1995 Halloween night massacre, Dr. Sam Loomis published a report based on Michael Myers' case.
Harold Gazette, Warren County Times
Published July 30th, 1994
Michael Myers' Editorial
By Editor Ron Greggs
We here at the Harold Gazette like to pride ourselves in bringing you all the news on our states most notorious serial killer, Michael Myers. We have recently uncovered a document written by his doctor, Samuel Loomis. It was written 21 years ago, just after he was admitted to Smith's Grove Warren County Sanitarium. We have a copy of the original, unabridged, text below;
Michael Myers Patient Referral
By. Dr. Samuel Loomis,
Written May 19th, 1963
There are few times in any psychiatrists life when he comes across a patient that was so deranged he was considered a monster, by laymen's terms. A psychotic beast would be more appropriate for this case, in which I am speaking about the person who shares the name of the title of this piece; Michael Aubrey Myers.
I've been his personal psychiatrist for a little more than half a year; and I've already come to see something I've never experienced before. I've looked into his eyes… I've seen a darkness within them. No a darkness, as a nothingness; I would like to use the term nothingness, but the only nothing within him is the fact that his humanity is totally gone. He's become something beyond it. I do not know how to further explain it; other than to say he is not human.
I've studied him, for almost seven months, give or take two or three weeks. And I've come to realize is that he has a vale over everyone; but myself. I can see though it, I can see the evil inside of him. And its growing… one day, it will be far out of control of the minimum security of this sanitarium. Despite numerous attempts in the past, I haven't been able to get anyone to commit him to a higher security ward.
Maybe Michael knows more than he's telling, and is hiding something from everything. I have yet to come to a conclusion as to what that is… but I know he's plotting something. I see him looking out that window, everyday, not moving, not talking… acting as though he'd become catatonic. But really what it is he's become soulless… a wandering spirit of the damned.
My claims, as ill relevant as they may seem, are the God's honest truth. I know what he is… I just don't know why. The closer I try to get to the truth, the more questions I need to ask. Michael… is evil. Purely and simply put, he is evil.
I further see this patient is not properly under the care he should be. He needs constant twenty-four hour surveillance, under heavy medications, and be tied up, locked away, where he can never see the light of day again.
I may sound harsh and inhuman in my actions, but I swear, I speak the truth. Please, I implore you all to reconsider you choice to keep Michael within minimum security, without any real care. Michael isn't some child who did a wrong and will pay for it without a mind for the rest of his life. Michael is the essence of evil itself. The numerous hours I was in his presence I could feel the evil coming from him, like a burning fire… I could feel it within the very air I breathed.
I have spent six hours a day, for six months, trying to find something within him that is still good. It my be vain in my attempts to, but I must, at least, try… for, even now, if I can't reach him, maybe I can at least take him away from any chance he has to hurt anyone else.
I know… I just know he will go back to Haddonfield… to kill. Who he will kill, I don't know, and it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that he must be stopped, right here, right now. If he does go back to Haddonfield, I cannot blame myself, as hard as I try to get this all to go through, no one will listen to what I say.
That is why I have written this referral. To try and explain to you what he is. Michael Myers… is evil. And I beg you, I beg of you to at least consider the possibility… and listen to what I have to say. I would like to set up a meeting for as soon as possible in order to further discuss the situation with Michael Myers.
If you do not listen to what I have written here, what I have said at countless board reviews, hearings, and conferences, I do not want to come off as threatening, but it may be a dark day, when Michael decides to wake up, and come out of this… hibernation he seems to be in.
Some might call it a trance. I'd call it carefully played trickery. Michael knows exactly what he's doing… he's pretending to be catatonic, to be too far gone to be in any mental state to control his own body. I have seen nurses spoon feeding him, because he can't do it himself.
My word is as good as any other doctor in this state, the next state, or any state in this country of ours. A young man once came to the Sanitarium, on a field trip. He saw Michael, and I remember him looking at him with a horrified gaze.
When I asked him what was wrong, he nearly jumped. He told me, "I just… looked at those boys eyes… and they scared the shit out of me, completely." I vaguely remember the boy's name as being John. I doubt I and him are the only people out there who see beyond this… visage Michael has seemingly put over the entire sanitariums staff.
In conclusion, head council, I believe Michael Myers would be better suited at another location, with a higher security level, preferably one with a maximum security ward, heavily armed guards, and doctors more suited to take care of a patient like Michael Myers.
Sincerely,
Dr. Sam Loomis
That was the entire document. After previewing it some of our readers, here is some of their thoughts;
"I still think that Dr. Loomis guy is a nut," said Barry Simms, of Indianapolis, who came to visit Warren County for a few days, from his radio show 'Back Talk With Barry Simms.' "He's comparable to Ed Gein."
"Michael Myers is just a kid who went crazy one night," said Albert Callavici of Grover County. "I believe he just keeps going, and going, because he can't stop being crazy.
And for further information about Michael Myers, it shall be printed here, in The Harold Gazette.
Shortly after the release of this article, writer, Ron Greggs, was found dead, his neck had been slit by a sharp blade. The case has yet to have been solved to this day.
The Haddonfield Revelation
"Samhain. In order to appease the gods, the Druid priests held fire rituals. Prisoners of war, criminals, the insane-animals-were burned alive. By observing how they died the Druids believed they could predict omens of the future. Ten thousand years later we've come no further. Samhain isn't goblins or evil spirits. It isn't witches or ghosts. It's the unconscious mind. We're all afraid of the dark inside ourselves."
-Dr. Sam Loomis
Chapter 19
The roar of the music within the house was deafening; you could very well hear the sounds all the way down Grove Street. The music wasn't the only thing that was obnoxiously loud. So were the party goers, mostly, juniors and seniors from the high school, with the few sophomores who were popular enough to be invited. As usual, the party scene was full with beer, and assorted drugs, and the social classes that were split into several groups; the football jocks and cheerleaders, who would be on steroids.
Another social group would be the baseball and basketball kids, who always seem to be able to hang with each other with little problem. The third and final group were the soccer kids, with the outcasts, which was mainly comprised of the dope heads and drug dealers.
And, it being Halloween night, no one really cared about their missing host, for this party was one of the best they'd ever been to. And it was, for some of them, the last one they'd ever go to.
John and Gina would arrive at the party, climbing through the crowd of people, and heading toward the living room. The would walk in, looking all around.
"Hey!" Gina would call out. No one would listen, and the party would go on. "Hey," she would cry out louder, yet still, no answer from anyone at all.
John would look to her, and smile. "There's only one definite way of getting everyone's attention." He would pull out his gun, aiming it into the air, and firing it off once. The entire crowd would stop, and would turn to where the gun shot was from. "Hey, everyone! Listen up, Gina here has something to tell you all."
He would put the gun away, and Gina would hand Chris over to him. She would climb on top of the small coffee table, looking over everyone. "Listen, everyone… Michael Myers is alive… and he's here… and he wants to kill me, and John here. Please, everyone, you have to get out of Haddonfield. There is this evil cult, and they want to turn all of you into mindless zombies and use you to be immortal."
"Whatever she's drinking, I want one," would call out one of the jocks, the entire group laughing amongst themselves.
"No man," said one of the dope heads. "What ever she's smoking, get me some of that shit!" The entire crowd would erupt in laughter, as she would look around.
"Listen, damn it. Michael Myers is alive, and is here to kill. And he'll kill anyone in his path, and that's a guarantee. Now, look, you can either run, or die with those who decide not to heed my warnings. Didn't you people learn from last year?"
"Michael Myers shouldn't be the one put into Smith's Grove, it should be you," called out another partygoer, and they would all laugh once again. The music would resume its level of loudness, and the party would presume, as though nothing had ever stopped it to begin with.
"Why won't anyone believe me," Gina would say to herself, grabbing her brother back from John. "I can't believe this, why won't anyone believe me?"
"Look… Gina… people don't believe things can really happen until they really happen for their own eyes to see it. In order for people to learn from their mistakes, mistakes need to happen. I didn't believe my mother every day she told me Michael Myers was alive, and still out there. I just thought it a whole load of shit she'd been shoveling down my throat for seventeen years. But I learned my lesson. I found two of my friends butchered to death by that maniac. And now, my wife, and my child… and any living relative's I had, any friends. They're all dead. I believe I've learned from my mistake. We've warned them, there isn't much else we can do beyond that."
"So, what are you saying? Let all this kids stay here so they can be systematically slaughtered, one by one? Or, put into that crazy cult? I can't just let that happen, John, and you know that."
"I do," John would say, looking into her eyes. "But right now, we are on the run for our own lives. It's either we run, and get away, or we stay and fight with them, and possibly die. And if I die, remember, your next, and that little boy you're holding is going to finish what he was supposed to almost a year ago. You know that as well as I do."
She would lowly begin to sob to herself. "I just wish all this would be over," she would say to herself, looking down at the ground, several tear drops falling and landing upon the carpeted floor. "I wish I could go home, to my father, give him a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. See Chris playing with the other neighborhood kids. I wish Glen was still alive. I wish Sheryl, and Bunny… all of them, were here today. But I know wishes aren't meant to come true, John. I know that now. I'm starting to get it all… I'm destined to die a broken, old, woman."
"Now, don't say that," he would say, putting a hand upon her shoulder. "We'll get through this. We will. Chris will be all right, you'll be all right. What ever it takes, I swear, this will all be over soon. Even if I have to die trying, I have to."
Looking back to him, she would slide her hand into his, looking up to him, squeezing his gently. "If I die… I want to die with a fight, and I want to have no weakness… I want to go out, like a great person. Trust me, if you fight, I'll fight, no matter what. To the end of both of us, I promise, this will go down even if we die."
"…Together?"
Standing up a bit, she would plant a kiss on his lips, looking to him. "Together," she would say, with a bit of a smile.
Meanwhile, outside the house, Michael Myers watched the on goings of the party, mainly leaving his dark eyes watching the two from outside. He would slowly walk behind the house, and to a back door, looking in. He could see the layout of a kitchen; someone was inside a fridge, looking for a beer.
Michael would slowly turn the knob on the back door, it creaking slowly open. He would walk inside, looking at the man inside the refrigerator. He would slowly walk behind him, his heavy breathing coming from within the mask.
The man would quickly turn around, looking behind him. He saw someone left the back door wide open, and would walk over to close it. He would then turn around, looking all around. Seeing no one, he would merely shake it off as nerves. Walking back to the refrigerator, he would stick his head in.
What he missed was the feet that could be seen underneath the door; hiding the man hiding behind it. Immediately, the door would slam closed, the headless body falling down to the floor. Michael would look up, seeing a nice set of kitchen knives, right there, on the counter top. He would pull one out slowly, examining the blade.
He could see those black eyes within in the blade, and would stay on them.
"Hey man where are those beers… Holy shit!" One of the party goers would say, looking to Michael. Michael would pull out another blade, throwing it with his free hand. The blade would watch the partygoer between the eyes; he would drop down to the floor, with a simple thud.
Michael would walk forward, and further into the party. He would finally arrive into the living room area, catching a glimpse of the two in a short lip lock.
Chapter 20
The mob of cult members would continue scouring the streets, unaware of where the two were hiding. Even though their leader knew exactly where they were, he did not bother to tell any of them; he wanted this moment to be a pleasure for him, and not be shared by anyone else, save Dr. Wynn. He would continue to walk towards the house were the party still roared, and would look back, as Terrance would catch up to Dr. Loomis.
"I don't have time for this, Dr. Wynn," he would say, looking back to him. "I really don't."
"Dr. Loomis, we are only a few steps away from arriving at that house, and finishing this off. But what if they get away again? What if we fail once more?"
"We won't," he would say, his voice sounding strong and confident. "I can see through Michael's eyes… he seems them… right now. All he has to do is kill that Tate boy, and our troubles will finally be over."
"But what if they do escape," he would say, looking to Loomis.
"If they escape the night, the ritual can't end. So, if they do happen to escape, we kill the girl, the boy, and John Tate."
"Dr. Loomis! That goes against everything that we stand for! You can't do that. Samhain will be displeased."
"He will not." And that's all he would say, as he would continue walking, ever growing closer to the house.
"How do you know what Samhain wants," Dr. Wynn would say, putting his hand upon Dr. Loomis shoulder.
"I know," he would say, his voice becoming deep and demonic. He would grab Dr. Wynn's hand, crushing it within his own. Dr. Wynn would go down to his knees, as Dr. Loomis would pull a gun, putting it up against his wrist. "You know," he would say, his voice normal again, "by severing the wrist, just below that mark, you are gone from this cult, and all your powers are too. How would you like that? I'll just blow your wrist off, and then, have the cult members eat you alive. Samhain needs a sacrifice, lets make it you, Terrance."
Dr. Loomis would release his hand, and just look down at him. "I pity you, Wynn. You don't know the true nature of me, or of Thorn. When you conjured Samhain up, you didn't realize what it would do to you, or what you would become. You don't control fate, Samhain controls it… I control it."
Dr. Wynn would rise to his feet, looking back to him, rubbing his wrist.
"Go get some gasoline," Dr. Loomis would say, turning around. "Get some of the guys to get it. Douse the house in flames, and burn it down to the ground. I don't want any evidence this time… go it?"
"Yeah, I got it," he would say. For the first time, in a long time, Dr. Terrance Wynn would feel fear. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this much fear within him; maybe the day he knew he'd failed Sam back in 1995, the last time he knew he'd failed him far too much. He wanted to make amends, and he knew, no matter what, he couldn't screw up again, or that meant sure death. He would nod, and run up to a few of the members, gathering them together, and they would head down the road to the nearby gas station.
Dr. Loomis would walk up to the front door, peering inside. He could see Gina and John, rather close to each other, and Michael, in the background, unseen by any of the party goers. He decided this was too fun to miss out on, and would merely watch from the window just near the front door.
Chapter 21
John would back out of the kiss, looking to Gina, looking into her eyes, with a hazy stare. "Gina… I'm sorry… I don't have the feelings for you that you may have for me. You're a beautiful girl… but I loved Molly… and you loved Glen… trust me… this could never work out."
"I know it can't," she would say, hugging him. She would close her hand, her brother entrapped between the two. John would slowly move his arms, to return the short embrace, whispering to her. "Hey, everything will be all right… don't worry… we'll get through it… we will… trust me on this one."
She would merely nod her head against his shoulder. She would lift her head, looking forward. Her eyes would widen, as she would pull from him. She would back away slowly, and he would look into her eyes.
"Gina, what's the matter?" He didn't even have to ask. He could see the reflection within her eye; Michael Myers was only a few feet behind John. He would turn around quickly, and he would be gone. He would look back to Gina, who was still looking on in a mortified gaze of horror.
He would walk up to her, getting as close to her as he could. "Where did he go," he would say, looking to her. "Where did he go, Gina?"
"He was right there, now he's gone," she said, looking up to John. "There he was standing, and when you turned around, he just disappeared."
"That's not possible," John would say, looking there. He would pull out the gun once more, looking around.
"Look, I got five more shots with this. If we need to, go up the street, and run as fast as you can. If Michael's here, I'll take him on, myself. But you just got to make sure you survive until the morning, got me?"
"Why, John? I don't understand…"
"…Look… Tommy once told me the ritual is complete after the last member of the bloodline is killed on Halloween, and the next sacrifice dies as well. But, if I die, and Chris doesn't kill you, the curse will be broken, and Chris, next year, can't become the one accursed."
"What? Why?"
"If you run from here, run from Haddonfield, and never come back, you'll be safe. Trust me, Gina… the boy who is cursed has to be below the age of eleven. Chris is nine, and at the age of eleven, he won't be able to be put under the curse. Trust me, Gina, this will all work. You just got to survive to the morning. Once that happens, take Chris as far away from Haddonfield as possible, and never look back. You'll be safe, you'll see."
"I can't just leave you here to die, John. And you know that."
"Yeah, well, you're going to have to." He would look back to her, and then behind him, and back to her. "You have to run away from here, get out of Haddonfield. If you don't, you'll die, I'll die, and Chris' soul will be tormented for years."
Looking to him, her eyes would begin to full with tears, and a few would roll down her soft pale skin. "You know I could never leave your side, John. I just couldn't. I told you that, if I had to die, it would be by my friends side, and you're all I got. If I can save Chris, I'd do anything to save my little brother's life. Anything."
"You're a good sister, Gina," John would say, looking to her. "You'll do great things someday."
"…And so will you," she said, looking to him. "So will you, you just gotta beat this thing, same as I."
They would just look on to each other, unaware as Michael Myers had hid amongst the partygoers, and slowly closed in upon the two, while Dr. Loomis watched from just outside the house.
Chapter 22
Arriving just behind the house was Wynn, with the men he'd collected to get the gasoline. They began to throw the gasoline all over the house, while Wynn stood by, just watching, hands deeply stuffed into his pockets.
He would pull out a matchbox, holding it firmly within his hand, looking to them, as the gasoline covered a part of the house. He would watch as they backed off, looking to the house.
"You were a good man, Jonathan Parker, and I'm sorry you had to die. But your death shall not be in vain; for now, this will reconcile the wrongs that need to be righted. Trust me, John, your death shall not be in vain."
He would strike the match, tossing it at the house. He would watch as the gasoline would ignite, and he would smile.
"Time to clear out, everyone," he said, watching the fire quickly grow in size. They would all run off, and he would slowly step off, through the bushes, looking back. "This is your game now, Sam… time to play the cards right."
He would turn around, walking down the long street, whistling the tune to "Don't Fear the Reaper," as he would disappear into the dark night.
Inside the house, the partiers would still be unaware of the dangers that surrounded each of them. Michael would watch, patient as always, as the two discussed their tactic in order to escape this party. Just as he was about to sprint into action, and take out his nephew once and for all, there would be a scream.
"Fire," someone would come out. Everyone thought it was a joke, until the thick black smoke began to move into the room. The entire crowd would all, at once, rush to the door. John and Gina would be separated, while the partiers ran straight for the front door.
Busting it open, they would run franticly out into the street. Dr. Loomis would turn and watch them run from the party. But he wanted a few more sacrifices to Samhain… he needed a few more. So he ran, closing the door, and jamming the knob. Several people tried to push it open.
"Open the door, man," cried one of the partygoers, smashing his hand against the doorway. Dr. Loomis would merely stand there, grin running over his face.
John and Gina could now clearly see Michael. As someone would run by him, he would stick out his arm, the person smacking against it, the loud snapping of their neck echoing through the room. The remainder of people huddled against the door would decide to take it up themselves to try and get past The Shape.
One would pick up a lamp, and smash it over him. He would merely look to him, grab him by the throat, and throw him into the television head first, right through the tube. Sparks would fire from the destroyed set, as a trail of blood would slowly slither down to the floor.
One man would pick up a stereo remote, and would throw it at him. It would smack against his head, and the song "Die Die My Darlin" by Metallica would blast over the radio, as he would walk forward, lifting up the idiot who threw the remote. Plunging the knife into him, he would throw his limp body away, it smashing through a coffee table.
A girl would scream, running past Michael. He would turn, throwing his knife, the blade connecting with the back of her head. She would fall flat on the ground.
"He's weaponless," cried out one of the jocks, cracking his neck. "We can take him." Five of the jocks nodded, and would form a circle around him. Two would run at him at the same time from either side; he would grab their heads, smacking them together, each one exploding upon the impact on the other. Michael would look at one, who was running at him. The jock speared him back, through a window.
The jock would rise, looking back to everyone. "I got the bastard!" Then, from behind, a large piece of glass would rip through him, and right through his heart. A single droplet of blood would fall from the sharp edge of the glass, a she would look up at the crowd. A small dribble of blood would run from his lips, down his chin, as he would fall backwards, the glass pushing further through his body, severing his shoulder from his neck.
Michael would climb back into the house, standing back up, and admiring his own handiwork.
"Oh, fuck this," said one jock, turning tail and running into the kitchen. As he went into the kitchen, the fire had so badly burned the area, the kitchen ceiling collapsed on top of him, crushing him in only a matter of seconds.
The remaining guests would look to Michael, who would begin to move to the last of the partiers. They would huddle together and scream, until a bullet rang out, connecting with Michael's temple, knocking him down to the ground.
John Tate stood holding the gun, looking to them. "Go out that window, right now," he ordered, looking to them. "This may be your only chance to escape, now move it, damn you!"
They wouldn't hesitate a moment to get the hell out of Dodge. The would run as fast as they could, climbing out of the open the window. John would look down to Michael on the ground, when he would turn around, looking to Gina. "Go upstairs… hide… somewhere. Please, go!"
Gina wouldn't hesitate, either; she ran as fast as she could up the stairway, as John would turn around, looking to Michael. Michael's fingers would begin to twitch, as he would begin to slowly sit up. John would unload another round into his chest, knocking Michael back down to the ground.
Looking him over, he would unload a third round into Michael. "Three left," he would say to himself. Drawing back the hammer once more, unloading a forth into Michael's chest cavity. Michael would begin to rise, and John would aim the gun, firing it at his chest, the bullet passing straight through it. He aimed the final shot between Michael's eyes; hoping to blind him. Drawing back the hammer, he would steady his shot, pulling the trigger.
Click. The final round didn't go off. Or did it? John's mind would race back to just less than a half hour ago, when he fired off one round to gather the attention of the partiers.
"Oh, fuck," he would say to himself, dropping the gun down to the floor. He would turn tail, and run up the stairs.
Michael wouldn't follow; he would turn around, walking over to the girl. He withdrew the blade from the back of her head, turning back, and heading towards the stairs, and his final victim.
Chapter 23
Enjoying the marvelous splendor from his own first row seat outside the house, Dr. Loomis was rather pissed to see the supposed heroes hiding upstairs. He went to the front door, opening it up, and slowly walking inside the house. He would walk into the living room, looking over the dead bodies, and seeing the massacre Michael had left here.
And boy, was it enjoyable by Sam Loomis' tastes. For years, people saw him only as some kooky man who preached about evil… when he was the evil himself. Samhain, the night of the harvest, it was all under his control. He would walk over to the man who'd been split at the neck and shoulder, surprised about how well the cut was. He would turn, hearing some noises upstairs, a smile coming over his face.
"Good, Michael… that's my good boy. Make sure it all goes as planned, Michael." He would look down to his watch, seeing the time grew short, and he knew it. He was getting rather anxious. He wanted this over and done with, this night. He would slowly walk to the stairwell, looking up it.
A familiar scream of terror from the female ringed in his ears. He remembered how good it felt to hear it that first Halloween, and all the subsequent Halloween's there after. He almost felt a rush of utopia over his body; a sort of rush of power running through him.
He would like this feeling. He knew it was one of the few instances in his life he had such a feeling. Every year, and every death, felt better and better to him. Like he was absorbing it into him. He would slowly close his eyes, and merely bask in the splendor of the rush of feeling over his body.
He would look back, seeing the one boy who was stabbed, as trying to drag himself away, and escape.
"Now," Dr. Loomis would say, looking to him. "This just won't do." He would walk to the couch, grabbing a pillow, turning the teenager over onto his back. He would shove the pillow over his face, and hold it there. He could feel the desperate gasps for air beneath his hand, and the boys weakened hands grabbing, and scratching at Dr. Loomis' flesh. But it didn't matter to him. This is what he enjoyed. Watching people suffer.
He would feel the boys fighting beginning to weaken, his hands last ferocious and less frantic, until they would fall smack down upon the ground. Beneath his hand, he would feel no more struggle for air. The boy was dead. He would pull the pillow back, looking to the boy.
"Poor boy… you're a victim of circumstance and chance… do not worry… you won't have to worry about getting anymore acne, or girls. All you have to worry about his your eternal soul burning down in hell."
He would rise up, playing his favorite game. He would place his foot on the boys neck, applying pressure. He would count the amount of time it would take before he heard the satisfying crack. Eight seconds. Smiling about the dead bodies newly added broken neck, making it look more like a accident.
Hearing the footsteps coming down the stairs, he would draw his gun, aiming it at the stairwell.
Moments before, upstairs, John would run, putting his hands to his lips, calling out. "Gina! Gina! Where are you," he would say, looking all around. Then, Gina would open a bedroom door, seeing John. "Quick," she said, looking to him. "In here!"
He would run into the room, and Gina would close the door behind him, locking it.
"That won't be enough," he would say, looking to a dresser. "Help me move this."
They would both pull and push on the dresser, until it blocked the entire door. John would run, dragging a chair, and putting it up against the dresser, as Gina, too, would help barricading the door. She would look around, trying to find anything to block the door.
It would be then when they'd hear the doorknob attempting to be turned. They would grow silent at that moment, looking to the door. The sound of a hand beating against the door was also heard, to the point where the wooden door could be heard cracking and splitting.
Then, as quick as it had began, it stopped. John and Gina would continue to watch the door, in total silence.
"Is he gone," she would say, looking to him.
"Shh… I don't know," he would return, eyes flickering from the light, as he would approach the door.
Just then, the wall would explode in pieces of sheetrock and wood, as Michael would rip through it like it were tinfoil. He would slowly raise his head, eyes setting upon John.
Gina would let out a shrilled scream, grabbing her brother and running to the furthest corner of the room, watching as uncle and nephew stood off once more. John would look him dead in the eyes, and begin to speak.
"I'm not afraid of you, Michael," he would say. "I don't fear you… because… I know… I've beaten you before… I'll do it again."
Michael would begin to walk forward, toward John, until he heard some creaking below him. He would look down as John would jump onto the bed.
"See you in hell."
The ground beneath him would give out, and Michael would fall, straight into the burning kitchen. Gina would look back to John, with a sigh of relief.
John would look back to her, and would roll off the bed. "Come on, lets get the hell out of here." Gina would merely nod, going over the bed, and following John. Just then, the floor would break, and a burning hand would come out, grabbing Gina's leg. She would scream, and John would begin to kick it.
He would then see Michael's knife near the hole. He would run over to it, picking it up, running back, and then stabbing his hand through the wrist, pulling it back out. The sound of the floor giving out beneath would cause another hole to be made, and Gina would jump free, as would John, the blaze growing beneath them. They would rush toward the stairs, going down them, until to be greeted by the barrel of a handgun.
"Hello, kids," Dr. Loomis would say, smile wrapping over that old, aging face.