She was running down a dark alley. How she'd gotten there she had no idea. She only knew It was right behind her...whatever It was. And she had to get out of there and fast. The end of the alley, however, seemed to get farther away with each stride she took. And Its footsteps echoed louder and louder behind her. She could hear it starting to call her name...

"Laurie...Laurie, come on, time to wake up."

Laurie Strode's eyes popped open. Morning light was streaming in through her window. Her father was standing over her bed. "Come on, time to get going, or you'll be late," he informed her, gesturing towards her clock, which read 7:46. Laurie blinked at it. "You let me go that long?" she inquired.

"It's OK," he seemed reasonable about it, "Lord knows I sleep in sometimes too. I'm on my way out, so lock up when you go."

"Right," she nodded as he walked out. She switched off her record player, on which the brand new copy of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours she'd picked up a few weeks ago was still spinning after having lured her to sleep the previous night, and dressed as quickly as she could manage. She hated being tardy for anything, especially school, although given that she was a favorite among her teachers for being brighter than average, she supposed she had a little slack to work with if she did turn up late a single time.

She swept her school books off the table next to her phone, then bent down to pick up the book she'd been reading the last few days (Mystery in the Flooded Museum; mysteries had always been one of Laurie's favorite genres) that she hoped to finish in study hall. She hustled down the stairs. No time for a formal breakfast, so she simply snatched a Pop Tart out of the cabinet and started chewing away as she stepped out the door and locked it behind her.

A warm breeze permeated the morning air as she walked up the block as quickly as possible. Temperatures had been notably above average in Haddonfield the past week, although the weatherman had said last night that a cold front moving through overnight would cool things down towards what was normal at this time of year.

There came loud shouts as several younger children, about ten or eleven or so, cut across the sidewalk in front of her, apparently late for school themselves. Laurie smiled after them, glad to know that at least she wasn't alone. She always liked children, and part of her missed being one herself. It was hard to fathom that in just a few short months, she'd be going off to college and leaving the intimate world of Haddonfield behind (she'd narrowed down her choices to either Lake Forest, Purdue, or Wheaton, but knew it would still probably take some time before she made the final decision). By and large, she was happy with her life up till now-apart from the fact she was viewed by so many her age as an outsider for reading so much and, as they seemed to see it, being perhaps too quiet and thoughtful for her own good. And yet, despite all the good she'd managed to accomplish, and all the warm relationships she did have, there was something in the depths of her subconscious bothering her. She didn't know what it was, something perhaps long suppressed, and for some reason, the last few days it had been getting stronger and stronger...

"Hey, over here," came the call from the corner. The familiar figures of Lynda van der Klok and Annie Brackett were leaning against an oak, looking rather impatient. "What took you so long?" the former asked as Laurie came up alongside them, "We've been waiting a good ten minutes."

"I slept in," Laurie protested.

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear. Laurie Strode, all around teacher's pet, sleeping in a school day," Annie commented with a mixture of sarcasm and humor, "I'd've thought it more likely for Darth Vader to join the Rebellion than I'd live to see this happen."

"Hey cut me a break; I was studying for the geometry test," Laurie told her.

"You see, that's totally your whole problem, Laurie, you focus too much on the inconsequential things and miss out on all the fun," Lynda chided her, "While you were locked away reading like a madman, for instance, Bob and I had the most wonderful night imaginable."

"Again?" Laurie raised an eyebrow; increasingly it seemed her friend was having a little too much fun with her boyfriend.

"Totally," the blonde confirmed, "Speaking of that test, though, you sure you're not going to give me any of the answers?"

"I can't," Laurie shook her head emphatically, "You know that would be cheating as much as I do, and I can't cheat."

"Yeah, Lord knows you can't have a single blemish on your perfectly spotless record," Annie shrugged with definite sarcasm this time, "I just want to get that test over with, because there far too much to look forward to today to be dragged down by that."

8:57 a.m.

Michael heard the sound of cars as he exited the woods. He had been walking all night and was starving (although he had snacked on an apparently rabid raccoon that had tried to attack him and had found the tables quickly turned). And as luck would have it, there happened to be a restaurant across the road next to a quaint old time train station. He pulled off his mask for the first time in recent memory-no need spooking people he would have nothing to do with-and leisurely strolled across the road, not caring about the cars that almost hit him in both directions until he'd made it all the way across. He took note of the road sign near the diner stating that Haddonfield was eighty miles to the west; he'd made good progress. Now if he could only speed it up a tad more...

Michael pushed open the doors to the restaurant, which was sparsely crowded even though it was the height of breakfast rush hour. "Hello, welcome to J.C.'s Diner," an overly bubbly waitress greeted him. She eyed his tramp disguise with some distaste, but immediately perked back up and asked him, "Smoking or nonsmoking?"

Michael pointed at the nonsmoking section. The waitress led him to a booth. "I'll be with you in a moment," she told him, leaving him a menu. Michael stared at it, wondering how he would leave without paying, having never carried any cash since he had first been committed to Smith's Grove fifteen years prior to the present.

He was too busy concentrating on the menu to notice the bells on the door ringing as another customer came in. Nor did the cook calling out, "Morning, Sam," raise any alarms. There was no mistaking, however, the voice that responded, "Morning, Donald." Of all the restaurants in the state, he'd happened to choose the one Dr. Loomis ate at this particular morning-and his once and future foe was walking right toward his booth. Michael buried his face in the menu as the doctor plopped down in the booth next to his. "The usual, Sam?" the cook was apparently friends with Loomis, as he'd come out of the kitchen to greet him.

"Make it to go, Donald," Loomis told him with a weary tone, "I'm due at the courthouse in an hour to make the arrangements for the Myers trial."

"So they're finally bringing him up, huh?"

"The court's decision was that he would stand trial for his sister's murder when he turned twenty-one, Donald."

"That was just horrible; I mean, who'd've thought a little kid could do that?" the cook mused, "Well, maybe fifteen years mellowed him out."

"I wouldn't count on it," Loomis said gravely, "If anything Michael has become more agitated in the last few days; I've seen it in his movements and gestures. He's definitely waiting for something; I don't know what, but I intend to beat him at his game, whatever it is."

"Have you decided, sir?" the waitress had returned. Michael pointed quickly at the hash brown appetizers. He knew he had to get out of there before Loomis realized his patient was right in front of him, so if the meal didn't come in time, that was how it had to be.

"Don't you think you're getting a little paranoid, Sam?" behind him, the cook was skeptical of Loomis's analysis, "I mean, when the kid doesn't tell you anything for fifteen years, I'm sure it's natural to come to conclusions that..."

"Michael Myers is not your average killer," Loomis told him firmly, "There's something very dangerous going on inside his mind. I'm going to take every precaution to make sure he poses no threat to anyone in that courthouse for the duration of the trial, and so help me I'll make sure he spends the rest of his days in a maximum security facility, where sitting and staring at the walls will be all he can do."

The cook shook his head. "Well, I think you're overreacting, but who am I to judge?" he shrugged, "Just try and relax a little, Sam; after all, Halloween's meant to be fun for everyone. I'll be right out with the usual."

He strolled back towards the kitchen. Loomis stretched his arms out, and in so doing whacked Michael in the back of the head. "Oh, sorry about that," he apologized, turning to face him. He frowned grimly. "You know, you look awfully familiar. Have we met before?"

Michael shook his head emphatically and buried it back in the menu. To his deep relief, Loomis's simply shrugged and turned back to the newspaper he'd brought. The blaring of a train horn caught Michael's attention. He glanced out the diner's rear window to see a freight roaring down the track in the direction he knew Haddonfield was in. It was time to move before he was in fact discovered by Loomis. Seeing the waitress bringing his hash browns towards him already, he leaped towards her, grabbed them off the plate and wolfed them down in one bite, then raced for the door. "Sir, where are you going!?" she called after him furiously, "Sir, you'd better come back, you do have to pay for all this, sir! Sir!?"

Michael paid no heed. He barreled out the door and made a beeline for the approaching train. "Hey you, come back here and pay up, you cheapskate!" the cook was chasing after him now. Michael had too much of a head start, however. He leaped for the last car on the train and grabbed hold of its ladder as the train lumbered on down the tracks towards Haddonfield. leaving the cook well in the dust behind him. Safe, he climbed up to the roof of the car and watched from an increasingly safe distance as Loomis ran up behind the cook and called out, "What happened, Donald?"

"That tramp ran off without paying!" the cook gestured in contempt at the receding train, "He'll be halfway to Springfield by the time I get a report called in. God, I hate freeloaders; always stiffing me for a meal!"

He stormed back towards the restaurant. Loomis frowned and stared down the tracks, but eventually shrugged and trudged off as well-only to stop and glance after the train again, mumbling out loud, "Something just wasn't right now..."