October 31, 1978

HALLOWEEN

7:03 a.m.

As dawn broke over Haddonfield, a calm feeling permeated over the rows and rows of neat houses. With last night's storm over, people were rising to greet the day they thought would be like any other, not aware of the terror that was already among them.

It was into this blissful morning scene that a large truck with the words DR. THADDEUS CLUGG, MASTER MAGICIAN painted on the sides rolled through the streets. In the cab, a bleary-eyed Dr. Clugg and Klaus glanced up and down the blocks, their vigil broken only by the buzzing of the police scanner on the dashboard. "No sign of that van anywhere," the hunchback announced to his master, "What makes you so sure he came here to Haddonfield, Dr. Clugg?"

"I have a feeling deep in my gut," Clugg said, leaning out the window to scan an alley they were passing, "My family used to live here; in that same house where the boy murdered his sister all those years back. We should probably check there before..."

"Attention all units, we have a missing person report for a Mr. Chester Vett," the scanner crackled, "Last seen yesterday afternoon driving a red 1969 Chevrolet van found ditched in Lake Carpenter at six this morning, proceed..."

Clugg slammed on the brakes. "You there, sir," he called to an old man walking by, "Which way is it to Lake Carpenter?"

"You go two more blocks, then turn left and follow the highway out of town for about five miles, you can't miss it," the old man told him. Clugg nodded and drove off at a fast clip. "If he ditched the van, Dr. Clugg, he's probably long gone by now," Klaus pointed out.

"But at least we know I was right, as always," Clugg told him, "If we see any cops, we leave; I don't want them breathing down our throats. But mark my words, we'll have our thief by tonight, and when we do find him, there'll be hell to pay."

7:16 a.m.

Dr. Sam Loomis slouched in his chair in the lobby of Smith's Grove Sanitarium, tapping his fingers impatiently off the arms. The staff had kept Michael's room off limits for the last few hours while they combed it for any clues on how he might have managed to escape. Loomis wished they could hurry it up; he was impatient to get after him. If even one innocent life was taken because of the sanitarium's blatant disregard of his repeated warnings that Michael was far more dangerous than they realized, he was going to hold them all responsible. And every minute wasted here meant Michael was getting farther away...

"Dr. Loomis, I've got someone on the line for you," the receptionist called over. Loomis lurched out of his seat and stumbled towards the front desk; perhaps someone had found Michael already. "Yes!?" he rasped breathlessly into the receiver.

"Dr. Sam Loomis?" asked a voice that sounded strangely familiar.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to catch Michael Myers?"

"Of course," Loomis said. Then he frowned. "How do you know...?"

"Meet me at the railroad crossing on Route 87 near Freeport in two hours," the person said, "It is vital we talk."

And then he hung up. "Hello?" Loomis tapped the cradle several times. There had been something not quite normal about the caller that he couldn't put his finger on, and how they'd known so clearly about Michael's escape when it hadn't been made public yet was beyond him. Still, if whoever it was had information that would lead to his capture, the doctor was all for a meeting, even a clandestine one.

He hustled for his coat, but it was at that moment a nurse entered the reception area. "You can come in now, doctor," she told him, "You should take a look at what he carved on the door before he broke out; we don't quite know what it means."

"Show me it then," Loomis followed her briskly up the hall. Whatever clues he could get on his own would be equally helpful.

7:52 a.m.

Michael lounged in the electric chair. He hadn't slept much overnight, but then again he rarely slept anyway. He'd spent the time listening to his past self walking around upstairs, waiting. At the time, he'd had no idea she'd show up at the Myers house this morning. His plan at the time had been to walk the streets until he'd found her, but good luck had smiled on him and given him her whereabouts early.

And it was now that he heard Her voice above. It was too faint to make out exactly what she was saying, but it was unmistakably her. Michael heard the floorboards creak as his past self approached the door. After Her voice faded away, it slammed closed as his past self went outside to stare after her for a few moments. Michael didn't move, however. He had all the time in the world now. There would be no point in going anywhere until after noon, when he'd returned to the Myers house for "lunch." No reason to risk running into himself, he figured. And it wasn't as if anyone could pinpoint his location...

9:38 a.m.

Loomis pulled his car over to the clearing next to the railroad tracks the caller had specified. He looked around as he hopped out. No one was visible. He did notice something else, however: an abandoned tow truck parked nearby. The doctor strode over and immediately saw the driver lying dead in the bushes next to it. He shook his head grimly. Not even twelve hours were past, and already his worst fears had been proven...

"Dr. Loomis," came the voice abruptly behind him. Loomis spun around and found himself face to face with...himself. Not surprisingly, his first reaction was to faint dead away.

When he came to, he realized he was lying on the passenger seat of his car, which was going very fast. "You took a rather nasty shock there," came his own voice from the driver's side-older but unmistakably his. "I had a bad feeling you'd react..."

"Who are you!?" Loomis demanded, flattening himself against the door, "What do you want from me!?"

"If you'll remain calm, I'll explain everything," his "twin" said. Perhaps to lesson the shock, he was now wearing a false beard and dark glasses. "I'm yourself from the future, Loomis. I've been sent back in time to stop Michael Myers once and for all."

"But...but...you can't..." Loomis stammered, trying to make some logical sense out of it, "It's not possible!"

"I'm not surprised you think that way," his other self said stoically, "But I know that my-our-grandmother's name was Ethel, and when she was twelve, she fell off a moving train and broke nine bones."

"How...how could you know that!?" Loomis was aghast. He'd never told ANYONE that story. "You mean you're...I'm really...?"

"As I said, I will explain," his future self said, "I can't give you the full details of this mission-my employer, who wishes to remain nameless, forbids it. But I can tell you that Michael has, from my point in time, seized the equipment necessary to come back to your time and finish what to you has already begun."

"So there will be blood from this," Loomis mused darkly.

"And gallons of it, I'm sorry to say," his future self shook his head in resigned grimness, "He believes me-you-to be one of his victims, but in reality I faked my death in that instance; didn't really want to, but I had no choice under the circumstances at the time."

"I see," Loomis stared out the window, "Tell me then, Mr...?"

"Call me Samuel," his future self told him, "That should be easier."

"All right, Samuel then, where exactly are you taking me?"

"Haddonfield," Samuel said, "You don't know why he's going there yet, do you?"

"No," Loomis admitted. He'd known from what he'd seen in Michael's room that he was headed home, but he hadn't been completely sure why.

"A girl by the name of Laurie Strode," Samuel told him, "She's his sister, as you would have found out later tonight. He's out to kill her, and although he fails numerous times tonight, he will succeed eventually in the future where I come from."

"But then why is he coming here now if he finishes her off in the future?" Loomis had to ask.

"I suppose he wanted the pleasure of doing it twice," Samuel shrugged, "And that, I believe, is where he has made a critical mistake that could be beneficial for so many people. My orders are simply to bring him back, but I intend to stop his mad reign of terror now before it even starts."

"How do you propose...?" Loomis stopped as he realized his future self's idea, "Destroy the past Michael here and now, and the future one won't exist," he mused, "Oh yes, I see where you're coming from. In that case, count me in; anything to stop a bloodbath."

"But I should warn you it won't be easy," Samuel told him gravely, "Over the years Michael has proved harder to kill than a cockroach. Each time we've thought we've finally done him in, he's come back for more. Which is why I made sure to bring this," he pulled a small disc out of his pocket and held it up for Loomis to see, "This is a secret military device that kills all forms of life within fifty yards of it. Not even Michael could survive this if we detonate it close enough to him. And then his future crimes will never have taken place. Any questions?"

"One, actually," Loomis pointed out, "There's another Michael out there right now too. Suppose we pick the wrong one..."

"Indeed. All the more relevant since I only have the prototype here," Samuel pocketed the device again, "We'll just have to follow your Michael from what I know of his movements on this day and the Strode girl from what I know of her movements and hope we luck out."

"That isn't very reassuring, you know."

"Unfortunately, it's all I can offer," Samuel told him, "Are you still in?"

He extended his arm. Loomis paused for a second, then firmly shook it. "How far out from Haddonfield are we right now?" he asked, turning his gaze back to the road ahead of them.

"About fifty miles," Samuel made a sharp right turn, "I only hope we're not already too late."