Oct. 8, 1998
The Jeep rumbled as Laurie turned the ignition key. Outside the air was crisp but the wind had died down from the day before. She turned her car heater up just a bit and took a sip of her morning coffee. She needed it after the night she spent tossing and turning; twisting her bed sheets into a knot. She examined her droopy eyelids in the rearview mirror, outlining them with her index finger and sighed. I guess this is why I have a psychiatrist, Laurie joked to herself, as she put the car in reverse and headed to her appointment.
Laurie had been seeing Dr. Ray Wallace for about five years now. He diagnosed her with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and prescribed Zoloft for the nightmares. They had a standing appointment, every Saturday at 10:00 am. So far Laurie had been making steady progress.
The drive into town was quick, but Laurie knew that traffic would cause delays. She turned on the radio only to be met with static on all the channels except one – 91.7- the Oldies station, of which Laurie was not a fan. She turned the dial to the 'off 'position and glanced in the rearview mirror. She almost fainted, though, when she saw the car driving behind her: a brown station wagon with the words "Smith's Grove Sanitarium" painted on the side.
Laurie rubbed her eyes, hoping it was another nightmare, but the car remained behind the Jeep.
"No… it can't be," she said, squinting to get a better view. She couldn't make out the person in the driver's seat, but she could swear it was a man.
"Get a grip Laurie! It's not possible. Michael Myers is dead," she told herself, although she struggled to believe it. She looked in the review mirror again. The car was still there. He was following her.
Laurie's heart rate increased as she began to panic. Her mind raced, spewing out every possible explanation, but none were convincing. The Jeep started to drift in and out of the lane as the twenty-year-old nightmare took over her psyche once again:
She cowers in the upstairs closet of the Doyle residence, terrified to even breath, when an eerie shroud of silence overwhelms the room. Why is this boogeyman after me? she ponders, as she is jolted from her false sense of security. The shutter-like closet doors begin to violently shake, as Laurie tries to back up farther against the corner, but it's no use. One by one the wooden shutters explode on impact as the boogeyman punches his way through the flimsy barricade…
"NO!" Laurie screamed, as she was jolted from her nightmare. Her palms steadily gripped the steering wheel as she turned to avoid a collision, braking just in time to miss a street lamp. The Jeep halted to a stop, causing Laurie to be pushed foreword and her head to collide with the top of the steering wheel.