December 24, 1973
Smith's Grove Sanitarium was hardly ever overrun with visitors except during Christmastime. Most families stayed away eleven months out of the year until good tidings and guilt persuaded them to stop by, visiting with their 'ailing' relatives – as they put it- in exchange for good karma.
But there was one patient in Smith's Grove who hadn't ever had a visitor. Perhaps it was because he was mute, or perhaps because of his introverted nature. The only person who knew the answer was the boy's psychiatrist Dr. Sam Loomis.
The snow fell into blankets outside the sanitarium as a boy of sixteen sat and stared out the window. He was dressed in a grey jumpsuit; his brown hair uncombed. Behind him was a metal table with another chair across from it.
Outside, a nice-looking couple entered the front gate with their twelve-year-old daughter in tow. The young girl was dressed in a white knee-length dress adorned with a Hunter green sash that tied into a bow around the back, white stockings, and black Mary-Jane's. Her light-brown hair was pulled back halfway, secured by a scarlet ribbon. In her grasp she held a Christmas gift of which the wrapping resembled her age.
The family was greeted by a security guard at the front desk, who led them through the necessary paperwork. His nametag read 'Al.'
"Who are you here to see?" he asked, organizing the pages.
"Michael Myers," the father stated, prompting the guard to look up.
"You're his first visitor in ten years. What is your relation?"
"Blood," the father answered, looking down at his daughter.
"I see. And what is that in your hand my dear?" Al questioned, motioning towards the gift.
"It's a Christmas present for him. She made it herself," the mother answered.
"Alright then, everything seems to be in order," the guard said, collecting the paperwork.
"The boy's room is on the third floor, door number 10. His psychiatrist will show you the way."
The family followed Dr. Loomis up to room 10. The elevator ride seemed like forever when at last they reached their destination. Dr. Loomis flashed his badge to the two security guards posted at the door.
"I must warn you, the boy doesn't speak. I've tried to reach him to no avail," the doctor advised the family.
They acknowledged his head and headed inside.
"Michael, you have visitors," Loomis announced. The teenage boy turned his chair around to face them and sat again. His gaze was immediately drawn to the young girl in the white dress, who peaked out from behind her father.
"It's alright, he won't hurt you," Loomis told the girl.
She slowly approached the boy, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.
"I made it myself," she said, placing the gift on the table in front of Michael who proceeded to unwrap it.
Underneath the shiny silver paper was a picture frame with a group of familiar faces. It showed a portrait of five: a father had his arms resting on the shoulders of a young boy, while a teenage daughter stood by a woman cradling a newborn girl. They were all smiling.
The boy looked at this girl, so fair and sweet. She smiled but he remained expressionless, his steel gaze piercing through her childlike exterior. In an offer of kindness, she reached for his hand. Michael recoiled, pulling it back into his lap, and turned his gaze downward.
The mother and father looked at Dr. Loomis who suggested they take their leave.
"Come along Laurie," they said, beckoning their daughter.
She looked at her parents and then back at the boy, whose gaze remained aimed at the floor. In a final bid of affection she leaned in close, whispered "Merry Christmas Michael," and placed a kiss on his cheek.
The boy did not flinch. And with that, the Strode family headed back home.