Chapter 2

Sunnydale California

October 28th 1998

"So what are you doing on Halloween?" Faith asked, as she and Buffy patrolled.

"Enjoying a nice relaxing night in."

"That's it? No parties? It's Halloween, all the nasties stay in. Why not have some fun?"

"But your kind of fun is just as exhausting as slaying."

"If you do it right." Faith smirked. "Maybe you're on to something though. Just stay in. Course, first I'd have to find a guy to stay in with."

"Somehow I doubt you'd have much trouble there."

"Well thanks B, you're not to bad yourself. Hey you should find someone to spend the night with."

"Not all of us live in motels. I don't exactly have the most private living arrangement."

"So stay out with someone, then come back late. You could always say you were training."

Buffy thought about that. "You know, that might just work." she said. "My Mom never talks to Giles so..." She grimaced. Lying so she could have fun didn't feel as fun as it used to. "Well I'll think about it." Not that just staying at home and hanging out with Xander and Willow didn't have it's charms. Few places felt as safe as home these days.

Langley, Illinois

Pamela Whittington parked in her driveway, and got out of her car. It had been a long day, and she was just glad that it was over. An unlit cigarette dangled loosely from her lips. She headed to the porch, digging through her purse in search of a light...

CRUNCH!

Pamela stopped in her tracks, and looked down at her feet to discover glass scattered across the porch. She looked at the porch light hanging above her head. A shattered light bulb occupied the socket. The front door was slightly ajar. Her blood went cold. She pushed on it gently. The door swung open freely, revealing the darkened interior of her house.

"Shit..." she muttered. Her long day was about to get even longer. She dropped her purse and darted across into the neighbour's yard. Running up to the porch, she pounded furiously on the front door, decorated with a cardboard skeleton. No answer. She pounded again, harder. Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a figure looming in the doorway. Eyes glared out at her from behind a hockey mask, hiding the figure's face.

Pamela gasped, stumbling backward before she recovered from the shock.

"Hey Miss Whittington," Jimmy Howell, the gangly teenager said, removing the hockey mask. He wore a jersey, and had skates slung over his shoulder. "What's up?"

"My blood pressure." Pamela said irritably. "You scared the shit out of me."

Jimmy shrugged apologetically. "Oh, sorry. I'm on my way to the rink and-"

"I think someone broke into my house." she interrupted.

The boy's eyes lit up at the prospect of something interesting happening in their sleepy little town. "No shit?"

"No shit." Most adults would have told him to watch his language. But she decided that would have been hypocritical of her. After all she'd just cursed to his face.

Minutes later she sat in his living room, smoking, while the boy talked to the police on the phone. He talked for a few minutes, then hung up. "They said to give 'em fifteen minutes, they'll send someone by." With that, he grabbed up his hockey stick and headed for the door.

"Jimmy what are you doing?"

"Checking out your place." he said casually.

"No," she insisted. "Wait for the police." There was no way of knowing whether they were still in her house, and she didn't want him getting hurt.

Jimmy however, was determined. He was already running late. "And miss the big game? No way."

He led the way to her house, and headed up to the door. Pamela, not believing she was letting the kid do this, stood on the side walk, watching.

Pieces of shattered light bulb crunched under his foot as he approached the door. Suddenly, in the dark of night and the silence of the house, this didn't seem like such a hot idea. But there was no way he was going to back down now.

He pushed the door open with the tip of his hockey stick, and peered into the darkness beyond. His stick at the ready, he cautiously entered the house. "Okay let's not anybody mess with me here!" he called, more to make himself feel better than to intimidate anyone. "Jimmy's already been suspended five times for getting a little crazy with the stick!" He slammed the stick onto the floor for emphasis.

Room by room, he looked for intruders. Finally, he found signs of the intrusion. A back bedroom, converted into an office, had been ransacked.

"Oh shit." Jimmy said. File cabinets were overturned, pictures hanging crooked, papers strewn all over the floor.

Having checked the entire house, and finding no one, Jimmy relaxed and entered the kitchen. He took a cookie from the cookie jar, and, opening the fridge, took a swig from the milk carton.

Silently, behind him, the closet door was swinging open. With a crash, the ironing board fell out, scaring him. He swung his stick wildly, in a panic. And hit the pot rack above his head. When the debris stopped falling, he sheepishly left the room.

"Nothing to fear," he said, smiling as he emerged from the house. "The coast is clear."

"You sure?"

"Totally. I checked all the rooms and closets-"

"Nothing's missing?"

Jimmy wouldn't have known if anything was. He'd never been in her house. "Don't think so." he told her. "But they sure did a real number on your office. Crap everywhere."

"My office?" Why in hell would anyone ransack her office? She was a nurse. Unless they thought she'd had some prescription medication or something?

"Yeah." Jimmy continued. "Oh, and they messed up your kitchen pretty good too. Goodnight." he left quickly before she could ask any more questions.

Shrugging, she went into her house, not looking forward to having to clean up.

Immediately upon entering, she locked and bolted the door, and leaned against it for a moment, enjoying the feel of it's solidarity at her back. She flicked the light switch, but nothing happened.

"Christ Jimmy," she swore irritably. "Didn't you check the god-damn lights?" Still muttering, her irritation growing by the moment, Pamela headed for the laundry room and the fuse box. She tried several times to get the light's working again, but still had no success. Pamela continued to swear, and got a flash light from a cabinet and headed for her office. Time to assess the damage. What she couldn't figure out, was what anyone would want in her office.

She sighed when she saw the wreckage. She wasn't looking forward to cleaning all this. Her flash light illuminated the mess as she carefully stepped over the files strewn across the floor.

Strangely, she found a single file left in relatively neat order, resting on her desk. Puzzled, and at the same time, anticipating solving this mystery, she picked up the file. The index read KERI TATE, the folder was empty. It took a moment for the impact of her discovery to dawn on her.

Keri Tate, that was what Lauri Strode had changed her name to! Of a sudden, it all hit her. Why only her office had been searched, why nothing was missing. The proximity to Halloween. Was it possible? He'd burned! Loomis had killed him! The blood drained from her face as she dropped the folder from her numb hand. Gasping, she rushed for the phone. But then something stopped her. A sound in the darkness. She was not alone in the house.

Her terror mounted as she crept into the hallway, praying that it was just her imagination. The front door gaped wide open. Fear lent speed to her flight as she ran from the house, and to Jimmy's. Not bothering to knock, she burst into the house.

Closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath to calm herself. From the door, she looked for any sign that Jimmy was still home. She could hear a television somewhere in the house.

"Jimmy? You still there?"

She left the doorway and headed for the den, where she found Jimmy sitting in an easy chair watching TV. From her vantage point she could only see his legs.

"Goddamnit Jimmy, someone's still in my house!" she said, and spun the chair around.

Jimmy was beyond caring about who was or was not in her house. He was beyond caring about anything. A hockey skate was embedded in his face, the blade slicing deep into his flesh, from forehead to chin. His final moments broadcast by his eyes, wide open in terror. Blood cascaded down the front of his jersey.

She screamed and ran back for the door, but found that the china cabinet had been pushed in front of it, blocking her way. Half terrified, and half pissed off, she tried desperately to push it out of the way, but couldn't budge it. Giving up, she turned back into the house for and escape route.

In the kitchen she found the back door, and wrenched it open.

There he was, in full glory. She'd only seen him once before, briefly. And that was sans mask and jumpsuit. Then he'd been frightening enough, and he hadn't even done anything to her. Just scared her out of her car so he could take it. Somehow she knew he wasn't going to let her off so easily this time. He wouldn't want her to warn Laurie.

Pamela screamed, at once both terrified and despairing. She grabbed a knife from the counter and ran.

As calmly as ever, Michael Myers followed her. His breath was even, his stride unhurried.

As she reached the living room, Pamela saw flashing red and blue lights out the window. Sudden hope flared in her heart, and she ran to the window. Outside, the police had arrived at the nurse's house. Two cops were walking up her driveway. Quickly, she tried to open the window, but the lock was stuck. Almost sobbing, she pounded on the glass.

"Help! Goddamnit! Over here! God please!"

Behind her, Michael Myers arrived, grabbing an iron poker from the fireplace.

Desperately, Pamela swung at the man with her knife.

"Stay the fuck away from me!"

Without missing a beat, Myers swung the poker, and broke Pamela's arm, sending the knife clattering to the floor. She dropped to her knees, crying out in pain. But her pain didn't last long. Michael brought the poker down on her head, driving the tip into her skull.

The officers climbed the porch steps and moved into the house. Neither looked either to the left or to the right. If they had, they would have seen, through the window, Michael Myers repeatedly stabbing Pamela with the poker.

To Be Continued...