Джон Пассарелла: Halloween: The Official Movie Novelization

The Shape looks down expectantly .

The doctor speaks, his voice weak and raw, “But you promised I could watch.”

The Shape no longer needs the doctor. As The Shape lifts a boot over Sartain’s head, the doctor grins, blood oozing from his split lips and loose teeth. The Shape wonders if this is what the doctor wants after all. To serve The Shape’s purpose—but only for a moment .

The Shape stomps on the doctor’s skull, feels bones crack and give way. Raises the boot—stomps again, harder. The skull caves in completely, blood and wet chunks of brain splatter across the road .

Crouching low beyond the first line of trees, Allyson couldn’t help herself. She had to look back, but then wished she hadn’t. She turned just as Michael shattered the doctor’s skull. She gagged and felt the burn of bile surging up her throat.

In contrast, Michael looked down at the splinted bones and lumpy gore, and tilted his head, as if curious about the result of his violent actions.

No disgust, no remorse, no humanity.

He had an emptiness inside him he could never fill.

Turning away from the madness, Allyson ran as fast as she could.

Phillips stopped their patrol car right in the lane, facing Hawkins’ car. For safety’s sake, he flipped on their light bar, bathing the night in blue and red flashes of light. Last thing they needed was some lead-footed speed demon to plow into both police cruisers. Both he and Francis strained to see what was happening beyond the glare of the headlights. At least one standing figure, indistinct beyond the light…

Phillips switched on his spotlight, adjusting the handle to turn the beam toward the dark figure. The pale mask and dark coveralls were unmistakable.

“It’s him,” Francis said.

Phillips turned on the unit’s roof-mounted megaphone, brought the mic to his mouth and pressed the talk button. “Hands where I can see ’em! DON’T MOVE!”

The Shape raised his hands, but to shield his eyes, then abruptly dropped to the ground, out of sight.

Steeling his courage, Phillips said, “Let’s go.”

Francis nodded nervously.

They were small-town cops who dealt with vandalism, juvenile delinquents, the occasional stolen car, and maybe even an armed robbery once in a blue moon. They had no experience with mass murderers, serial killers, or raving lunatics.

First time for everything , Phillips told himself. Nobody comes fresh out of the academy with this kind of experience .

He and Francis exited their cruiser, weapons drawn, separating to approach Hawkins’ car from either side. In the military they called it a pincer movement, designed to attack the enemy on both flanks. All Phillips could think about was the distinct possibility of crossfire. If one of them got an itchy trigger finger, he could inadvertently take out his partner.

Phillips circled to the left, checked the side of the cruiser and the back, but found nothing. Francis took the right and paused by the side of the car. Phillips thought he heard Francis gag.

“Oh, Jesus…” he said, back of his hand to his mouth.

“What is it?”

“The doc from Smith’s Grove.”

“Is he dead?” Phillips asked, coming around to the driver’s side.

“Considering most of his brains are outside his skull,” Francis said. “Yeah, I’d say the poor son of a bitch is well and truly dead.”

“Christ,” Phillips said when he saw the splatter of gore covering the road. “How am I supposed to finish my damn sandwich after this?”

“You’ll power through,” Francis said. “Check under the car?”

“Fuck—no!” Phillips exclaimed nervously, abruptly dropping to peer under the cruiser, then cursing when the knee of his uniform trousers pressed into something wet and gooey. “Nothing.”

“He was right here,” Francis said. “Where the hell did he go?”

“And what happened to Hawkins and the girl, Allyson?”

Before the two police officers climb out of their car, The Shape follows the girl’s example, crouching low and scrambling toward the woods. But The Shape does not run away. Stalking past them, hunched over along the embankment, The Shape takes up position behind their own cruiser while they are distracted by their examination of the doctor’s body .

And The Shape watches…

As she had done more times than she could remember, Laurie walked through the rooms of her house, checking and setting her security and defenses. In her bedroom, she walked to the balcony door and secured the multiple locks she’d added to the simple latch lock years ago. Next, she verified that her windows were locked. They were also secured by the same woven wire mesh she’d installed on all the downstairs windows.

Of course, nothing was foolproof, but she made sure there were no soft points of entry into her house and anyone attempting to breach her defenses would make one hell of a racket. No surprise attacks in her own home.

Though Karen had intended to stay in her mother’s underground shelter until Michael Myers was captured or killed, she had become nervous waiting for Allyson’s arrival. As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety had increased to the point where she needed to escape the cramped quarters. Once upstairs, she’d returned to the only room in the entire farmhouse that might offer her some comfort.

Karen sat on the bare mattress of her childhood bedroom and tried to calm herself. Emotions flooded through her, almost overwhelming her with memories she had hoped to forget. To chase away the dark, she turned on both bedside lamps, casting the room in a warm glow. Looking around the sparsely decorated, wood-paneled room—a summer hat with a wide brim hung over the headboard of the bed, a white analog clock and a black-and-white framed photo of her with her mother sat on one end table—she felt little comfort in her return. She had no memories of comfort to draw upon. The only normal childhood memory was sparked by the detailed two-story dollhouse on the floor, complete with its own internal lights. She remembered herself at eight years old playing with the dollhouse, imagining life in a normal home, without the worries and the fear that made her continually gnaw on her fingernails until they bled.

She’d never really understood the phantom danger her mother spoke of, but it crippled her early years emotionally, never allowing room for joy or discovery or a sense of wonder. Danger lurked around every corner. Sleep itself was dangerous. You were vulnerable when you slept. No wonder her childhood slumber was always plagued by vague nightmares, images she could never quite understand even though they haunted her waking hours, filling her with an ever-present sense of dread.

Truthfully, she hadn’t felt any peace until child services removed her from her mother’s care and what she had called the danger house. No matter how safe the house seemed, Laurie feared it wouldn’t be enough. Karen always sensed that worry in her mother. How can a child ever feel safe when her parent goes through her days in a state of perpetual panic?

Laurie walked into Karen’s bedroom and immediately checked the window locks, even though the windows were shielded by steel mesh.

Some things never change , Karen thought bitterly.

Standing at the last window, Laurie peered through the blinds.

“Anything?”

“Not yet,” Laurie said.

Because it was always “just a matter of time.”

“I’m scared,” Karen admitted. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Coming to the bed, Laurie grabbed Karen’s hands and looked her in the eyes.