Джон Пассарелла: Halloween: The Official Movie Novelization

Then Laurie held her hand up for silence.

They waited, listening. The footfalls sounded directly overhead.

Raising the rifle to her shoulder and tilting the barrel upward, Laurie tracked the steps. With her eyes closed for a moment to focus only on the sound, she visualized where he was with each methodical step. Then she opened her eyes, worked the bolt, aimed and fired, then repeated the well-practiced firing motion again, and a third time, in rapid succession.

BOOM!—BOOM!—BOOM!

Standing motionless, Laurie cocked her head and listened for any sound from above. Other than bits of wood fluttering down to the floor, she heard nothing.

Into the renewed silence, Karen said, “This is your fate.”

Laurie looked at Karen. She no longer saw fear in her daughter’s eyes, only the grim determination to see the family nightmare finally come to an end. And, at last, the acknowledgment that Laurie really had prepared herself for this, that she would rise to the ultimate challenge of stopping Michael—permanently.

Karen distilled all those feelings into two words, spoken with icy calm: “Kill him.”

After turning the switch to move the kitchen island, Laurie scaled the basement steps and lifted the secret door high enough to scan the kitchen for any sign of him. When she saw the immediate area was clear, she opened the door the rest of the way, lowering it quietly to the tile floor before climbing the rest of the way into the kitchen.

In the dark and quiet house, her senses were on high alert, looking left and right, anticipating the slightest sound, the smallest movement…

She stalked into the living room, stepping lightly so as not to give away her own position. Turning to face the living room closet, she worked the bolt in one smooth motion and fired a shot right through the closed door. Then she stood still, listening. After a moment, she yanked open the door—

—but the closet was empty.

She closed the door and moved on, down a short hallway to a first-floor bedroom. She opened that door and peered inside the dark room. Taking a small flashlight out of her pocket, she flicked it on, took a step through the doorway and swept the room with the narrow beam. No furniture. No hiding places. Empty.

Backing out of the room, she reached for a switch mounted on the wall and flipped it. Instantly, a metal security gate dropped down from within the wall with a metallic shunnnk! sound—and locked in place.

She repeated the whole sequence on the last room downstairs, also empty, her flashlight revealing nobody inside before she flipped another switch, dropping a second security gate— shunnnk!

Shining her flashlight along the hardwood floor, she spotted a trail of blood, the glistening drops leading to the stairs and up the steps. At the top of the staircase, the blood trail turned right. Laurie turned left, creeping toward Karen’s childhood room. Flipping the switch on the exterior wall, she dropped another security gate in place— shunnnk!

Retracing her steps, she passed the staircase, following the blood trail on the floor to the other end of the hallway, to her bedroom. Gradually, she noticed her bedroom door was slightly ajar. When she’d left the room earlier, she’d closed the door. From within the dark room, a dim light glowed.

Laurie took the last few steps up on her toes, reaching forward with her left hand. Fingertips extended, she pushed the door open…

Clutching the rifle in both hands, Laurie stepped into her bedroom.

Unlike the clutter on the first floor, her bedroom décor tended toward the tastefully minimal, fewer distractions for the eyes. Limited hiding places. So, naturally, her gaze shifted to four standing mannequins posed in silhouette against the open glass balcony door.

He’s been busy…

Distracted by the sight of the mannequins, which obviously hadn’t been in her room before, she suddenly registered another person breathing nearby. With a quick turn, she faced her closet, a glance down revealing a trail of blood leading right to it. At that moment, she heard another noise from within the closet. Without hesitation, she worked the rifle bolt and fired into it.

Wary, she waited a moment or two before yanking the closet door open. And saw a lifeless body slumped on the floor of the closet— Ray!

Gasping, Laurie turned away from his body back toward the balcony and the three standing mannequins. Three!

Suddenly, in a blur of movement, The Shape attacked from behind, wrapping powerful arms around her. She somehow managed to work the bolt of the rifle but couldn’t bring it to bear. Leaning forward to break his grip on her, she staggered toward the balcony. But he matched her step for step. He knocked her right hand clear of the rifle’s wooden stock and wrested it away. In her attempt to regain the rifle, one of them pulled the trigger. The shot gouged a hole in the ceiling before the rifle spun away and slid across the floor.

Fortunately, she slipped free of Michael’s grasp the same moment she lost possession of the rifle, but her momentum carried her into the mannequins, knocking them to the ground and falling herself in the process. Amid the tumbled mannequins, she clawed at her belt, yanking her hunting knife free of the sheath. In a moment, she sprang to her feet, knife in hand.

As he stepped close, she swung the knife at him.

He caught her hand and stopped her mid-thrust. With his superior strength and despite how much she strained against him, he twisted her hand around, turning the blade toward her instead. With a violent shove, he drove the knife into her gut.

She doubled over in pain.

Then his hand clamped around her head, fingers clawing into her hair, and lifted her face high enough to look into her eyes, maybe one last time before the end.

Is the moment enough for him? Does it even matter?

He hurled her backward with more force than she would have thought possible. Her body smashed through the glass of the balcony door with enough momentum that she continued to flail, over the waist-high railing, one heel brushing the edge before she plummeted to the ground below.

Walking past the jumble of fallen mannequins, The Shape steps onto the balcony, booted feet crunching on broken glass, and peers over the edge .

The Shape sees her body sprawled below, utterly still .

The Shape stands there. Breathes .

Wants nothing…

“Mom?”

The voice calls from beyond the bedroom .

And The Shape recognizes the voice. From the police cruiser .

The youngest one—Allyson .

Turning, The Shape looks to the open bedroom door. Listens for a moment .

Then turns back to the balcony, breathes the night air, glances down again—

Laurie is gone .

“Mom?”

From the depths of the basement shelter, Karen heard her daughter’s voice. Without any thought for her own safety, she raced up the steps and located Allyson in the middle of the living room. Even in the relative darkness, Karen could tell her daughter had been through an ordeal: ripped clothing, forehead and chin smeared with grime, hair mussed. And she smelled like she’d slept in the woods. But there was no time for questions.

“Baby,” she called urgently, “come and hide!”

Allyson looked around, worried. “Where’s Grandmother?”

The Shape walks from Laurie’s bedroom down the hall to the far bedroom and stops at the security gate barring the door. The Shape grabs the bars, testing the strength of the gate, but the gate doesn’t budge. The Shape knows Allyson is not in this room, turns around and walks to the stairs .