Джон Пассарелла - Halloween - The Official Movie Novelization

Karen heard a heavy footfall at the top of the stairs.

Urgently, she whispered to Allyson, “He’s coming.”

“I’m scared.”

Karen took her daughter by the hand and led her through the archway back to the kitchen. She pointed to the opening in the floor. “Go!”

She followed Allyson down the stairs, twisting around to close the door quietly behind her, then turned the switch to reset the island above it.

At the bottom of the stairs, The Shape scans the living room, notices the hole in the closet door and checks inside. Nothing. Silence. After walking down the short hallway, The Shape finds security gates on two other rooms. Dead end .

The Shape hears a sound—

—turns suddenly, startled .

Returning to the living room, The Shape grabs a fire poker from behind the wood-burning stove. The Shape turns in a slow circle, notices unusual light shining upward in the kitchen .

Crossing through the archway, The Shape looks down at the source of the light: holes in the tile floor—bullet holes .

After setting the fire poker on top of the counter, The Shape grabs the island and rocks it, pushing and pulling…

First, Karen heard the heavy footfalls above, walking across the kitchen, the slight groan of the floorboards and joists. Then she saw a shape move past her line of sight through the bullet holes in the ceiling. Next, a heavy clank, something metallic hitting the countertop.

“What is—?” Allyson whispered anxiously.

“Shhh!” Karen motioned her daughter away from the stairs.

Just in case he…

A moment later, she heard a struggle—no, not a struggle, someone heaving a heavy weight. Wood cracked, metal creaked, straining, the ceiling above her trembling.

“Oh, no!”

“What?”

“Stay back,” Karen whispered as she scurried up the steps.

Michael had discovered their underground hiding place and was trying to knock over the kitchen island to get to them. Unless he figured out how to rotate it first, and then—

At the top of the stairs, she heard a loud squeal of metal, the tortured rumble of the damaged island rotating out of its normal position to expose the shelter door. Karen had only a second or two to recover from her mistake—she’d forgotten to lock the secret door behind them. Grabbing the knob of the slide bolt, she slammed it into the locked position just as Michael tugged it upward. The door shook against the lock housing holding it in place. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Scrambling back down the steps, she picked up the Smith & Wesson revolver her mother had left on the bed for her. A last resort.

The door rocked again, then shuddered as Michael’s boot slammed on it. Still it held. For a moment, everything was quiet.

“Mom, is he—?” Allyson asked softly, a hopeful note in her voice.

Karen knew better than to think he’d give up. Her mother had certainly taught her that much in their years together.

Karen shook her head grimly, waiting…

And flinched as a heavy object slammed into the door.

Then a metal spike burst through the wood, wrenched back and forth until long cracks began to split the door panel. Not a spike, she saw, as the wrought-iron shaft dipped lower through the hole it had gouged—a fire poker.

In seconds, he ruined the integrity of the door, breaking it free of the slide lock. His hand reached down and pulled the damaged door up and out of his way.

Karen shifted her position to stand at the base of the stairs and aimed the revolver up to the dark open space above. She hadn’t noticed Allyson move to her side until her daughter’s hip pressed against hers. Knowing she should make her daughter back away, Karen swallowed hard, unable to speak. Staring at the opening above.

Any moment, he…

“Mom…?” Karen called out in a quivering voice, finding a sliver of hope inside herself, hope she thought had been snuffed out. She had always feared that when the moment ever came— if the moment ever came—she would not find within herself the power to act as her mother had, that she would freeze, never pull the trigger, paralyzed by fear or the inability to take a human life. Now she tapped into those lonely nights of self-doubt and called out, “I can’t.”

Allyson wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist.

And as the moment of self-doubt seemed to have overwhelmed Karen, The Shape appeared, framed in the opening, clutching the fire poker, looking down with soulless eyes from that ghoulish mask. Even at the bottom of the stairs, she could hear his heavy breathing, as if he wanted to inhale her fear and that of her daughter, to saturate himself with it before snuffing out their lives.

Karen whispered, “Got you.”

With her arm rock steady, she squeezed the trigger— BLAM!

The shot slammed into his chest.

He stumbled back out of view.

Standing in the shadows of the kitchen pantry with Michael’s back to her, Laurie stepped forward quietly, grimacing in pain as the fire in her bleeding abdomen flared anew. Her voice measured despite the throbbing pain, she said, “Happy Halloween, Michael.”

Wounded himself, The Shape turned toward her, fire poker in hand, but she had already closed the distance between them and, with no hesitation, plunged the large kitchen knife into his shoulder. He staggered back a step, trying desperately to regain his balance, but she was relentless, chopping downward into his flesh over and over, refusing to give him a moment’s respite from her attacks.

Somehow, he halted his retreat toward the hole in the floor and swung the fire poker like a bat, to strike her on the skull. At the last instant, she managed to duck to the side, taking only a glancing blow to the head, but she lost a step in the process, staggering backward.

As he raised the poker overhead, she dove toward him, knife outstretched. She hit him low as she fell, knocking him back, off-balance, and he toppled down the shelter stairs with a thunderous crash.

Laurie lay prone on the cool kitchen floor, the sudden silence broken only by her labored breathing…

Before the dark shape tumbled down through the shelter entrance, Karen had hoped a bullet to the chest was enough to stop Michael Myers, but she should have known better. A normal person would have been incapacitated by the wound. But he was anything but normal. Her mother’s subsequent struggle with Michael had been unnerving, but too brief for Karen to help. Fortunately for Karen, because in that moment of indecision, Michael hurtled violently down the stairs, limbs flailing.

Allyson shrieked in surprise. And Karen had a second, maybe two, to jump out of the way—but couldn’t move fast enough.

Michael’s legs whipped around, splitting the handrail’s middle support post in half, then his body careened down the rest of the stairs and tumbled into the tall supply shelf. As he rolled past her, one of his boots clipped the side of her knee and she fell on her rear, banged her head and lost control of the handgun. She watched helplessly as it spun across the floor and slid underneath the shelf—out of reach.

For the moment, Michael appeared stunned.

“Mom—are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Karen yelled, waving her daughter to the stairs. “Go!”

Eyes wide as she stared at Michael lying on his side, Allyson gave a quick nod and scrambled up the stairs into the kitchen.

As Karen struggled to rise, Michael heaved himself into a sitting position against the shelving unit. His right hand reached back, grabbing the edge of a shelf for support and pulling himself upright. He swayed, unsteady.