Halloween Ends: The Official Movie Novelization E-Book

Paul Brad Logan

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 403

Beschreibung

The official novelization of the highly anticipated finale of the iconic Halloween horror franchise.The town of Haddonfield still lives in the shadow of Michael Myers. It has been four years since he mysteriously vanished. As Laurie attempts to put the tragedies of her past behind her, Allyson is desperate to get away from life with her grandmother in the dead-end town scorched by bloodshed.When local outcast Corey Cunningham discovers the truth of Michael's whereabouts, he inadvertently unleashes a new wave of violence. With Haddonfield once more the backdrop to murderous impulses, Allyson endeavours to escape as Laurie prepares for one final confrontation with her boogeyman.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

After the Massacre

Love Lives Today

Corey Cunningham

Untitled

Chocolate Milk

Nelson Christopher

Death is in the Air

Darkness

The Shape Emerges

New Beginnings

Elvis Ross

Look Again

Halloween

November 11th, 2022

About the Author

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATION

HALLOWEENENDS

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATION

HALLOWEENENDS

BY

PAUL BRAD LOGAN

TITANBOOKS

LEAVE US A REVIEW

We hope you enjoy this book – if you did we would really appreciate it if you can write a short review. Your ratings really make a difference for the authors, helping the books you love reach more people.

You can rate this book, or leave a short review here:

Amazon.com,

Amazon.co.uk,

Goodreads,

Barnes & Noble,

Waterstones,

or your preferred retailer.

Halloween Ends – The Official Movie Novelization

Print edition ISBN: 9781803361703

E-book edition ISBN: 9781803361710

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: October 2022

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Cover Image © 2022 Universal Studios. All Rights Reserved.

© 2022 Miramax, LLC. All Rights Reserved. MIRAMAX and HALLOWEEN ENDS are the trademarks or registered trademarks of Miramax, LLC. Used under license.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

For David Gordon Green, without whosegenerosity, support, and inspiration thiswould not have been possible.

And to Sarahy, for putting up with all of it.

AFTER THE MASSACRE

November 1st, 2018: Early Morning. Before the Light.

As the paramedics wheeled her to the ambulance, Allyson looked up and saw her mother staring through the upstairs window of Judith Myers’s bedroom. As Halloween night ended, Allyson felt relief knowing he had been killed. And even though the pain and horror of losing her father and her friends would not completely set in until much later, Allyson took solace in the fact that it was over. Finally.

Allyson’s eyes moved across the yard as more people gathered. Then she heard a voice announce from the distance that “Michael killed them. Killed them all. They’re all dead.” When Allyson’s eyes moved back to the upstairs window, her mother had vanished from her view, forever.

Allyson had a feeling that something had gone horribly wrong, but did not know for sure until an officer ran out of the Myers’ home and yelled for backup because he’d “just found another body upstairs!”

At that moment, the medics closed the ambulance doors, sealing Allyson inside. All sound faded into a vacuum-like hum. The sirens disappeared. The squawking bursts of ‘walkie’ talk disappeared. And the screams that reverberated around Haddonfield, as more of Michael’s violence was discovered, disappeared. All that existed was the hum. And Allyson existed inside it.

*   *   *

Hugo and Ozzy were on their morning garbage route as another pack of flashing lights and screaming sirens raced by hunting for Michael Myers. The sun had barely come up, and the dim light cast an ominous glow across Haddonfield.

Ozzy’s wife Olivia had woken him with the news about Michael.

“They can’t make you go to work with that monster on the loose.”

“Olivia, they have not called to tell me I am not going in, so that means I am going in.”

“You checked your emails?”

“My emails are full of junk. They did not email me. They did not call me. I have to go to work.”

“Baby, I don’t want you goin’ in today. They showed a picture of that maniac on TV with that awful mask over his face… I can’t get him out of my head. I’m scared. He’s still out there. Stay home with me, please. Just call in sick.”

“I do not have any more sick days. And if you want to ever get back to Portugal so you can feed those ponies again, then that means I have got to go into work. Even when there is a maniac in a monster mask on the loose in Haddonfield.”

Ozzy kissed Olivia sweetly. “And you do not have to worry about anything when it comes to me and him because Michael Myers has never met a guy like Ozzy.” Ozzy flexed his biceps to show off his muscles. Olivia was far from convinced.

“And in addition to that, Hugo has been on a strict high-performance diet, he’s pumping iron, and he is lean and mean, trust me.”

“You’re trying to be funny, but this isn’t funny to me.”

“Listen, if we cross paths with that psycho, which I guarantee we will not, but hypothetically speaking, if we do meet Michael Myers, we will win.”

“Win? I just want you to survive!”

“Olivia, you don’t need to worry because me and Hugo are ready for anything. I promise you. There is nothing to worry about. Make your coffee, watch your morning shows, stay away from the news, and I will see you this afternoon.”

Hugo, who had broken his diet two days into it and hadn’t lifted a weight in decades, gobbled down four partially cooked Toaster Strudels and chased them with an ice-cold glass of Strawberry Quick while watching the local news cover the Michael Myers massacre.

“Jesus Christ,” Hugo murmured in disbelief when they announced the body count from the massacre. “How the hell’s someone kill that many people in one night? How can that happen?”

A shadow moved across his kitchen window, and Hugo almost had a heart attack.

It’s him! Hugo’s mind instantly went into fight mode, and he dove into a crouched position and crab-walked to the utility drawer, where he removed the first two things he grabbed: a screwdriver and a packing tape dispenser.

Hugo paused for a moment, considered his two makeshift weapons, and then he carefully rose.

Hugo peeked nervously over the window ledge, but the darkness prohibited him from seeing anything. He quickly killed the kitchen light and looked back through the glass. His eyes slowly adjusted. He looked across his small yard, mostly filled with dead grass, a dying oak tree, and a tiny toolshed that he hadn’t used since the early nineties. He saw nothing else.

Hugo stepped outside and looked to the shed. Enough light made it into the doorless storage room to let Hugo see some rusty garden tools but not much else. He gripped his weapons and timidly approached.

“Someone hiding in there?” Hugo called out. His voice shook with fear. “I’m armed,” he announced, hoping to frighten any intruders.

Hugo focused on the doorway and waited for a reply. He prayed he would not see that masked face he had seen on the news emerge from within.

A breeze rustled the leaves of his dying tree as time slowed to a crawl. Hugo’s eyes remained fixed on the doorway. Waiting. Expecting any second to meet that psycho. He gripped his weapons tighter—

The opening notes to ‘Far Behind’ from Candlebox, Hugo’s ringtone, broke the silence abruptly.

Hugo frantically grabbed his phone to silence it and dropped his weapons. Hugo’s eyes shot back to the door.

What the hell are you doing out here? What if he is in there? Hugo’s mind screamed. You’re gonna kill the boogeyman with a screwdriver and a tape dispenser?! Hugo’s mind questioned his hasty decision. Go inside, you idiot! Go inside, now!

Suddenly there was movement in the toolshed. A thin shadow. Then some tools rattled.

Hugo froze. Unable to run away.

Please God, Please God, Please God.

Each second that passed made his heart beat louder. His eyes grew wider… Andthen—

Reeee-aaaahhhh!

Hugo screamed as a mangy cat leapt out of the darkness and raced by him.

Hugo spun around and lost his balance. His face kissed the brick wall, and he fell and banged his head against the tape dispenser.

“Shit!” he screamed.

*   *   *

“Jesus Christ, man, you are lucky that it was some drunk guy and not Michael Myers,” Ozzy told Hugo as they hung a left into an alley. Embarrassed by the truth, Hugo had told Ozzy a drunk guy had knocked him over. A story that, based on Hugo’s bruised face and scraped arms, Ozzy found spurious.

Hugo held a frozen burrito against his injured eye to stop the swelling.

“All this boogeyman shit’s got me on edge,” Hugo confessed.

“Olivia was giving me attitude about even going out today.”

“You ask me, Olivia’s right. Nobody should be out right now. Least of all us.”

Another pair of sirens raced by.

“They will find him,” Ozzy confidently told Hugo. “You can’t get away with anything in this town. Olivia’s cousin, John Michael, had a warrant for unpaid parking tickets, and they found him in his girlfriend’s RV parked at a KOA. Can you believe that? If they can find John Michael hidden inside an RV parked at a KOA, they can most certainly find Michael Myers.”

Hugo looked at the glint coming off the trashcans from the morning light. At least Halloween’s over, he thought.

Ozzy stopped at the first set of cans, and Hugo hopped out.

As soon as Hugo reached the trash, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A figure sat slumped against the chain-link fence, bleeding from multiple wounds. The dawn light gave his mask a sicker, paler appearance. Hugo recognized it instantly. The same masked face he’d seen on the news. The same mask he could not get out of his mind.

“Mother—!”

Hugo bolted back to the truck.

“What?” Ozzy asked, concerned.

“He’s there, man!” Hugo stuttered as he jumped inside. “Michael Myers is out there!”

“What are you talking about?” Ozzy said as he craned his neck around Hugo.

“I’m tellin’ you, he’s lying against the fence. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Ozzy smirked and climbed out.

“Ozzy, what the hell are you doing?!”

“I am going to see for myself whether or not you are having some fun with me.”

“I am not having fun! This isn’t fun! Let’s get out of here!”

Ozzy opened the door and stepped out. “Don’t worry.” Ozzy removed a canister from his belt. “I am prepared with pepper spray.”

“What is your problem, you fool?!” Hugo screamed.

Ozzy came around the truck and approached the fence.

Hugo banged against the window. “Don’t be an idiot!”

Ozzy reached the fence but didn’t see anything except a dark, thick liquid collected on the ground. It could have been oil or blood or any number of things.

Hugo pressed his face against the window. Watching with horrific anticipation.

“Dumb son of a bitch…” Hugo whispered under his breath when he saw Ozzy squat down and disappear from his view. Hugo quickly climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I’m gonna leave your butt if you don’t get the hell in here right now!” Hugo shouted.

“There is nobody here!” Ozzy shouted as he stood back up.

“What?” Hugo quietly asked in disbelief.

“I am telling you that I am standing here right now, and there is nobody here. The joke is on you, funny man.”

Ozzy looked down the length of the fence in one direction and then in the other. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Hugo’s worry grew. “I swear I saw him.” His eyes nervously moved across the horizon, looking for the slightest hint of what he’d seen. But he didn’t see a thing.

“He was there,” Hugo said again. “And if he’s not there now, then I’m telling you he’s hiding. Please, Ozzy, let’s just get out of here.”

“Maybe you got a concussion after all,” Ozzy suggested as he grabbed the cans and headed back to the truck. “Should I drop you off at the clinic to get your head examined?”

“Quit joking around!” Hugo yelled as he lost his temper.

“The boogeyman’s gonna get you,” Ozzy teased as he disappeared behind the truck.

Hugo rechecked his injuries in the mirror. He winced as he softly touched his swollen eye and bruised face. Could he have seen something that wasn’t actually there? Had he gotten so worked up by all the news coverage that he’d somehow imagined Michael Myers in the flesh? In all his forty-eight years, nothing like that had ever happened before.

“Maybe I did get a concussion,” Hugo mumbled as he slurped the rest of his Strawberry Quick from his Thermos and considered the possibility. First, he’d mistaken a freaking cat for the monster, and now this.

Hugo smirked and looked back to the mirror. Ozzy hadn’t yet returned.

“Ozzy, what’s the holdup?” Hugo yelled through the window.

He received no reply.

“Hey, Ozzy?!” he shouted again.

A moment passed. And still nothing.

“Ozzy? Are you playing a joke on me?”

Nothing.

“All right then, you want to be funny,” Hugo said as he grabbed the long metal trash-picker pin and stepped out of the truck. “Let’s see how funny this is.”

Hugo approached slowly. His eyes darted everywhere, certain that Ozzy would soon jump out from a hiding place and yell, “Boo!”

“You better not be joking around back here. You might get stabbed. I got the picker in my hand.”

Hugo’s footsteps crunched loudly over some loose gravel from the unkempt road. It was the only sound he could hear. Paranoia crept in and made it hard to walk smoothly. Hugo tripped over his feet. “Goddammit, Ozzy, stop messing around.”

Hugo reached the back of the truck but didn’t see his partner. The alley looked empty.

Hugo heard a drip-drip from behind and turned. There he found Ozzy’s body, crammed into the rear loader with his stomach sliced open and his guts spilling everywhere. Ozzy’s can of pepper spray had been brutally jammed inside his throat, crushing his trachea and dislocating his jaw. Ozzy’s eyes were blood-red, suggesting the pepper spray had been at least modestly effective.

“Oh God,” Hugo cried out and took off.

When Hugo came around the truck, he met Michael Myers.

Michael made no immediate movement. He simply stood there. Watching.

“No!” Hugo screamed and jabbed the picker into Michael’s neck. Michael crashed against the chain-link fence. Hugo jumped over him and raced for the door.

Hugo hurried into the cab, but before he could put the truck in gear, the trash picker smashed through the window and pierced Hugo’s temple.

Hugo’s head slumped toward Michael as the blood streamed out. His eyes flickered as his hemorrhaging brain shut down.

The shape before him watched blankly through black eyes.

Michael removed Hugo from the truck and arranged him alongside his friend in the loader. He then pulled the lever and engaged the hydraulics, which lifted the bodies into the compactor. Ozzy and Hugo’s carcasses were crushed in the belly of the machine.

Michael climbed inside the truck and drove past the unsuspecting police cars. He vanished into the early Haddonfield morning.

LOVE LIVES TODAY

On November 1st, 2018, the manhunt for Michael Myers began.

The Michael Myers massacre became a national news story. Outlets covered the story relentlessly, and television networks scrambled to create dramatized versions of the story for their movies of the week and endless news specials.

The FBI and police forces from surrounding cities aided in the search. Hero-hungry vigilantes arrived in droves armed to the teeth, confident that they could find and kill the monster faster than the law.

But after months of searching, nothing.

Michael had seemingly vanished without a trace.

An abandoned garbage truck near the river on the edge of town was discovered shortly after the search began. But no sign of Michael Myers.

Farther away, buried deep in the surrounding woods, police came upon another grisly scene inside a dilapidated hunter’s cabin.

The authorities combed the woods and dragged the river.

And still, nothing…

*   *   *

Laurie Strode led a crazed charge to slay Michael, aligning herself with fringe groups. She had prepared alone in the years leading up to Michael’s escape, but now, she had a bloodthirsty army to join in her efforts. And after the death of her daughter, Laurie’s own bloodlust became far more savage.

“The police in Haddonfield don’t know what the fuck they are doing. It's up to us to bring him down,” became Laurie’s mantra as she rolled through the streets, hunting for the man who had taken everything from her.

Sheriff Barker resigned, and a new sheriff, Nate Scott, arrived with the promise that he could bring down Myers. He implemented county-wide curfews, choked traffic with routine roadblocks, and worked with the state to deploy the National Guard. But in the end, he proved no more capable of capturing Michael Myers than Barker. And all his efforts did nothing to provide a clue to where Michael could have possibly gone.

Had Michael Myers died? Had his injuries proved too fatal for any man to survive, even the boogeyman? Some residents assumed so. Others believed he had changed shape and was hiding in plain sight. And many more feared his imminent return.

The local loudmouth, shock-jock WURG DJ, Willy the Kid, helped circulate wilder theories about what had could have happened to Michael Audrey Myers, but there were plenty more rational explanations to keep people terrified.

Paranoia swept through Haddonfield and led to a mass exodus from the city after Michael’s massacre. Those who remained directed their fears onto their neighbors. The town turned ugly.

The city bulldozed the Myers’ home, and in its place they erected a community garden and memorial dedicated to the victims of Michael’s rampage. A sign that read ‘Love Lives Today’ greeted visitors to the garden. Photographs of the victims of the massacre were shellacked onto the fountain wall that rested in the center of the memorial, but it did little to erase the legend, which only grew in strength as Michael remained missing.

Teenagers with a taste for the macabre became the only visitors to the garden as it soon fell into disrepair. Mostly goths, punks, and misfits who were fascinated by the stories of a loner who had become an icon. Some of them tattooed his name onto their bodies. Others wrote songs about him. Graffitied images of Michael’s mask sprung up throughout Haddonfield, painted onto walls and billboards. Even though you could not see the boogeyman, you could not avoid his presence.

All the while, Allyson remained confined within the hum…

COREY CUNNINGHAM

Halloween Night, 2019

Corey Cunningham saw only a few trick-or-treaters as he rode his bike to the Allen house. Most parents opted to keep their children at home rather than risk the possibility of another nightmare taking place.

Joan, Corey’s mother, begged him to stay home too, but Corey looked for any excuse to get out of his house. So, when he got the request from Mrs. Allen to come and babysit their boy Jeremy, he accepted immediately.

Corey needed one more year, just one more year, to hopefully have enough money to get the hell out of his momma’s house and into an engineering program at a university. Corey had been working overtime mowing lawns and doing odd jobs to make that happen, and he reminded himself of this goal as Joan screamed at him to “Stay home with your mother, Corey!” Caw-ree is what it sounded like through Joan’s severe Northeastern accent.

Corey could hear her voice echoing inside his head as he pedaled through the neighborhood. He could not escape her overbearing control. His whole life, there she was, on top of him, unwilling to let him go. Even away from home, he could hear her. Always.

Corey did not know much about his father. Wally had left the picture when Corey was just a child. Joan told Corey that Wally had driven his motorcycle off the road and died, but that wasn’t true. Truth was that as soon as Joan gave birth to Corey, Joan lost interest in Wally. And late one night, she told him to hit the road. Wally, a Vietnam vet twenty years older than Joan, was far more interested in watching M*A*S*H reruns and drinking beers with his buddies in the motorcycle club than being a dad, so he did not put up a fight. Wally left as soon as she said the word ‘leave’, and he never looked back. All Corey knew about his dad was that he had been the produce manager at the grocery store where Joan ran the register, he had a tattoo of a duck, and he loved Merle Haggard, which Corey discovered when he found some of the things Wally had left behind.

With Wally out of the picture, Corey became Joan’s sole obsession, and obsess she did. Joan rarely let Corey out of her sight. She strictly forbade him from participating in any after-school activities, and sports were entirely out of the question. Corey went to school, he came home; that was his life. And when Joan worried that school was becoming too intrusive in their relationship, she would lie and tell Corey he had an illness and demand he stay home so she could care for him. Sometimes Joan even tampered with the thermometer to read hotter than his actual temperature to further convince Corey that she was right.

“But, Momma, I feel fine,” he’d plead, desperate to get out of the house.

“Listen to your mother. She is the only one who will take care of you. The only one. You are a sick boy. A very sick boy. And you will stay home with your mother.”

At home, Joan had complete control. That’s where she thrived. Joan dressed Corey every morning until he turned thirteen, and he had little say in the matter. Even when he turned thirteen, he had to beg his momma to let him pick out his own clothes.

Joan fed Corey each night at six sharp. Always a dinner served with milk. Then she tucked Corey into bed at 8:30PM on the dot, never a minute later.

“Nobody will ever love you the way I love you,” Joan would tell Corey as she sat in the chair close to his bed, watching him until he fell asleep.

Joan had grown up in a large family. She was the oldest of six siblings, and Joan loathed the lack of attention she received from her parents. Loathed it. And with each new addition to the family, Joan saw her desired attention diminish further.

Nothing her parents did could ever make Joan feel special enough, and when the last of the children arrived in the form of a snotty little monster the family called Mickey, Joan began acting out in more devious ways. Sometimes she would steal her sisters’ favorite toys and bury them in the lot behind their home. Then she would hide and watch them cry when they couldn’t find them. God, it made her feel good when they cried. When they were miserable. All those little shits did not deserve to be in her family, and seeing their pain delighted Joan no end. Joan would then lie and tell her parents that she had seen her brothers steal the toys, and point them in the direction where she had buried them. Watching her brothers get into trouble gave her an incredible thrill. And sometimes they would cry too. That was even better.

“I’m the only one who doesn’t do bad things,” Joan would tell her parents.

But Mickey’s entrance into the family was the final straw. Because no matter how hard Joan fought for attention, there would always be somebody new. So, Joan put the full force of her ire onto the newest addition.

Joan would pinch the baby and watch him scream when nobody was looking. At night she would sneak to his crib and shake it violently until he woke up crying. Joan never missed an opportunity to torment the child. And eventually, she took that torment too far.

“Keep an eye on your brother,” Joan’s mother instructed as she hurried off to grab her things one morning before school. Any time Joan heard the words keep an eye on your brother, her temper flared. On that particular morning, Joan’s temper burst into flames.

Joan sat next to the little monster, trying to enjoy her Cream of Wheat cereal, while he chirped and drooled and thrashed about in his highchair like a foul little weasel.

Mickey had a habit of pressing his little feet against the table and tilting his highchair back. Everybody in the family had gotten used to making sure he was never too close to the table that he might actually push himself over.

Joan looked down and saw Mickey’s legs darting out, reaching for the table but unable to touch it. It inspired a sinister idea.

When Joan got up to put her bowl in the sink, she gave Mickey’s highchair a little push closer. Just to where his feet could touch the table. And then she walked away.

“Momma, I’m going to the bathroom!” Joan shouted as she hurried to the bathroom.

“Make it quick! We need to leave soon!” Joan’s mother yelled back.

Joan stood in the bathroom, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Wishing that her family would love her the way she wanted to be loved. Wishing that it was only her.

Joan did not expect anything to actually happen by scooting Mickey’s chair closer to the table, but then she heard the crash. And when she heard her mother’s screams followed by her brothers’ and sisters’ cries, she knew something had happened. Something awful.

Joan came into the kitchen and saw the blood on the floor. Mickey had toppled over and cracked his head open. Joan’s mother held the child in her arms, pleading for him to wake up. Joan’s brothers and sisters were bawling their eyes out.

Mickey never woke. And Joan never got her attention.

Joan left home after high school and severed all ties with her family. She moved from the Northeast to the Midwest, and Corey never learned anything about his extended family.

Corey had just turned fifteen when Joan married Ronald Prevo, another Northeastern transplant. Joan let Ronald know as soon as he came into her life that he would remain firmly on the sidelines when it came to Corey’s upbringing. Ronald gladly obliged.

With Ronald in her life, Joan eased up on Corey ever so slightly, but she did not release her grip entirely.

Any friends that Corey wanted to see outside of school had to go through Joan first. And when Corey got a crush on Lauren in ninth grade and brought her over to work on their history project together, Joan stayed in the room with them, monitoring Corey’s interest. When Lauren left, Joan told Corey that he should be embarrassed to keep company with such a nasty girl. After that, Corey kept his love interests and friendships to a minimum and secretive.

That is how Corey Cunningham turned out to be a socially awkward twenty-one-year-old with no car, who lived at home, dreamed of getting away, and ended up agreeing to babysit a nine-year-old kid on Halloween night.

Corey passed by more darkened homes. More FOR SALE signs. It seemed like everybody but Corey was getting out of Haddonfield.

Corey didn’t share the same paranoia about Michael Myers as the rest of the town. On a subconscious level, Corey just didn’t feel special enough to end up as part of Michael’s story.

During the first few weeks after the Myers massacre, Corey avoided the news stories. But the stories about Michael’s violence were inescapable, and Corey soon learned the names of the victims and the survivors, and he imagined their grief and nightmares. When he heard the reports of Michael Myers, he could not help but wonder, how could such evil exist in the world?

Corey had spent that Halloween night at home in his room, writing a paper about The Scarlet Letter for his American Literature class at the community college. He was asleep in bed by the time the boogeyman unleashed his wrath.

Corey pedaled quicker, wanting to be early so that Mr. and Mrs. Allen could get into their evening.

The Allens lived on the good side of the town, where the homes were bright and well-kept. Everything looked clean. Corey had been mowing their lawn since the previous spring, and the Allens were by far his favorite clients. They took an interest in him that made him feel less embarrassed about where he’d come from and how he’d been raised.

Corey thought of the Allens as the perfect family. Even when he occasionally overheard one of their arguments about a bill or a forgotten appointment, they didn’t do it with the same venom as Joan did when she got upset.

Even though Corey had only known the Allens for half a year, he felt close to them. Corey viewed Roger Allen as a man capable of handling anything. Mr. Allen never looked worried. And he was funny, too. Corey didn’t have to fake a laugh like he did with some of his other clients. Mr. Allen’s jokes were good.

Theresa Allen couldn’t have been friendlier. And she always had plenty of heartfelt advice to impart. Mrs. Allen possessed a nurturing quality that Joan painfully lacked.

Corey could feel real love in that house, and it made him feel like that kind of love was possible in his own life.

So, when Mrs. Allen called Corey and asked if he could fill in for their regular babysitter, who had bailed because of a stomach bug, Corey couldn’t say ‘yes’ quick enough.

Corey didn’t know their son Jeremy well, but he seemed like a nice enough kid. Jeremy had spent a large part of the summer at different camps. He was busy with soccer practice, piano lessons, fencing class, and his private tutor during the school year, so Corey had never really gotten any one-on-one time with him, but he looked forward to getting to know the little guy.

“I can’t thank you enough, Corey!” Mrs. Allen told Corey for the second time as she dashed around the home hurriedly putting together the final touches on her flapper costume for Mr. Allen’s company costume party. Being able to come through at the last minute made Corey feel needed.

“Roger! Corey’s here!” Mrs. Allen yelled as Corey stood in the entryway.

Corey poked his head into the living room and found Mr. Allen, dressed as a train conductor, playing the piano effortlessly. Mrs. Allen might have been frantic, but Mr. Allen was in no hurry whatsoever.

Mr. Allen sipped his beer. “New gig, huh? Hope he’s better at childcare than he is at yard work!” Mr. Allen jokingly told Mrs. Allen. “Oops,” Mr. Allen feigned embarrassment, “did I say that out loud?”

Corey laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets as he dodged Mrs. Allen, who ran back to grab her pearls.

“You know, you should consider some perennials next spring,” Corey suggested to Mr. Allen. “Hydrangeas could balance that dogwood in the side yard.”

Mr. Allen couldn’t give a shit about perennials or dogwood, but he appreciated Corey’s enthusiasm.

“You decided on a school yet?” Mrs. Allen asked as she fastened her necklace.

“Not yet. I’m applying to a few engineering programs. We’ll see. I’m just saving money this year, so I can go next fall. Hopefully, I’ll have enough and—”

“Jeremy! The sitter’s here!” Mrs. Allen cut Corey off as she checked her makeup in the mirror by the entryway.

Jeremy didn’t respond, and Mrs. Allen looked to the upstairs balcony. “Jeremy?” she asked with some confusion.

Corey stepped closer and looked upstairs too.

The stairs curled and climbed all the way up to a third-floor attic. The height made Corey a little dizzy.

“Boo!” Jeremy jumped out from the nook behind the stairs wearing pajamas and a wolfman mask.

Mrs. Allen shrieked. Corey jumped too but tried to play it off.

Jeremy giggled maniacally and sprinted by his mother.

“Jeremy, come back here!” Mrs. Allen screamed as she followed him into the living room.

Jeremy popped out of another door and launched a paper plane which fizzled mid-flight and crash-landed into the side table.

The kid lifted his mask and looked at Corey with big, hopeful eyes.

“Corey? Can you show me how to make a Thunder Bomber? The number one of all time? My dad can make the best ones!”

Mr. Allen whispered through the living room door, “They’re really not that good.”

Corey smiled. “I’ll sure give it a shot, little dude.” He tousled Jeremy’s hair.

Jeremy turned and raced upstairs to retrieve a stack of paper.

“Corey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Mrs. Allen asked with a more serious tone as she stepped back into the entryway. Mr. Allen strolled in to join her.

Mr. Allen snatched a mini-sized Twix from a bucket of candy and ate it as Mrs. Allen wrote a number down on a notepad.

“We’ll leave the candy on the porch so the trick-or-treat kids can help themselves,” Mr. Allen told Corey as he dug through the treats, looking for some Rolos. “We don’t expect many this year—hey, Theresa, didn’t you buy Rolos? I don’t see any.”

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” Mrs. Allen ignored Roger’s question.

“She made zucchini bread. It’s actually good,” Mr. Allen added sarcastically.

“Okay, here’s my number. If there’s an emergency, call me, we’ll just be right down the street. We’ll probably be home around ten-ish.”

“It’s a company party. It’ll be sooner than that,” Mr. Allen joked.

“But I do need to tell you one thing…” Mrs. Allen continued. She glanced upstairs to make sure Jeremy was out of earshot.

Corey grew curious.

“Since last Halloween,” Mrs. Allen lowered her voice, “and all the events with you know… Michael Myers,” she whispered, “Jeremy has been afraid of the dark. He’s started wetting the bed at night, and, well, bedtime has just been really difficult.”

“I can read him a story or something. Does he have a favorite book?”

“I think he enjoys the handbook on how to wear out one’s patience,” Mr. Allen said with another wink.

Corey smiled. Jokes.

“Roger, come on, knock it off,” Mrs. Allen scolded.

Roger playfully zipped his lips.

“Once he goes to bed, it’s usually fine,” Mrs. Allen added, “but he saw the picture of that man with that awful mask on TV and, well—he’sjust really sensitive.” Mrs. Allen sounded exhausted.

“I think many of us are right now,” Corey replied calmly. “It’s probably just normal kid imagination stuff. You know, his mind is trying to deal with all this scary stuff.”

“We’re just extra careful with everything right now, so no TV, and no candy, or fruit juices—he’s already had two. And the normal stuff, you know, no running up and down the stairs, no jumping on the bed or anything else that could land him in the emergency room…” Mrs. Allen searched for her phone. She realized it was in her hand and continued, “You guys can play until eight-thirty, eight-forty-five at the latest, then he should be in bed or else he’ll be a monster in the morning.”

“Easy money.” Mr. Allen unzipped his lips to eat the Rolos he’d finally found at the bottom of the bucket.

“Hey! Are you gonna come play with me or what?!” Jeremy announced as he came downstairs with a bunch of paper and a no-nonsense expression.

“Sounds like a threat,” Mr. Allen joked and took the candy outside. “Good luck, pal!”

Corey turned to Mrs. Allen and assured her, “It’s Halloween. We’re gonna have a good time.”

Famous last words.

As soon as the Allens walked out the door, Jeremy went full gremlin.

Almost like he had a checklist in his head, Jeremy began methodically crossing out everything Mrs. Allen had forbidden him from doing. He immediately dove into the trick-or-treat candy and ate half of it, then he chugged two more fruit juices. Corey tried to be the good guy and politely suggested other activities, but Jeremy ignored him and continued his ruckus. He bolted up and down the stairs, did front flips on his bed, and then… he insisted on watching a movie. Corey felt powerless to stop any of his behavior.

Away from Jeremy’s doting and loving parents, it turned out that Jeremy Allen was a rotten little brat.

When Corey pled with Jeremy to follow his mom’s rules, Jeremy lashed out with a flurry of insults.

“You are stupid, you have no friends, and you are poor!” Jeremy yelled when Corey took the rest of the fruit juices and put them where Jeremy couldn’t reach them. “And you’re being mean cause you’re not as rich as me!”

“Come on, dude, I’m not being mean. Why are you being that way?”

“Come on, dude!” Jeremy mocked. “What twenty-year-old doesn’t have a car? Oh, I know! A broke-ass, poor nerd who doesn’t have any friends on Halloween. And that’s why you gotta ride a stupid, little girly bike all the way over here. If you had a friend, you wouldn’t be here trying to tell a nine-year-old what to do.”

“You’re not being nice,” Corey informed him, thinking it might do something. It didn’t.

“Good, I don’t want to be nice. Because it’s fun to be mean to a stupid, poor babysitter like you!”

Corey regrouped and tried again.

“Hey, why don’t we make some planes. Come on, it’ll be fun. What about that Thunder Bomber? Let’s try to make the number one of all time. What do you say?”

“I say: fuck no.”

“Don’t use that language.”

“I want to watch a movie.”

“I can’t let you do that. Your mom said ‘no’.”

“White trash.”

“Jeremy!”

“I’m not gonna obey another thing you say until you let me watch a movie. It’s your decision.”

“Fine. But not anything scary. Just a cartoon or something short—”

“—No. I want to watch an adult movie. A rated-R movie. And I want it to be scary. If you don’t let me, I’ll tell my mom how bad of a babysitter you were. I’ll tell her… you were the worst babysitter I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

It was a standoff. And Corey worried that if he called Jeremy’s bluff and Jeremy did lie and tell his mom all the things he threatened to tell her, well, then Corey’s relationship with the Allens would be kaput.

“Okay,” Corey gave in, “but you can’t say a word about it. Promise? And you have to be in bed before they get home. Got it?”

Jeremy gave Corey a sinister grin.

“Got it?” Corey repeated again.

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” the little shit replied.

Corey scrolled through the guide on the TV, hoping he could find something innocent. Something not too scary…

“Stop. That one,” Jeremy ordered when he saw the first movie that grabbed his attention, The Thing. “That’s the movie I want to watch tonight. Play it right now.”

Corey saw that the movie had been made in the eighties and figured an older movie couldn’t be too scary. Corey was wrong. Dead wrong. And half an hour into the movie, it had been scary enough to freak Corey out more than Jeremy. Jeremy might have been startled by the special effects, but the unrelenting sense of dread got under Corey’s skin and profoundly unnerved him. Corey worried that Jeremy would be just as affected.

“All right, this is actually completely inappropriate for kids. I’m turning it off,” Corey told Jeremy.

“You touch it, I scream.”

“Come on, Jeremy.”

“You touch it, I will kill you,” Jeremy threatened.

“This movie is way too scary for you.”

“I’m not scared. You’re the one who’s scared.”

“Yeah, right. I’m twenty-one years old. I don’t get scared,” Corey lied.

“I bet you’re scared of… Michael Myers.”

Corey smirked and shook his head. He played along to show Jeremy how unafraid he was and teased back, “The boogeyman is gonna get you.”

“What, are you stupid? He’s not gonna get me,” Jeremy said with a sneer. “Michael Myers kills babysitters, not kids. And guess what? Michael Myers is out there right now. It’s Halloween night. That’s when Michael Myers kills. And also guess what? I bet he’s watching you right now. Because you know why? Because I’ve seen him. He’s waiting. And when you’re not looking, he’s gonna be there with his big knife to get you.”

Corey grew more uncomfortable with the conversation. “I am shutting this off, and we can play hide-and-seek or something for a few minutes before you go to bed. Your parents are gonna be home in—”

“No!” Jeremy shouted with such force that it caused Corey to sit up. “I’m not playing around, and I don’t feel like doing dumb kid’s stuff like playing stupid games with a wimpy-ass white trash boy babysitter.”

“You’re being a real jerk,” Corey said as he got up. Little shit is what he really wanted to say.

“I can be a jerk if I want to. It’s my house. You wish you had a house like mine!”

“Five minutes. That’s it,” Corey told Jeremy as he glanced at his phone. 9:00. He’d broken another one of Mrs. Allen’s rules without even noticing.

“You suck at babysitting,” Jeremy lashed out.

“I’m not a babysitter! I mow the lawn!” Corey yelled as he went to the kitchen to get a reprieve from the unrelenting little heathen.

“You suck at that too!” Jeremy shouted back.

Corey looked at the beer in the fridge. He took a deep breath to calm his strained nerves.

Instead of the beer, Corey grabbed the last bottle of chocolate milk. He gulped half of it down, praying it would provide some comfort. It didn’t. So, Corey turned to the zucchini bread on the cutting board. Mr. Allen was right. It looked delicious. Corey picked up the knife to slice himself a piece when Jeremy let out a murderous scream.

“HELP!”

Corey jumped. The scream startled him so badly he nearly cut his hand.

“What is his problem?” Corey whispered under his breath. “What are you doing in there, Jeremy? No horsing around!” Corey yelled. “Five more minutes! I’m serious!”

A crash sounded from the living room, followed by a clang from the piano.

Corey dropped the knife and raced out of the kitchen.

Corey saw light strangely flickering inside the living room as he approached.

“Jeremy?” he asked uneasily.

Corey entered the room and found the lamp on the ground. Jeremy’s wolfman mask sat on the couch, and everything on the coffee table had been knocked to the floor. Jeremy was nowhere to be found.

“Jeremy? This isn’t funny! Stop messing around.” Corey looked around the room but didn’t see him hiding anywhere.

A tapping noise came from the entryway. Corey stepped cautiously in that direction and discovered the front door open just slightly, swaying in the breeze. Tapping against the frame.

“Jeremy?”

Corey peeked out. He didn’t see anything. The yard was empty. The driveway was empty. The streets were empty. It made Corey feel like everyone on Earth had disappeared.

Corey closed the door and looked back into the house. Was the little shit playing a joke, or had something bad happened? Corey’s worry grew.

Corey ascended the stairs.

“Jeremy!” he called out again. Nothing. And each time he received no reply, it pulled his nerves tighter.

Corey looked into Jeremy’s room. He checked beneath the bed and the closet. He did not see a thing besides hundreds of toy dinosaurs.

“Come on, man! If you’re hiding, this isn’t funny. Cut it out, Jeremy!”

Corey grabbed the bathroom door, and it gave resistance.

“Are you in there?” Corey called out. “Jeremy?”

Corey pulled a little harder, but still the door didn’t open. Corey clenched the handle, hoping to hear Jeremy’s giggle inside. But nope. Just silence and more dread.

Corey removed his hand and stepped away from the door, not wanting to acknowledge his more worrying thoughts. The thoughts that told him maybe someone had broken into the house to kidnap the kid. And maybe, just maybe, they were now hidden behind the bathroom door.

“Hello?” Corey quietly asked through the door.

Corey knew that if anything happened to Jeremy on his watch, the Allens would never forgive him. So, he sucked up some courage, put his hand back on the handle, steadied his nerves, and gave the door a good yank. This time it popped open. Corey reached frantically for the lights. He found the switch and flipped it. Corey’s eyes nervously ran across the room, but he found nothing except for the bathtub with a closed shower curtain.

Corey stepped closer to the bathtub. He cautiously put his hand on the curtain. Corey had seen way too many movies where a character entered a similar predicament, and he knew it rarely fared well.

Corey pulled the shower curtain back before thinking about it any longer. But he did not find anybody hidden behind it. Nobody could have hidden behind it because the tub was filled with more toys than were in Jeremy’s closet.

“Spoiled brat,” Corey said under his breath as he continued his search. “I’m calling your parents. Seriously. It’s gonna ruin their night. They’re going to be really upset, and you're gonna get in trouble.”

Corey checked every room, bathroom, and closet upstairs but found no trace of Jeremy.

When Corey approached the third-floor landing, another clang from the piano rang out from the room below. Corey hurried back downstairs.

Corey came off the stairs and stopped at the entryway. The front door had been opened again. By that point, the name Michael Myers began running through Corey’s head on a loop. And while Corey might not have felt special enough to be a part of Michael’s lore, he knew without a doubt that Jeremy Allen certainly fucking was. And maybe Corey had been cast as a peripheral character in Jeremy’s story.

Suddenly, everywhere Corey turned, he felt sure someone was watching him. And he became painfully aware of the size of the home. If Michael Myers had indeed broken in, there were a million places for him to hide.

Corey returned to the kitchen and discovered that the knife he’d used on the zucchini bread was missing. No.

“Come on, man,” Corey said as his fear ramped up. “Jeremy, please be okay,” he whispered to himself.

As Corey ran by the entryway, he noticed Mrs. Allen’s phone number on the side table. He reluctantly pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

Corey could hear the worry in Mrs. Allen’s voice the second she answered. He tried to sound like he had things under control, but Corey couldn’t hide his panic.

“I’m so sorry. I know it’s against the rules, but I let Jeremy watch a movie and… Well, I think he got scared. And now, I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I hope everything is okay. We’re on our way now.”

Corey hung up and continued his search, more feverishly now, running from room to room, turning on every light in the house, desperately looking, desperately hoping he could find Jeremy before the Allens returned home.

When Corey reached the second floor, he heard footsteps above. Corey leaned over the railing and looked up. He could see light coming from the attic.

“Jeremy?!” Corey shouted as he sprinted up the stairs toward the room.

For a moment, Corey thought the game was over. He expected to reach the attic and find Jeremy Allen hiding inside. But Corey’s relief disappeared when he made it to the third-floor landing, and instead of finding the boy he’d been tasked with looking after, he found the missing knife from the kitchen lying on the floor inside the attic.

“Jeremy, what are you doing in there?” Corey asked nervously as he approached. “I called your parents. They’re on the way home now. They’re gonna be real mad about this,” Corey told him, thinking that if all of it was a stupid prank, then Jeremy might reveal himself knowing the trouble coming his way.

But he did not. And Corey stepped into the attic.

Corey picked up the knife. The handle felt warm and clammy. It had been freshly gripped.