Halloween

by John Passarella

  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…

  40

  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.

  The hesitation was all the head start Karen needed.

  She took a wider path around him to stay clear, but when she grabbed the lower section of the handrail, it snapped free and she nearly lost her balance. Though she recovered quickly, Michael was already lurching toward the stairs right behind her. As she ran up the steps, she felt his bloodied hand, with two fingers missing, swipe at her heel, unable to get a grip, but causing her to stumble and pitch forward. Her palm shot out, catching the edge of a tread to stop her fall. Then she shoved herself upright and continued to climb.

  Halfway through the floor opening, Karen thought she’d made it to safety, but the stairs rumbled beneath her as Michael lunged forward. This time his intact right hand clamped tight around her ankle—and yanked!

  Karen fell forward, her arms, head, and torso sprawled across the tile floor, while her legs remained below the shelter entrance. As Michael pulled on her ankle, tugging her inexorably down, her hands scrabbled for purchase, anything to slow her descent, but the smooth tile offered no resistance for her sweaty palms. In seconds, only her head and forearms remained above the kitchen floor. She braced her arms against the edges of the doorframe, wincing in pain from Michael’s powerful grip on her ankle.

  Allyson slid forward on her knees and reached out. “Mom! Take my hand!”

  With her left hand wrapped around her mother’s upper arm, and her right hand gripping her mother’s left, Allyson pulled with desperate strength. But it wasn’t enough. After a brief stalemate, Allyson faltered. Her knees slid forward, toward the opening, and her mother’s head began to dip below the level of the floor. Grimacing, Karen screamed in pain, tears in her eyes. She knew how this would end, and she refused to take her daughter down with her.

  “No, baby, run!” Karen yelled.

  Grunting with effort, Allyson said, “I’m not… gonna leave… you!”

  But her fingers were slipping.

  All Karen had to do was open her hand—

  “Nobody’s going to run,” Laurie said.

  She held one of the black-and-white security monitors she’d disconnected from the kitchen wall shelf, an old-fashioned CRT display about the size of a basketball.

  “Duck!” Laurie told Karen.

  Karen complied instantly, lowering her head between her outstretched arms.

  Laurie hurled the CRT and, from the satisfying thud of the impact, hit Michael in the head with it, which was followed by another crash, as Michael fell to the bottom of the stairs for a second time. Suddenly, the pressure on Karen’s ankle was gone. Her foot dropped and caught against one of the wooden treads, and Allyson pulled with renewed strength. In a moment, Karen raced up the steps, free of the shelter.

  In a flash, she turned to the askew kitchen island, reached under the counter’s edge and pushed a recessed button.

  Shunnnk!

  A horizontal security gate slammed into place across the opening in the floor—locking The Shape in the basement.

  Seeing Allyson’s wide-eyed expression, Karen smiled and said, “It isn’t a cage, baby. It’s a trap.”

  * * *

  Laurie looked down through the thick bars of the locked security gate.

  The Shape lay sprawled on the basement floor, unmoving—

  —but breathing…

  Wounded and exhausted, Laurie backed away from the gate and leaned against the counter, hand pressed to her head where the fire poker nearly split her skull open. Her shirt was soaked with her blood. The pain throbbing in her body had become an insistent drumbeat, impossible to ignore. And the last trace of adrenaline in her system had evaporated. She needed all her strength and concentration simply to stand without toppling over.

  It’s not done yet, she told herself. He’s confined, that’s all. Not…

  “I need to…”

  “I got this, Mom,” Karen said. “Just like you
taught me.”

  Karen walked to the kitchen wall with a slight limp from her sore ankle, turned four wave handles to the open position. In the shelter below, four recessed natural gas faucets hissed, sounding unusually loud and powerful in the silent house.

  After several seconds, Karen returned to the island beside Laurie, pulled open one of the drawers and removed a small box. “One last thing…”

  “Let me,” Laurie said weakly.

  She’d waited forty years for this moment. The least she could do was finish it.

  Karen handed her the box.

  Laurie’s hands were steady as she slid it open, took out a wooden match, and ran the head against the striking surface. She had enough strength left to focus on the final act. Leaning over the security gate, she saw Michael—lying on his back, one knee raised, breathing…

  “Goodbye, Michael.”

  And she dropped the lit match through the metal bars. The unlit end hit the edge of the third step, spun forward, twirling, and fell toward the floor until—

  WHOOSH!

  All three women, leaning over to witness the end, felt the concussive blast as flames engulfed the basement, consuming everything flammable within it. In seconds, the fire raced up the wooden stairs and begin to spread through the kitchen.

  Michael will burn within my house, Laurie thought, with all the keepsakes and photos that have lingered throughout the years and, along with them, the memories that have sustained but also haunted us.

  Allyson and Karen helped Laurie to the front door, one on each side of her, their arms under hers, wrapped around her back. On her own, she wouldn’t have had the strength to walk away from her own final trap. With them beside her, she thought she might just survive…

  Getting down from the porch was harder than she anticipated, each step triggering a jarring burst of pain. More than once, a moan escaped her lips. But the frightening sound of the all-consuming fire, quickly rising to a roar, energized her, helped her focus on surviving the next few moments, and the next few after that…

  The police cruiser that had drawn Ray out into the front yard stood next to her overturned trash cans, all four tires slashed. She caught a glimpse of the grisly scene within the car and looked away.

  Karen stopped to pick up a bright yellow yo- yo lying in the brown grass. Laurie recalled Karen asking Ray in the back of the police car if he could untangle the knots for her before she took it back to the community center.

  “Mom…?” Karen asked as a sob escaped Karen’s lips. “Ray—what happened…?”

  “Oh, Karen,” Laurie said softly. “I’m so sorry…”

  Laurie noticed silent tears streaming down Allyson’s cheeks.

  As they crossed the yard, the heat from the fire shattered windows, and the porch erupted in flames. The burning roof creaked and groaned, and the twin sets of spotlights crashed through the charred wood, one side after the other, like mechanical eyes forever closed.

  The three women continued walking toward the road. Even supported by her daughter and granddaughter, Laurie feared that if she stopped she’d lack the strength to move again. From a safe distance they turned back to watch the old farmhouse surrender to the inferno.

  Laurie stared at the house, wondering how she felt about losing everything to the fire. But then it occurred to her that almost everything she’d lost had been saved or built in preparation for the cleansing flames. She couldn’t deny the fire its due.

  More importantly, she had her daughter and granddaughter back in her life, for however long that life lasted. The fire had also freed her to be a mother again, and a grandmother, and nothing else precluded her from embracing those roles.

  Wincing from a new, sharper bout of pain, Laurie reached down to her belt, where she’d slipped the kitchen knife she’d used to stab Michael before he fell into the basement. She withdrew the knife and handed it to Allyson.

  And her granddaughter looked down at the bloody knife as if she had no idea what to do with the damn thing. Smiling, Laurie prayed she’d never have to find out.

  “This is it…” Laurie said weakly. “Let me sit here until…”

  “Mom, no!” Karen exclaimed. “We’re getting you help.”

  “Grandmother, please,” Allyson said, her voice strained with emotion. “Don’t give up!”

  Sagging in their arms, fighting through the pain, Laurie quirked a smile. “Strode women never do.”

  “Look!” Karen yelled, waving frantically. “Someone’s coming.”

  Hearing the rumble of an approaching truck, Laurie turned her throbbing head around and saw a pair of headlights zooming toward them. Allyson waved her free hand above her head as well.

  The vehicle—an old red pickup—slowed and came to a stop beside them.

  A gray-haired man in a plaid shirt and jeans leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. “Need a lift?”

  “We need to get to the hospital,” Karen said. “Right away!”

  “She’s hurt bad,” Allyson said.

  “Happy to oblige, but don’t think you’ll all fit.”

  “That’s okay,” Karen said. “We’ll ride in the back.”

  While Allyson propped Laurie up against the side of the pickup, Karen lowered the gate, climbed up into the bed, and then helped Allyson lift Laurie up with as little jostling as possible. Even so, Laurie gasped in pain several times. Eventually, all three of them sat lined up against one side of the truck’s bed, Laurie supported on either side.

  As the pickup drove down the road, veering around the police cruiser stranded in the middle, Allyson looked back one last time at the raging fire and the disintegrating skeleton of Laurie’s house.

  Embracing a sense of calm she hadn’t known since she was Allyson’s age, Laurie closed her eyes…

  * * *

  Trapped within the basement of the burning house, The Shape rises within the encircling flames, heedless of the intense heat, and climbs the stairs even as they too burn.

  Wrapping both hands around the steel bars of the trap, The Shape attacks the locked security gate with inhuman strength and fury, rattling the cage within its housing. The dark force that drives The Shape, that endlessly seeks to fulfill its purpose, does not tire or waver, does not stop or surrender—and continues to fight for the freedom to serve the purpose…

  When the flesh of The Shape’s palms begins to cook against the hot metal bars, the struggle continues. When the stairs beneath The Shape begin to char and crumble, the struggle continues. When the air The Shape breathes sears The Shape’s lungs, the struggle continues. When the coveralls catch fire and the Mask begins to bubble and melt into The Shape’s hidden face, the struggle continues. And when all the flesh of The Shape’s body begins to sear and sizzle, the struggle continues…

  Burned hands rattle the cage—

  —breathing becomes tortured, ragged—

  —burned hands continue—

  —heartbeat slows—

  —The Shape—

  —struggles…

  * * *

  The rocking of the old pickup truck became hypnotic.

  Lethargy crept over Allyson’s body, lulling her toward sleep.

  Then the clink of metal on metal startled her awake. She looked to her left, at her grandmother’s head, tilted back against the edge of the truck bed. On the other side of Laurie, Allyson’s mother stared into the night, her face etched with grief and worry, for the loss of her husband and the life of her mother.

  For a frightening moment, Allyson couldn’t tell if her grandmother was breathing. She feared Laurie had died while Allyson drifted off to sleep. Then her grandmother’s right hand reached out and covered Allyson’s left, as if to reassure Allyson she was still among the living. But her hand was cool, her grip feeble. She’d lost a lot of blood.

  Allyson squeezed Laurie’s hand, willing her to stay with them and become the mother and the grandmother fate had stolen from them, but also to embrace who she was at heart, the brave woman who alwa
ys fought valiantly for her life.

  “Grandmother…?”

  Laurie spoke softly, “Not today, kiddo.”

  Allyson smiled, a lump in her throat.

  Raising her right hand, which still held the source of the metallic sound that had awakened her, Allyson examined the bloody kitchen knife Laurie had presented to her. She wondered about its significance, why Laurie hadn’t thrown it away as soon as they’d escaped the burning house. After a while, the answer dawned on her.

  A source of fear transmuted into a totem of strength.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to my editor, Ella Chappell at Titan Books, for her encouragement and support throughout the process, and for giving me the opportunity to write my first movie novelization. Also, at Titan Books, thanks to Valerie Gardner, Joanna Harwood, Helen Marie, Lukmon Ogunbadejo and Kiran Rihal.

  Thanks to Malek Akkad, Bill Block, Jason Blum, John Carpenter, Jamie Lee Curtis, David Gordon Green, and Danny McBride at Miramax for bringing me aboard. And thanks to David Gordon Green, Danny McBride, and Jeff Fradley for the frightening and creepy screenplay! Of course, none of this would be possible without John Carpenter and Debra Hill, who gave us the terrific characters and situations from the original Halloween, the viewing of which has become a holiday tradition in our home.

  For keeping me in the writing zone throughout, a note of audio thanks for Tangerine Dream’s Quantum Gate.

  Finally, thanks to my family for their support and understanding while I burrowed ever deeper into the story.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Passarella won the Horror Writers Association’s prestigious Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel for the coauthored Wither. Columbia Pictures purchased the feature film rights to Wither in a prepublication, preemptive bid.

  John’s other novels include Wither’s Rain, Wither’s Legacy, Kindred Spirit, Shimmer and the original media tie-in novels Supernatural: Night Terror, Supernatural: Rite of Passage, Supernatural: Cold Fire, Supernatural: Joyride, Grimm: The Chopping Block, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Ghoul Trouble, Angel: Avatar, and Angel: Monolith. In January 2012 he released his first fiction collection, Exit Strategy & Others. Halloween is his fourteenth novel.