Disclaimer:
This is simply a work of fan fiction, nothing more or less. I do not make any
profit from this blog, nor do I expect or anticipate to make any profit off of
this series. I do not own the rights to any of these characters and if I am
asked to remove this, I will comply. I also do not own any of these photos and
will also remove them if asked.
Having said all that, the events of this story take place after the events of Halloween 4. I was never a huge fan of the fifth film or the direction they went in, and wanted to create my own version of the story. This side project has been an idea of mine for a while now and I finally decided to bring it to life. Check back for weekly updates leading up to Halloween.
HALLOWEEN:
THE WRATH OF MICHAEL MYERS
By Randy Romero
Part One:
The Night He Came Home…Again
FROM THE FILES OF DR. SAMUEL LOOMIS:
I am many things. I’m a psychiatrist. A writer. An avid moviegoer. A man who appreciates a cold beer
from time to time. But first and foremost, I am a survivor.
I survived that horrific explosion
at Haddonfield Memorial.
Unfortunately, so did he.
A few days in one of the best burn
wards in the country, and I was right as rain. Of course, there were a few
exceptions. A few lingering scars they could not erase. Nor would I wish for
them to be erased. The scars–as hideous or off-putting as they may be–prove
that I am indeed a survivor.
Every encounter with Michael leaves
a physical scar. It scars the psyche, as well. It leaves a mental scar that
cannot be expunged.
Judith Myers was where it all began. When Michael was
six-years-old, he stabbed his teenage sister in cold blood. His parents found
him standing in the driveway when they got home that evening, still grasping a
bloody kitchen knife in one hand.
That was the first time I met Michael. I met this six-year-old
boy with this blank, pale, emotionless face. And the blackest eyes…the devil’s
eyes. You don’t know what death is until you’ve stared deep into those eyes.
I tried to reach him, tried to break through to him. But he
was like the hull of a ship; virtually impenetrable. He remained silent for
fifteen years while I tried to bring him back to some semblance of reality.
When I realized my efforts were in vain, I spent the remaining years fighting
to keep Michael locked up. The night he escaped from Smith’s Grove, he killed
twelve people in an attempt to slaughter his younger sister, Laurie Strode.
But Laurie was like me. Laurie was a survivor. She survived
that terrifying ordeal in Haddonfield. She moved away, got married, and gave
birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I lost touch with her for a while. I
was shocked when a colleague informed me that Laurie and her husband had died
in a tragic automobile accident.
Laurie’s daughter was given up for adoption and taken in by
Darlene and Richard Carruthers, and their biological daughter, Rachel. I
attended Laurie’s funeral. A somber, closed casket affair. Though her death did
raise a few eyebrows. Some believed that Laurie and her husband faked their
deaths and started a new life under new names to ensure Michael would never
come after them or their child. And I’m inclined to believe the same, though I
could never prove my suspicions.
Michael remained in a coma for ten long years after the
explosion. Or was he just playing possum? Or did he lure us all into a false
sense of security? Was he waiting for the perfect moment to leave his mark?
Whatever the case may be, Michael waited ten long years to
make his return to Haddonfield. And what ensued was a bloody rampage, with
Michael leaving another trail of bodies in his wake; all innocent victims in
Michael’s deranged quest to murder his niece, Jamie Lloyd…
* * *
October 31, 1988.
Halloween.
The night he came home…again.
Sheriff Meeker, the state police,
and Dr. Loomis had put an end to Michael’s reign of terror. But for how
long? Loomis pondered. How long would Michael play dead this time?
More sirens wailed in the distance.
A bloodied and battered Rachel cradled Jamie in her arms. The poor child was
sobbing, trembling, on the verge of catatonia. Loomis observed Rachel, who was
trembling quite a bit herself. She glanced at Loomis, her eyes pleading for some
kind of reassurance. Though Loomis could offer her none. He’d witnessed
Michael’s resurrection too many times to be certain of his demise.
The cops escorted Rachel and Jamie back to their home.
Darlene and Richard were alerted by the authorities and returned home to
console a traumatized Jamie and comfort Rachel. The shock was starting to wear
off and Jamie cried out for Darlene. Darlene hugged Jamie and squeezed her
tight.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” Darlene whispered.
“You’re safe now.”
Meeker, Loomis, and a few of the
officers stayed behind just as a precaution. Loomis wasn’t going anywhere until
the clock struck midnight and Halloween was officially over.
Darlene took Jamie upstairs to
change her blood-stained Halloween costume and give her a bath. Rachael sat on
the couch, her hands folded in her lap, specks of dried blood on her face. Her
father looked to Meeker for help.
“She’s had one hell of a night,”
Meeker informed him. “Best to leave her be for now.”
“Do you believe the night is truly
over?” Loomis asked.
“You saw him fall down that shaft,
you saw the explosion from the dynamite.”
“I’ve seen him survive explosions
before. I have the goddamn scars to prove it.”
“So what are you saying? That he’s
not human?”
“Not human is one way to phrase it.
Sheriff, Michael Myers is pure evil. And pure evil never dies. It disappears
for a while. It lies dormant. But it never really goes away.”
A blood-chilling scream emanated
from the upstairs bathroom. Loomis was the first to the steps. He rushed up the
first set of stairs, but stopped at the landing. He held his gun out in front
of him, but he couldn’t pull the trigger. The gun trembled in his hand.
It wasn’t Michael standing at the
top of the stairs. It was Jamie, wearing a costume that was nearly identical to
the one Michael was wearing the night he killed Judith. Jamie clutched a pair
of scissors in one hand, the tip dripping with blood.
“No!” Loomis cried. “NO, NO, NO!”
He raised his gun. By that point,
Meeker and the other officers had reached the landing and were wrestling the
gun from his hands. They held Loomis at bay as they stood in shock and awe.
Rachael had to see it for herself.
She looked up and saw Jamie standing there, frozen at the top of the stairs.
She was stiff, rigid, emotionless. She was a completely different person. Even
her eyes had changed.
She had the blackest eyes Rachel had ever seen. The devil’s
eyes.
* * *
October 27, 1989.
Loomis was up early on that grey Friday morning and put in a
call to Ben Meeker. He owed the sheriff that much.
“Hello?” Ben said, clearing his
throat. He was startled, half-asleep. Loomis could hear it in his voice.
“Ben, it’s Sam Loomis.”
“Sam…you know what time it is?”
“It’s six-thirty.”
“It was a rhetorical question, but
yes, that’s correct. What in God’s name is this about?”
“You know what this is about.”
“Not this Michael Myers bull crap
again. Loomis, you were there. You saw them pump thirty, forty rounds into his
body. You saw him collapse down that abandoned mineshaft. You saw them drop
sticks of dynamite down that mineshaft and blow his ass back to hell. That
might not be good enough for you, but it’s damn sure good enough for me.”
“Have it your way, sheriff. I just
figured I owed you the courtesy of a warning. Michael will return, sheriff. And
when he does, I’ll be ready for him. I have to go see Jamie now. And then, I’m
having lunch with an old friend. I believe you know the man. You took his job
when he retired.”
* * *
The cold, sterile environment of
Smith’s Grove Sanitarium was enough to give Rachel the chills. Luckily, she had
Tina Williams at her side. Tina was a perky, hyper teenage girl with dark hair
and seductive eyes that Tina often bragged was her best quality when it came to
reeling the boys in. Rachel had watched many boys get lost in those eyes. Tina had
that influence, and she didn’t mind using it to her advantage.
She was always pushing Rachel to get
out there and find somebody. But the very thought made Rachel think of the
worst night of her life. Her last boyfriend, Brady, ended up in the arms of
another woman last Halloween. And then he ended up on the wrong end of a
shotgun, courtesy of Michael Myers.
One the nurses led the girls to
Jamie’s room. She sat on her bed with her back resting against several pillows,
her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.
“Jamie!” Rachel said, feigning
excitement as she forced a smile for Jamie to see.
Jamie looked up at her without a
hint of recognition and then turned away.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring any ice
cream, but you didn’t eat it last time. If you want, I can run out and get you
some.”
Jamie did not reply.
“Tina came to see you,” Rachel
added.
“Hey kiddo!” Tina said and ran over
to give Jamie a big, wet kiss. Jamie wiped the side of her cheek and glanced at
the door, awaiting the impending arrival of Dr. Loomis. They were due for
another session. Not that their sessions had yielded any results, because they
had not. But Jamie felt this strange, indescribable connection to Loomis.
Rachel was expecting him, too. She
asked Tina to wait with Jamie while she went outside to wait for Loomis so she
could speak privately. Rachel was gone less than a minute before she heard the
screams.
The door to Jamie’s room opened and
Tina rushed out, clutching at her forearm.
“What happened?!” Rachel screamed,
her eyes wide and glassy.
“She bit me!” Tina wailed.
Dr. Loomis turned the corner and saw
Tina holding her arm. “What happened here?”
“Take a look,” Tina said, showing
him the imprint of Jamie’s teeth in her flesh.
“I should cancel our session for
today. As soon as they find out she attacked a visitor, they’ll sedate her and
she’ll barely be able to speak.”
“Speak? She never speaks. Not since
that night. Dr. Loomis, we need to discuss what’s going on with my sister. She
hasn’t been the same since that night. She’s becoming…like him.”
“You’re wrong about that. With
Michael, there wasn’t a chance. His soul was impure from the start. Jamie still
has a chance. I can save her. I can see the real Jamie trapped inside there. I
just need to find a way to break through. I’m working on something as we speak.
I can’t really go into detail, but if my plan works, Jamie will be her old self
in no time.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel
asked, twirling a strand of her blonde hair with one finger.
“Just be patient,” Loomis said. Then
added, “And Rachel, please be careful. You know what month it is.”
“I’m well aware,” Rachel nodded. “I
have the scars to prove it.”
“So do I.”
* * *
“I don’t know,” the man said
tentatively, peeking into the bag. “How do I know it’s authentic? Someone could
easily make a replica and pass it off as the real thing.”
The young man groaned, exasperated.
Bill Tramer was known to be antsy, impatient. But with Halloween approaching,
he seemed more irritated than usual. “It’s the real deal,” Bill said.
“It certainly looks real. Then again,
I’ve only seen pictures in the paper. How did you end up with it?”
“You don’t want to know,” Bill said
gravely.
As the man reconsidered, Bill lit a
cigarette and waited for his response.
“Will I get arrested for this?”
Bill exhaled a thick cloud of smoke
and shook his head; his long, unkempt hair swinging at the sides. “You’ll be
fine. Nobody is looking for this.”
“Seems risky,” the man said. “I
don’t know if it’s worth it.”
“This is starting to be a waste of
my time,” Bill said through gritted teeth. “Look, this is a once in a lifetime
opportunity. This is the ultimate collector’s item. A one-of-a-kind piece of
memorabilia.”
“I won’t argue with you. But I will
argue with you about the price.”
“The price seems fair to me,” Bill
said.
“Ten thousand dollars for a mask?
That’s a bit steep, don’t you think?”
“So take a hike,” Bill said, finally
letting his frustration get the better of him. “Plenty of other people are
willing to pay that price.”
“Doesn’t it even bother you that
you’re trying to make a profit off the suffering of others, off the deaths of
innocent people?”
“Hey, everybody’s gotta die
someday.” Bill spoke with such apathy it made the man twitch. Bill let the bag
hang open at his side, revealing a mask with a plain white face and tousled
brown hair.
“I’m not interested,” the man said.
“But I know someone who might be.”
“And who might that be?” Bill
wondered.
* * *
“Doyle residence,” Lindsey said,
answering the phone. “I’m sorry, Tommy isn’t home right now. Can I take a
message?”
The young man didn’t give her much
information. Just a name and an address and the vague mention of a white mask,
which she jotted down on some stationary before the man ended the call.
A white mask? Lindsey
wondered. No, it couldn’t be…
And that’s when the man’s
name struck a chord with Lindsey Doyle.
Bill Tramer. Ben Tramer’s younger
brother.
To Be
Continued
