Halloween

by John Passarella

  “I’m okay!”

  “I wasn’t worried,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Checking the mouse traps.”

  “Again?”

  “Thought I heard one go off.”

  “Did the man set a trap for a mouse?” she called, smiling. “Or did the mouse set a trap for the man?”

  “Mice are not smart enough to booby-trap kitchen cabinets, dear,” Ray yelled back.

  “Well, did you catch it?”

  After a pause. “No.”

  So, the mouse is smart enough not to get caught in a trap. “And the peanut butter?”

  Another pause, a little longer than the first. “Gone.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s that possible?” she wondered. “Don’t those traps have a hair-trigger?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Ray said. “GMO mouse? Sneaky bastard.”

  “Let me see if I have this correct,” Karen teased. “You think a genetically modified mouse got into our home?”

  “Until a better theory comes along,” Ray said. “I blame unethical science.”

  Karen laughed. “Maybe the mice work in teams,” she said. “One holds the trap steady while the other one scoops off the peanut—”

  Blue and red emergency lights flashed through the windows.

  Setting her book down on the coffee table, Karen stood and peered through the curtains of the living room window. Two cop cars had pulled up in front of the house.

  “Karen?” Ray called. “Everything okay?”

  “Police.”

  “What?”

  “The police are here,” Karen repeated, louder. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something had happened to Allyson at the dance. Unbidden, her mind began to envision scenarios, each more troubling than the next, when someone knocked on the front door. As far as she could tell, the cops hadn’t exited their vehicles, so who…?

  Hurrying to the front door, she pulled it open to find—

  “You have to go,” her mother said. Not “Hello.” Not “How are you?” Not “Mind if I come in?” “It’s not safe to be here.”

  Exasperated, Karen said, “Mom! Do we have to do this?”

  Past Laurie’s shoulder, Karen noticed four police officers gathering at the curb, their expressions various shades of grim. Once again, Karen began to imagine the worst. If the police were involved…

  Karen felt her body begin to tremble, her hands visibly shaking. Laurie noticed and took them in her own, holding tight. A wave of overpowering emotion threatened to engulf her. Laurie’s eyes were bright, but she appeared in control of herself, determined. In contrast, Karen felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her feet.

  Ray came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, and stopped abruptly. “What’s your mother doing here? Thought you said the police—?”

  “Where’s Allyson?” Laurie asked Karen.

  Karen’s irrational fears roiled again, surging inside her, like lava spewing up from the caldera of an erupting volcano. Is she missing? Has something really happened to—?

  “Where’s Allyson?” Laurie repeated, the concern in her voice escalating quickly with Karen’s silence.

  “The dance,” Karen said. “She went to the school dance with Cameron.”

  “So, you don’t know?”

  “Know what, Mom? What are you talking about?”

  Laurie glanced back briefly at the police before explaining. “The police canceled the dance. The school was evacuated. Everyone sent home.”

  “Why—Why would they do that? What happened?” Karen asked frantically. “Was there an accident?”

  “You haven’t been watching the news?”

  “No, I’ve been—Why? What’s this all about?”

  “He escaped.”

  “Who—?”

  “Michael,” Laurie interrupted. “The transport bus never made it. He killed the guards and the driver. Four people at a service station and…”

  “And what?” Karen asked, grabbing her mother’s arms, fighting the impulse to shake her to find out what she was withholding. “What’s happened?”

  “He killed at least two people in Haddonfield,” Laurie said softly. “Two that we know of… and one of them was a babysitter.”

  “A babysitter…” Karen whispered. “That’s…”

  “It’s happening all over again,” Laurie said. “He’ll come for me. To finish what he started. And if he comes for me, you’re not safe. Allyson isn’t safe. I tried to stop him tonight, but—”

  “Tonight?” Ray said. “You’ve actually seen him?”

  “I shot him,” Laurie said. “But he got away before I could… The point is, you’re not safe here. None of you.”

  “But the police—outside?” Karen said, gesturing toward the curb.

  “Yes, the police have been assigned to protect you and me,” Laurie said. “But they don’t know what they’re dealing with. They’re treating him likes he’s—what they know. Not what he is.”

  “You’re not making sense,” Ray said.

  “This house is not secure,” Laurie said. “You admitted you’re unarmed. These windows and doors are nothing to him.” She shook her head. “Nothing here will stop him. Or slow him down.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Ray asked.

  “Come with me,” Laurie said. “The police agree on this. My house is safer. It’s fortified. And I have… Well, I have an arsenal.” Laurie took Karen’s face gently in her hands. “I’ve been preparing your entire life for this. Nobody else is ready to deal with Michael Myers like I am. It’s all I’ve thought about since 1978.” Laurie took a deep breath. “Now call your damn daughter and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Karen nodded and walked to the living room coffee table for her phone with Laurie right behind her. After speed-dialing Allyson’s cellphone, she said, “Voicemail.”

  After the prerecorded message, Karen clutched her phone with both hands and spoke quickly, trying to stay calm but unable to keep the urgency out of her voice. She needed to convince Allyson of the seriousness of the situation, but without scaring her to death. Her daughter needed to stay calm long enough to get help.

  “Allyson, you need to call me the second you get this. The police said the dance was evacuated and I haven’t heard from you. They’re making us go to your grandmother’s house for safety. We’re worried about you.”

  Laurie grabbed the phone from Karen and somehow managed to sound calm when all Karen wanted to do was scream—or cry. She felt foolish now, for ignoring her mother all these years, for dismissing her concerns. Most importantly, for not taking the threat seriously. Her carelessness had put her own daughter at risk. If anything happened to—

  Sensing her distress, Ray squeezed her hand and she fell into his embrace, eyes closed as she listened to her mother reach out to Allyson.

  “There is a police officer at your house waiting for you,” Laurie said. “Get to them and they’ll bring you to us. We’re all together now. We love you…” Overcome with emotion, Laurie covered her mouth with her free hand for a moment, then continued. “Wherever you are… it’s not safe outside tonight.”

  She ended the call and returned the phone to Karen, who cradled it in her palm, staring at the display, willing it to ring or flash a text or buzz or do anything to indicate Allyson had received the message.

  “Did we tell her enough?” Ray asked. “Should we have told her about…?”

  “No,” Karen said. “She’ll know it’s urgent. And she needs to stay calm long enough to get home. If she panics, who knows what she—?”

  “I hope you’re right,” Laurie interrupted. “Sometimes we do more harm by keeping secrets, no matter how frightening. Maybe it’s better to know the truth.”

  “She’s only a teenager,” Karen said.

  “So was I back then,” Laurie said. “Allyson is resourceful. She’s stronger than you think.”

&nb
sp; “Hope you’re right, Mom,” Karen said. “I pray to God you’re right.”

  32

  Allyson walked along the sidewalk with Oscar, who struggled to carry the case of beer he’d retrieved from under the bleachers. Three times Oscar offered her a can, and three times she declined. She wasn’t sure if he was being generous in his own way or simply trying to lighten his load.

  “Believe me,” Oscar said. “After a couple beers, you won’t be so stressed out about the Cameron situation. After three or four, you’ll forget why you were stressed out in the first place.”

  After each alcoholic offering, Allyson said, “No thanks.”

  “The longer you wait,” he said, “the warmer the beer gets.”

  “The more you bring it up,” she replied, “the more irritated I get.”

  “Fine by me,” Oscar said. “Just trying to be sociable.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  “I get it.”

  “I’m tired of people letting me down,” Allyson said. “You give them the benefit of the doubt and think they’re going to be different, but then they show you who they really are. Cameron doesn’t want people to judge him, but then he acts like a jerk. Gets drunk, gets arrested.”

  Oscar stopped.

  Allyson continued a few steps before noticing Oscar was no longer beside her. She walked back to him, confused. Had she upset him? Insulted his friend. “What?”

  “You deserve better,” Oscar said, shoving his sunglasses in his pants pocket. “You’re the smartest, most beautiful girl at school. Anyone that doesn’t appreciate that is crazy.”

  Allyson expected a punchline, but when one didn’t come, she considered what he’d said and smiled. “Thanks, Oscar,” she said. “That’s sweet.”

  Looking over her shoulder, Oscar said, “Check it out. Five-0. Let’s detour this rendezvous.”

  Cradling his case of beer, Oscar led the way between two houses. Allyson glanced back and saw a police cruiser two blocks away, approaching at a deliberate pace, side-mounted spotlights slicing through the night, as if searching for fugitives rather than teens breaking curfew. As the car passed by, they ducked behind one of the houses, out of sight.

  * * *

  Officer Hawkins drove his squad car down the tree-lined streets of suburban Haddonfield, searching for a deranged serial killer. Dr Sartain rode shotgun while wielding the side-mounted utility spotlight. Sartain turned the powerful spotlight back and forth through an almost 180-degree arc, from the front of the car to the back, piercing the darkness across yards and between houses.

  They were both confident they would recognize Michael Myers if they saw him on the street. Assuming he hadn’t changed out of his dark coveralls—and still wore the deathly white mask. With Sartain surveying houses on the right side of the cruiser, Hawkins focused on everything in front and to the left of the car, where he’d set his spotlight at a forty-five-degree angle.

  For a moment, he glimpsed two shadowy figures turning off the sidewalk toward one of the houses, but when he got close enough to the area where he’d seen them, they were gone. Other than general concern for their safety, he had no reason to suspect them of anything but breaking curfew. Myers was a loner. If they spotted him on the street, he would be alone or in the act of breaking into a house. Not walking with a buddy.

  Hawkins decided to break the ice with Sartain by tackling something they had in common. “From a clinical perspective, would you say that Laurie Strode has lost her fucking marbles?”

  Sartain gave the question some thought. Not that he had much to go on to form a professional opinion since he’d only met her once and that meeting lasted a matter of minutes. “There are many ways for tragedy and violence to change a victim,” he said. “They can grow accustomed to always being afraid. In constant fear. They can become weak or they can become strong. But there is also the other side.”

  “What side is that?”

  “The effect on the victimizer,” Sartain explained. “This is what has intrigued me through my studies. How does a crime like Michael’s change him? What is he feeling? Is he on a random path or is he emotionally driven? Triggered by something. Some unheard marching order imprinted on his very being? Evil incarnate.” He paused for a moment, hand resting on the spotlight control handle. “Michael and I had a special connection, but without his verbal participation there was an aspect of his emotional journey that I could never understand.”

  “Walk a mile in another man’s shoes, or something like that, right?” Hawkins wondered and shuddered at the prospect. “Not for me, brother. That old man has some boots he can keep.”

  Obviously, Sartain’s job was to understand patients like Myers, and that was fine with Hawkins. As a cop, he had to deal with some gruesome vehicular accidents and the victims of crimes committed by those like Myers. He doubted Sartain would have the stomach for some of the visuals that plagued Hawkins’ nightmares.

  “Tell me what became of his childhood home.”

  “That place was a shrine kinda thing but for serial killer groupies and death metal bands,” Hawkins told him.

  “Interesting,” Sartain said, nodding as if he could envision it.

  “Vandals got the best of it,” Hawkins continued. “A local organization that I work with tore it down and turned it into a community garden. Turned tragedy into beauty, if you can believe it.”

  * * *

  Since they left streets and sidewalks behind to cut through backyards, their progress slowed to a virtual crawl. At least that’s how it felt to Allyson. Tired and irritated, she had no idea what the future held. A promising night had fizzled to a bunch of uncertainties. She’d grown comfortable and happy with Cameron but now was unsure if she even wanted to see him again. Betrayed and embarrassed in front of everyone at the dance. A confrontation with belligerent cops. A boyfriend who maybe had more baggage than she could handle. Every step forward now felt like two steps in the wrong direction. More than anything she wanted to get home, crawl under the blankets and sleep, to shut down and stop obsessing over every little detail. Of course, Oscar offered canned oblivion, but she was at least smart enough to know his option came with a hangover price tag.

  They came to a dead-end of sorts; they needed to climb over a retaining wall topped by an abbreviated black wrought-iron fence into the Elrods’ backyard to avoid having to circle back around several houses. Emotionally, she couldn’t deal with having to go backward to get home.

  Oscar scrambled over the fence, hampered by the case of beer clutched to his side. He dropped down on the other side, overbalanced for a moment, almost dropping the beer, then almost face-planting on top of it, before regaining his balance. Turning, he looked across the yard of the large property. Allyson followed his gaze. In the moonlight, she could make out the opposite side of the iron fence in the distance.

  Allyson started to climb the fence to join him on the other side, grateful that her costume for the dance featured trousers instead of a dress or something even less conducive to nighttime trespassing.

  “Watch out for the poison ivy,” Allyson said as she threw one leg over the top of the fence. “It’s all over. This is a dumb shortcut.”

  “Extremely treacherous,” Oscar said. She couldn’t quite tell if he was sincere or making fun of her. “Apologies. Let me give you a hand.”

  He reached up to help her down from the top of the fence and the cement wall beneath it. With her second leg clear, she almost slipped but Oscar caught her, hands around her waist, and lowered her safely to the ground.

  “Thanks,” Allyson said, grateful that she wouldn’t need to hobble the rest of the way home on a sprained ankle—or worse.

  After an awkward moment of silence, Oscar continued to hold onto her.

  “What?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

  “You deserve better,” Oscar said, echoing his earlier sentiment, from before they ditched the police. But this time he leaned in to kiss her on the lips.

  “Ew. Oscar.
What the fuck?”

  She pushed him away, almost a knee-jerk reflex, but Oscar seemed caught off guard by her reaction. “Wait, I thought you said you weren’t with Cameron anymore.”

  “Doesn’t mean I want… Get away from me.”

  “I thought you were sending me signals.”

  “Definitely no signals,” she said. “Just go!”

  While he stood there, she brushed past him, crossing the property to get to the other side and out of the yard. She hadn’t made up her own mind about her relationship with Cameron, let alone announced that she’d broken up with him.

  And besides, she thought, who does that? Cameron is Oscar’s friend. And I barely know him.

  Oscar sprinted to cover the distance between them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please don’t tell Cameron I did that. I didn’t feel anything either.”

  “Don’t tell Cameron.” So, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. He’s just a terrible friend. She stopped walking to face him. “You’re disgusting,” she said. “I’m going home. You can figure your own shit out.”

  Tired of his lame excuses, Allyson stalked off alone.

  * * *

  The second time Allyson walked off without him, Oscar hesitated to follow. Better to let her cool off, he thought, then I’ll catch up.

  He planned to stay back a bit, to keep her in view but wait for the ground to thaw around her. Suddenly, a motion-sensor light activated, and he was bathed in a powerful backyard spotlight. Just what I need. Some nervous homeowner calling the cops on me.

  Oscar mumbled to himself, “I’m drunk. Like… really drunk, and I got all horny at the party, I was dancing with some girl, this way-out-of-my-league girl and my brain got all sexed up, and her tits got me all chubbed out when she was feeding me guacamole in sexy ways—”

  In the middle of working on his excuse, maybe practicing what he would tell Cameron if—when—Allyson ratted him out, the case of beer slipped through his sweaty hands. One can fell free, hit the ground hard and sprayed foam all over.

  “SHIT!”

  He grabbed the cardboard container and more cans spilled out through the ripped opening, rolling in different directions. Scrambling around, he grabbed cans and shoved them inside the damaged box. As he straightened up, he saw a dark shape standing twenty feet away in the middle of the yard, cast in silhouette against the motion-detection spotlight. Shielding his eyes from the light, Oscar could only make out a pale mask.