Sheriff Robinson and Dr. Loomis were in the first squad car that pulled up to the house. Robinson was instantly relieved to see Madison still alive, but his heart dropped when he saw no sign of Sherry.

The sheriff reached the two kids first, with Loomis was not far behind. They heard more squad cars screeching in behind him as their red and blue lights lit up the night.

“Where's Sherry?!” Robinson yelled as he raced toward the battered and beaten teenagers.

“Where's Michael?!” Loomis shouted almost simultaneously.

Madison pointed down the street, and the boy pointed back into the house, then they both collapsed on the grass in front of them.

“Madison, Madison, are you okay? What happened? We need to know!” The sheriff stated calmly as he took a knee at her side to make sure she was okay. Madison was bleeding badly from her shoulder, and a little bit from her head, but otherwise seemed to be okay.

“She’s alright...went for help...down...street,” Madison struggled to say before fainting at the sheriff’s side.

Two officers nearby came to her aid as Robinson turned his attention to the boy, who appeared much worse for the wear. His face was slightly burned, and blood was trickling down both sides of his face and out his mouth. Now, Robinson was no paramedic, but the dark coursing blood coming out of his mouth definitely signaled that he had some broken ribs.

“He’s in there, in the kitchen, I shot him, I shot him,” Tony coughed, spurting blood out into the air as Robinson noticed the chrome pistol he was holding in his hand.

The sheriff gently tried to take the pistol from him, but Tony protested and kept stating over and over that “he’s still alive.”

Robinson then went to call for back up, but when he looked up, he saw the long trench coat of Dr. Loomis disappear into the dark doorway of his house.

“Loomis, no! Don’t go in there alone!” the sheriff yelled, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Since his accident at the graveyard, Loomis had become a man obsessed, and Robinson couldn’t really blame him.


Dr. Loomis slowly made his way through the dark foyer of the Robinson house, his pistol cocked in the ready position, but he sensed he wouldn’t be needing it, not yet anyways.

He found his way to the kitchen where the boy said he had last seen Myers. There, he pulled out a small flashlight from an inside pocket and shined it around the room, carefully searching each corner.

Much to his dismay, he saw nothing. Nothing except for an open window in the far corner, its drapes blowing wildly from the wind.

A moment later, Sheriff Robinson joined his side, flashlight in one hand, pistol in the other.

“Oh my god Loomis, what is that?” the sheriff asked as he shined his light to something on the floor.

Loomis bent over and put his finger into the puddle of what appeared to be blood on the kitchen floor.

“It’s blood?” Robinson stated, not really asking a question. “So he’s wounded, we have to move fast.”

“It’s not just any blood, sheriff. It’s HIS blood. Blacker than any human heart could ever produce,” Loomis stated dryly.

The two men then exchanged a look that said many words in itself, and neither were surprised as they glanced toward the open window.

Michael Myers was indeed still alive, and they now realized they were dealing with something far more powerful then either had ever imagined.

They were dealing with evil in its purest form.

Hell’s night had only just begun.


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