“Son of a bitch got away again,” Sheriff Robinson groaned gloomily as he stared out into the ominous black forest ahead of him.

After clearing the inside of the house, Sheriff Robinson and Dr. John Loomis stood side by side at the end of the lawn where the green grass met the rocky brown soil of the patch of forest known as ‘Billow’s Woods’ to the townspeople.

“This is a trap,” Loomis stated quietly under his breath. “He’s laying in the forest under the cover of the darkness just waiting to kill us when we enter. Killing and waiting is what he does best.”

“I don’t give a shit what he does best, enforcing the law is what I do best,” The Sheriff stated with a grim, stern look on his face. “And I reckon I have some enforcing to do, doctor.”

Dr. Loomis heard what he said but didn’t respond; instead, he rubbed his chin and continued to mumble under his breath as though he was a general contemplating his next move in a battle.

Neither Loomis nor the Sheriff spoke for another couple of minutes. They both just stared into the forest, looking for any sign of The Shape as they carefully pondered what to do next. Meanwhile, back in front of the Robinson house, more townspeople and media were arriving by the minute, causing more commotion and making more noise than necessary.

Noticing what was going on, the two exchanged a knowing glance and suddenly realized their situation had just become drastically worse.

In their minutes of silence, a thick fog began settling in over the small town of Haddonfield. A fog so thick and white, it appeared to be rising out of the bowels of hell itself.

“Great, just what we needed,” Sheriff Robinson grumbled, breaking the silence as he noticed the fog began to swirl around the trunks of the trees.

Loomis, with his keen sixth sense of danger, had already noticed the fog before the Sheriff spoke. Sighing, Loomis then broke his silence.

“Michael!!! Michael!!!! Damn it, take me!!!! Leave these people alone!!!! Come and take me! It’s me you want! Take me and leave. Leave, Michael, leave!!!!” Dr. Loomis screamed at the top of his lungs hysterically. Walking aimlessly into the woods, Loomis continued yelling Michael’s name until his face turned bright red and his eyes began to bulge out of their sockets.

“Woah, Doc take it easy!” Sheriff Robinson commanded, grabbing Loomis by the arm and pulling him back.

But the doctor would not have any of it. He continued to shout and tried to break free, but the Sheriff wouldn’t let him budge. It was at that point that Don Robinson realized that after all this man had been through tonight with being buried alive, and the weight of guilt on his shoulders for his patient wreaking havoc, it was all just too much for the doctor. John Loomis had finally cracked.

Holding onto Loomis with one powerful hand, Sheriff Robinson radioed into his walkie-talkie to send someone down and get the doctor out of here, but before he could finish his transmission, two of his deputies came running down the yard to see what had happened.

“You two get him out of here,” the Sheriff ordered, exhaling slowly. Clearly not proud of what he had just done, Robinson watched as the two young men grabbed each of Loomis’s arms and literally carried him away from the scene.

The Sheriff, now alone in the darkness of the night, stared blindly into the thick, fog infested hollow of Billow’s Woods. He knew what he had to do. He just prayed silently that God would give him the strength to do it.

Proceed To Chapter 3
Back To The Lair Of Horror