Back in town at the Festival Of Samhain, Brandon Farson was finishing up his ethnic plate of pierogies and halushki, when he spotted Connor Lowe stumbling past the picnic tables carrying a beer and practically tripping over everyone.

"Oh shit," Brandon grumbled to himself, before yelling to his friend: "Connor! Connor! Over here!"

The inebriated Connor Lowe, still in costume minus his wolf mask, turned slowly and smiled when he recognized Brandon waving to him.

"Heyyyy buddy!" Connor slurred. "Wassup, G?!"

"Connor, sit down for a second," Brandon stated, tossing his styrofoam plate in the trash. "Where's your mask?"

"I think I left it in the car," Connor informed him. "Or maybe I lost it. I don't give a fuck."

"Where's Sienna?"

"Who?" he slurred. "Oh...that bitch is dead to me!"

"Sorry, man. What happened?"

"She always thinks I'm cheating on her. Like, I check out other girls all the time and stuff."

"Connor, you DO check out other girls all the time and stuff."

"I know, but I'd never act on it," the wobbly wolf-man insisted, nearly falling backward out of his seat. "There's no law against looking."

"Come on, man, we gotta get you some coffee and get you sobered up," Brandon ordered, taking his beer can and tossing it in the trash. "Then we can go find the girls and figure this whole thing out."

"Wait," Connor asserted. "I gotta go by the principal's dunk tank first. I'm gonna dunk that mo-fo!"

"Trust me, that's the last place you want to go right now," Brandon affirmed. "You want to get expelled?"

"Expelled?" Connor groaned, barely able to stand on his own two feet. "We ain't in school, dude."

"Yeah, but if Principal Simpson or any of the chaperones see you like this, it's all over. Or worse yet, if the police find you, they might put YOU in the dunk tank."

"Whatever man, fuck 'em all!" Connor shouted. "Fuck this stupid party, and fuck Halloween!"

"It's okay, buddy," Brandon assured him, escorting him to the row of porta-potties nearby. "We'll get you through this."


Man, fuck this place! Logan Dean thought, taking a large gulp from a 40 ounce bottle of malt liquor.

Logan, still dressed as Michael Myers, sat perched on the street corner of Belmont Ave. and Old Reservoir Road, determined to drink the night away, regardless of the consequences. He knew the cops would be all over the place, but if he steered clear of the festival, he was pretty sure he could get a good buzz on and avoid any trouble with the law.

With his Michael Myers mask sitting on top of his head instead of over it, Logan lit up his electronic cigarette and took two long, deep draws off of it. As he exhaled, he blew smoke both out of his mouth and his nose, creating one unified cloud in the process. He couldn't shake being pissed at Brandon and Sherry for not getting his joke, or at least playing along with it. Now they would tell Connor about it for sure, and the whole thing would be ruined. The one big prank he had planned for this Halloween, and it had backfired miserably.

Fuck! he thought, shaking his head. Now what do I do?

At that same instant, Logan, glancing down the street with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth, noticed someone walking down the street wearing a nearly identical set of coveralls and pale white William Shatner mask.

"Oh, hell no!" he shouted, hopping to his feet and running after him. "Connor, you ain't stealing my shit, you hear me?!"

Running at nearly full stride, Logan turned the corner onto 17th Street, expecting to meet his friend. However, much to his chagrin, the street was completely empty.

Not a soul.

What the hell? he thought, stopping almost instantly. But you were right there!

"Connor?" he called out.

No response.

"Connor, come on, man, don't steal my prank, okay?"

Still, silence.

"Well, whatever, man, fuck you, too!" Logan stated, clearly frustrated.

Disappointed he hadn't caught his friend, Logan decided to change his plans and attend the festival after all. He knew Connor would be there, so his best chance at redemption would be to get there first. Then he could expose Connor for being a rip-off artist, and his name would be cleared.

Sliding his pale mask back down over his face, Logan, with the sounds of the festival in the distance, started making his way down 17th Street in the direction of the carnival.

However, just when he was about to reach the end of the road, he was suddenly yanked backward into a side alley with unbelievable force.

"What the fu--?!" was all he could manage to get out before his assailant's hands were firmly wrapped around his neck.

Logan's eyes began to bulge out of their sockets as Michael Myers choked the life out of him, lifting him off the ground with unspeakable ease. He fought with all he had, but just couldn't squirm free from the grasp of the merciless Shape.

"Connor..." Logan panted, desperate for air.


Realizing that it was not his friend after all, Logan, determined to break free, swung his half-full 40 ounce bottle at Michael. But the demon was able to catch it in mid air with his right hand and toss it to the ground, shattering it into pieces, all while maintaining his grip with his left hand firmly clenched around Logan's neck.

Logan's eyes soon became cloudy and bloodshot as Michael raised a large butcher knife to his throat and sliced him from ear to ear.

Blood spurted downward out of his neck in a small fountain, but The Shape still maintained his vice-like grip on his victim, just above the slice across his larynx.

Slowly, Logan Dean lowered his head as his life slipped away.

Michael, tilting his head to the right in recognition of the costume Logan was wearing, dropped him to the ground with a sickening thud.

A few moments later, The Shape emerged from the dark alley and continued on down 17th Street, just past an orange sign that read "FESTIVAL OF SAMHAIN" in black lettering, with an arrow pointing the way.

Michael Myers was coming to crash the party.

Proceed To Chapter 17
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