Inside his tent at the Festival Of Samhain, Haddonfield High School principal Marvin Simpson sat exhausted, yet dry for the first time all night.

Wearing a clean gray Brown University t-shirt and black shorts, the head of HHS was finally able to sit down to a well-deserved break in the action. Thanks to Diane Moulson, he was treated to a fresh plate of funnel cakes, his personal favorite dessert. The principal was barely out of his wet clothes before he dug in with both hands and shoveled the confection into his mouth as much as he could, getting powdered sugar all over his hands in the process.

Marvin had told his colleague, Wade Robertson, to take a 15 minute break, so he knew he'd have to eat fast or else he'd never be able to properly enjoy the funnel cakes. In his opinion, once they chilled, the cakes were no longer edible, and they certainly couldn't be re-heated.

To his credit, Simpson was able to plow through the entire plate in just a few minutes, washing it all down with a plastic cup of apple cider. Clearly satisfied with his intake, Marvin got up from the small wooden table and tossed his styrofoam plate in the trash. Yawning, he made his way over to the changing area, where a small sink and pop-up mirror awaited.

Outside the tent, the wind picked up, blowing a cool, fresh breeze of air inside. Marvin felt it, and it instantly sent a cold chill shivering down his spine, causing his skin to break out in gooseflesh. Maybe it was getting too cold to do this anymore, he thought briefly, looking down from the mirror. At the same time, for a split second, the pale blank visage of Michael Myers appeared behind him. But just as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared, right when Marvin Simpson looked back up into his mirror. Shaking his head, Marvin was able to clear the cobwebs and erase any negativity from his head. He knew that the longer he did the dunk tank, the more money they'd raise for the new stadium, and the less of a burden that would have to be placed on the taxpayers. It would definitely make him look a hell of a lot better if they could get the total cost down to a more manageable amount, so he knew he had to push forward, no matter how cold it got. It might not have been much, but every little bit helped.

The principal aggressively washed his hands in the sink and splashed some water across his face as well. Temporarily blinded, he reached out for a towel, but couldn't find it. He scrambled along the immediate area, trying to find it despite the fact he had soap and water in his eyes. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a large hand reached out, holding the towel he longed for. With cloudy vision, Marvin saw someone was there, and first lunged to the left of it, then to the right, but couldn't quite grasp it.

"Wade?" he asked, finally feeling the edge of the terry cloth in his hands. But just as he went to grab it, the person dropped the towel to the floor.

"Shit!" Simpson called out, hoping the person would help him.

No one did.

Figuring it couldn't have fallen far, Marvin fell to his knees, scraping both hands across the ground in an attempt to retrieve it.

After a few desperate moments, the plump principal was able to retrieve the towel and dry off his face, clearing his vision.

"Ahh, thanks, Wade," Simpson sighed in relief. "We better get back out there. Time is money."

Wade didn't reply.

Instead, when Marvin Simpson looked up, it wasn't Wade standing above him at all. But rather, it was The Shape, Michael Myers, holding a large croquet mallet in his hands.

Marvin was barely able to get a scream out before the mallet connected with the side of his head in a sickening blow, caving in his ear drum and smashing his left temple.

Blood splattered across the tent as Marvin collapsed to the ground in agony, reaching up to his ear, which began ringing incessantly inside his head.

He tried to crawl away, but didn't get very far. Michael, undeterred, took two steps forward and stood over him again, like a wolf circling a wounded sheep.

With no remorse, the demon took another mighty swing and scored a crushing blow, this time to the right side of his head.

Simpson, clutching his head in distress, gawked up at The Shape in disbelief, with eyes wide and a crimson mask splattered across his face.

He only saw his killer very briefly before a third and final strike came smashing down on his face, caving in his nose-- and skull.

Marvin's entire body shook violently for a few moments, then went limp.

Somewhere, a figurative electronic bell sounded out.

It was a perfect ten.


Back near the entrance of the festival, Sheriff Joshua Barnes and Deputy Sheldon Forster were standing together, assessing their situation and getting updates from the rest of the police force. The brief shower hadn't scared off too many people, Barnes noticed, as the area remained relatively full.

"So, I heard we have some special visitors at the festival tonight," Josh informed him.

"Oh yeah?" Forster asked, clearly intrigued.

"Yeah, our buddies from the Paragons Of Perdition MC," Josh answered. "Sherry was playing poker with them."

"Doing well I take it?"

"Of course."

"Why are they here?"

"Probably snooping around about where they shouldn't be," Barnes continued. "I want to keep an eye on them tonight, just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Anything out of the ordinary. What I've been preaching about all day."

"I will alert the others," Forster stated. "All the units have checked in. Magnetti radioed in from Billow's Woods that the rave is secure and just about underway."

"Very good," Barnes commended. "Make sure Lauder and Templeton stop by, too. I know it's chaperoned, but you know how kids are. I just don't want anything getting out of hand."

"10-4," the deputy acknowledged. "And sir?"

"Yes, deputy?" the sheriff asked, just as he was starting to walk away.

"A couple people said they saw someone parading around in a Michael Myers costume earlier."

"I heard that, too," Barnes concurred. "Sherry said it was Logan Dean. You know we get one or two of these kids every year who get off on scaring the crap out of the entire town. I haven't seen anything yet, but if you do, take him down. We don't need that stupid kid running around town, especially if he's drunk, and ESPECIALLY in that costume."

"Roger that," Forster agreed.

"I'll check back in an hour," Barnes concluded, heading back into the festival.

Proceed To Chapter 20
Back To The Lair Of Horror