At Haddonfield High School, the hallways were abuzz with mid-day activity. Currently in between periods, the students were either rushing to their next class or talking at their lockers, eagerly anticipating the evening ahead. The freshly-waxed hallways were littered with orange and black decorations, with 'Happy Halloween' signs on the walls mixed in amid the sea of school advertisements, including the fall sports schedule, student council meeting, and senior class trip to Chicago. The popular choice of discussion among the student body was the murders the night before, but other topics being discussed included the school-sponsored rave at Billow's Woods, trick-or-treating, and carving jack-o-lanterns. There were even some who simply opted to stay home and snuggle up to a night of horror movies and freshly buttered popcorn with their significant other.

Teachers Diane Moulson and Wade Robertson, whose classrooms were directly across the hall from one another, were engaged in a quick discussion, mainly about their plan of attack serving as chaperones at the rave.

"It should be fun," the 32-year-old Diane stated as they stood near a water fountain and chatted up. "I'll be cooking the funnel cakes, so stop over and get some! If all goes well, everyone will have a great time and it will be a huge success. Still, though, if there's any nonsense whatsoever, I won't hesitate to call Sheriff Barnes."

"Come on Diane, lighten up a little," Wade, the svelte blond math teacher insisted. "You were a kid once."

"Yeah, I was," Diane, the short, auburn-haired English teacher replied with a wink. "That's what worries me."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Wade, 28, assured her. "I'm handling the principal's dunk tank. Aside from that, it's a dry party. There won't be any alcohol whatsoever, and we are closing up at 10. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Yeah, well I've heard rumors," said Diane. "Supposedly, Connor Lowe and Logan Dean are going to spike the punch and smuggle in some weed. I swear if I taste any bit of liquor in that punch, they'll be sorry."

"If you taste any bit of liquor in that punch, you'll pass out."

"Shut up!"

"Just saying. Besides, Connor and Logan will probably be passed out long before the party even starts anyway."

"Connor and Logan will be what?" a third voice called out inquisitively, interrupting their conversation. It was Connor Lowe.

The two teachers just exchanged an odd glance, clearly not wanting to breach the subject.

"Ummm," Wade said, clearly stalling. "Connor and Logan will be late for class if they don't get moving."

"Well that's funny, because Logan's already there, look," said Connor, the 17-year-old class clown, pointing inside Diane's room. "And I'm just waiting for my girlfriend to get here."

"Yeah?" Wade piped back, then immediately caught himself and calmed down. After a brief pause, he addressed the elephant in the room and asked, "You plan on doing any boozing tonight, Lowe?"

Diane just rolled her eyes and looked away.

"Me? Boozing? Never!" Connor promised, although they both knew it was a thinly-veiled pledge at that.

"Good," Wade responded. "I want no funny business tonight. I mean it! You kids are too young to understand, but the town really needs this."

"Hey baby!" a soft voice called out from behind them. It was 17-year-old Sienna St. Clair, Connor's flighty, popular girlfriend.

They exchanged a quick kiss, and Connor put his arm around her, resting it on her shoulder.

"Sienna, these two heard that Logan and I are gonna ruin the rave tonight. Can you believe that?"

"Ruin the rave? That's impossible!" The skinny, strawberry-blond cheerleader pledged. "If anything, they'll make it better!"

At that point, the bell rang, and those still stuck in the hallway scurried around like mice to find their way before it was too late.

"See you later, Mr. Robertson," Sienna said with a smile as she disappeared into Diane's classroom with Connor in tow.

Wade just sighed and waved to Diane, who returned the gesture and closed her door across the hall.


"So, who can tell me about the Moirai?" Miss Moulson asked her class. Wearing a bright orange sun dress, Diane stood at the front of an obviously disinterested class, her back to the dry erase board. Listed on the board behind her were the terms "Moirai", followed by "Fate" and "Destiny" beneath it.

"Come on, people, I know some of you have to have at least glanced at today's reading assignment. Humor me. I'll ask again-- who were the Moirai?"

"Weren't they Italian?" Connor called out. "Like Dean Martin, 'That's Amore' or something?"

The class immediately busted out into a chorus of snickers and giggles.

"Very funny," Diane replied sarcastically. "Look, I know you're all excited about the big festival tonight, and ancient mythology isn't the most exciting topic of discussion, but let's at least try to stay on task and get through this today."

"No, Connor, they weren't Italian. They were Greek," Sherry Robinson, two rows over, informed them. "The Moirai were the daughters of Zeus. They were believed to be the goddesses whom personified the inescapable destiny of man. They assigned every person his or her fate according to their position in the grand scheme of things. In short, they determined how long you lived."

"Very good, Sherry," Diane complimented. Sherry, sitting next to Sienna St. Clair, exchanged a smile with her best friend, who was clearly astonished that she had done her homework.

On the contrary, Connor, who was not amused, smirked and coughed the words "suck up" as he covered his mouth, garnering even more laughs.

"Knock it off, Connor!" Sienna yelled at her boyfriend, sticking up for her best friend. "Why do you always have to be such an asshole?!"

Connor just sat there dumbfounded while the rest of the class didn't know whether to laugh or anticipate the larger argument that seemed to be brewing between them.

"Okay, settle down everyone," Diane commanded. "And watch your language in my classroom, Sienna...anybody else?"

"I got this," Logan Dean, raising his hand in the back of the room, blurted out.

"Oh, no, here we go," mumbled Dayna Jordan, a few seats behind Sherry. Anyone who knew Dayna knew she was a very free spirit that marched to the beat of a different drum. Some even said she had the reputation of swinging both ways and being the class whore, but no one ever said it to her face. It was obvious she had problems at home, but not even those closest to her could get that out of her. But to Sherry and Sienna, she was a friend. She was their "third musketeer", the yin to their yang, who kept them in check. The short-haired firecracker always had something interesting to say, but was strangely silent on this topic.

After a brief period of awkward silence, Miss Moulson decided to let Logan speak his peace.

"Okay, Logan, let's have it," she said with a sigh.

"The Moirai were like three little old ladies on 'roids or something," Logan stated, much to the dismay of his partner in crime Connor, who couldn't believe what he was hearing. "They were actually pretty badass. When you were born, the Moirai spun out a thread of your life or something, followed your every step, and made sure you lived by the counsel of the Gods. They were basically a set of puppeteers, and we were their wooden dummies."

The entire class was stunned at Logan's analysis.

"Nice job, Logan!" Miss Moulson, equally stunned, exclaimed.

"So they were basically like the Golden Girls of ancient times?" Dayna asked, half-jokingly and half-serious.

"Almost, Dayna," Diane affirmed. "Most of that is true. But the Moirai do not directly interfere in human affairs. They merely determine your destiny, not the path you take in getting there. Humans themselves were free to live as they saw fit, with hardly any interference. Then, after someone dies, their fate terminates, and the goddesses of fate become the goddesses of death, who were much more difficult to deal with. They are Klotho, the spinner of life; Lakhesis, the apportioner of lots; and Atropos, the one who cannot be turned. It is Atropos who ultimately cuts the thread of life."

Sherry, deep in thought, sat at her desk with her head resting on a closed fist. All this talk of fate and destiny had certainly piqued her interest and got her thinking.

"But what if they don't cut the thread of life?" Sherry questioned, not even raising her hand. "What if someone is destined to live out their fate, never truly able to cut the strings and break away from the puppeteer?"

"That's impossible, Sherry," Miss Moulson answered. "According to the myth, every mortal person must face their fate someday, and it is then that they truly fulfill their destiny."

Suddenly all Sherry could think about was Madison Mauberry.

And Michael Myers.

Proceed To Chapter 6
Back To The Lair Of Horror