"Sorry about that," Micheal apologized as he placed the drink on the counter.
"Thanks for the drink, man, I appreciate it." He gave a polite nod, then gently led Jessica out of the pub. Not paying attention to the crowd.
"Do you live close?" he asked, his eyes darting around the street, every shadow making his nerves twitch.
It finally clicked—why everything inside the bar felt eerily familiar. The jokes, the chatter, the way the lights hung low and warm over worn wood tables… it was the scene. The exact same scene from Halloween Kills, a horror movie about a relentless slasher butchering people without mercy.
Jessica tilted her head, amused at his unease. "It's not that far from here. Are you that tired?"
Elsewhere in Haddonfield…
A building burned.
The night sky glowed with orange embers as thick plumes of smoke clawed upward, devouring the stars. Firefighters swarmed the street, dragging heavy hoses that hissed as water exploded against the walls. Axes and saws clanged. Boots pounded the wet asphalt.
Several firemen rushed into the inferno, their silhouettes swallowed by smoke. Over the comms, their clipped voices cut through static:
"Eyes on the roof!"
"Watch out!"
"With you—let's move!"
"Alright, let's go!"
The inside was a choking maze of black smoke and flame. Heat warped the walls, wood beams snapped and groaned like bones under pressure. Burning debris rained from the ceiling.
"Radio silence—we have a mayday alert!" a voice gasped, heavy with panic.
"This is Benton with Engine Eight! There's been a structural collapse—my air supply's compromised! PASS alarm's been activated! Oh, shi—"
His words broke off into a scream.
A bloodcurdling wail echoed through the comms, raw and jagged, cutting straight into the marrow of every man who heard it.
"What the fuck was that?!" someone shouted.
Then—movement.
Through the collapsing doorway of fire, a figure emerged.
It stepped out slowly, calmly, as if the roaring flames and the choking heat meant nothing. The mask on its face was blistered and scorched, the once-pale white melted into a grotesque parody of skin. In its hands it dragged a blood-slicked fire axe.
Michael Myers.
The flames painted his towering shape in writhing shadows. His coveralls smoldered and burned, but he did not flinch. He walked down the steps of the burning house with dreadful patience, the axe clenched tight, its blade dripping red.
The firefighters froze, their knuckles whitening on the handles of their tools. The air was filled with the scream of sirens, the crackle of fire, the hiss of water—and then, suddenly, another scream.
"AAAAAAAaaa!"
It tore the night apart as Myers fell upon them. Axes and hooks swung, but his own weapon came down with butcher's precision. Sparks flew as steel bit flesh. Helmets split. Bones cracked like dry wood. Blood sprayed against the wet asphalt, steam rising as it hissed on the fire-scorched ground.
Over the carnage, a single sound cut above the chaos—the grinding, wet roar of a chainsaw tearing through flesh and bone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What's wrong?" Jessica asked curiously, her brows pinched as Micheal kept scanning the streets. His tension was contagious, making her stomach twist.
"Nothing, nothing. It's just—" he swallowed, his throat dry. "That story the guy told in the pub… did that really happen?"
Please let it be a coincidence, Micheal thought.
"Yes," Jessica admitted, a shadow of melancholy softening her expression. "I grew up listening to it. Michael Myers was this town's personal boogeyman. My dad made sure I behaved whenever he brought that name up."
Micheal frowned.
"You aren't scared, are you?" she teased, her laugh cracking at the edges. His unease amused her. "You're taller than any man I've met around here, swole as hell. How can a big guy like you be scared of a little story?"
Bitch, since when did appearances have anything to do with being scared? Micheal thought, his scowl deepening.
"Come on, big guy. It's just a story. Myers might be dead for all we know—it happened a long time ago." Jessica shrugged, heading toward the small parking lot.
Micheal followed, his thoughts a storm.
He didn't remember every detail of the movie, but if this was real—if this wasn't some cruel cosmic joke—then he was fucked.
I need to get the fuck out of this town, he thought grimly.
Jessica unlocked her car and slid into the driver's seat. Micheal followed quickly, shutting the passenger door with nervous force.
Jessica fussed with the rearview mirror, then reached for a hoodie in the back seat. "It's getting cold. Heater's busted." She slipped it on, casual, unbothered.
Beside her, Micheal's eyes darted left and right, scanning shadows.
In the glow of the pub's neon sign, a Black couple emerged. The man was dressed as a doctor, the woman as a nurse. Their bickering was sharp, familiar. The man patted his pockets, cursed, then tossed his keys to his wife before heading back inside. She caught them with a huff and turned toward the parking lot.
But her stride faltered. Her eyes darted. She felt something.
From the car, Micheal frowned, glancing at Jessica—only to deadpan. She was leaning into the mirror, carefully applying lipstick.
"Is that necessary?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Sensing his tone, Jessica gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Force of habit."
Micheal exhaled in exasperation, shaking his head as he watched the woman reach her car.
The headlights flicked on.
Then—
"AAAAAAAaaaa!"
The scream ripped through the night, high-pitched and frantic.
The woman bolted from the vehicle, heels clattering against asphalt, her eyes wide with terror as she ran.
Micheal flinched, his chest tightening. He shoved his door open and hurried out, Jessica scrambling after him, lipstick smeared across her cheek.
"You okay? What's going on?" Micheal shouted, rushing to the woman.
Her husband burst from the pub at the sound, eyes wide.
"He's in the backseat! Michael Myers is in the backseat!" the woman sobbed, her voice breaking, her trembling finger pointed toward the car.
Her husband moved cautiously, but stayed close to Micheal, whose instincts screamed at him to back away.
Micheal squinted, catching a shadow flicker in the rear window.
"He's there—go look!" the woman shrieked.
"Go look? Hell no!" her husband barked
"Oh, hell nah!" Micheal echoed.
The two men shared the same wide-eyed terror, their voices overlapping, their refusal echoing in the parking lot as the night grew colder around them.