5:58 pm October 31, 1963
She had been staring out the window all evening, watching the other children in costumes as they took turns ringing the doorbells at the houses across the street. She felt like an intruder; stealing these simple moments of childhood happiness. She had never gone for the evening charade before; never had donned a pillow case or a bright, hollow plastic pumpkin to go for the yearly candied walk around the neighborhood. The decorations that came up this time of year intrigued her. In fact, all day at school she had been particularly drawn to a paper wall hanging of a smirking skull hung above the teacher's chalk board. Now she couldn't leave the window as the seemingly never-ending stream of laughing ghosts, skipping witches and other colorful creatures passed by with their mundane caretakers shadowing closely behind.
Emilie looked down at the white plastic mask in her lap. She had found it in the street on her way home from the bus stop this afternoon. It had almost blown away with the breeze. It was a rare treasure that served to remind her of what she knew she could never have. The mask was shaped like a docile, eyeless face, perhaps a woman's, and it was strangely beautiful to her. She ran her fingers along the side of its cheek and, for a moment, entertained an alluring idea.
A door opened upstairs and Emilie could here a woman curse as she scrambled to get her foot into a high heel. She moved in closer to the drapes as the woman made her way down the stairs.
"Emmie, I'm going to work now. He will be home in a couple hours. Here…"
Emilie turned and watched as her father's girlfriend turn on the t.v. set.
"Sorry, I don't have time to take you out tonight. Maybe if you're good, Joe…eh…Dad will take you out..." said the blonde as she fussed in a mirror next to the front door.
At that, Emilie looked down and started to turn back to the window.
"Well, maybe…you never know, Emmie. As long as you don't have another incident like the other night, he just might."
Emilie's jaw tightened as the woman started to pace looking for her car keys.
"You know, Emmie, one of these days you'll realize how lucky you have it. You know they wanted to send you to Nebraska to live with Grannie."
The woman gave a visible shudder. "Your dad's mom is a real piece of work. Trust me, you're made in the shade here rather than in that shit hole…Anyways there are some sodas in the fridge…Lock the door behind me."
For a minute, Emilie stared at the front door. The t.v. buzzed in and out of reception across the room; eerily, somehow the sound seemed to add to the isolation she felt. Suddenly, something hit the window, loudly, next to her and she turned, startled. A ghastly face stared back at her on the other side of the pane. She stared into the two brown eyes that laughed at her from behind the plastic mask, as other children giggled from across the street. Emilie followed the little boy with her eyes as he pushed off the window and ran back to where his friends were cheering.
…When There is Nowhere to Hide…
It was night; moonless and chill. Wispy curls caught the autumn breeze around her face and her skin was warmed by the bonfires encircling her. The haunting odor of burnt flesh permeated the air and ash brushed across her cheek. In the distance she could hear chanting. As the voices came closer, from behind her, she somehow began to recognize what they were saying.
"An Mallacht na Dealg." "The Curse of Thorn."
"An íobairt fá na scáth…" "The sacrifice of shadows…"
"Ár slánú sa an lámh dar Bás." "Our salvation in the hands of Death."
"An dia agus bandia" "The god and the goddess"
"Réir roinn bás." "Shall deal death."
"Ar mar mhaithe le an sábháil." "For the sake of the Harvest."
"Ar Oíche Shamhna, Bás réir ardú." "On Samhain, Death will rise."
Shuddering, Emilie slowly turned towards the sound and then sank to her knees, in alarm, at the sight before her. In front of her stood a huge man swallowed in flames. Inside the man were all manner of beasts and people; each struggling with choked screams to escape their peril. On either side of the bonfires were robed figures in bone-white, eyeless masks; all chanting in time with the drums. Overwhelmed, she tore her gaze from the wicker man and his victims. Her heart pounded with the unearthly rhythm and the sound painfully bore itself into her skull. She tried to will the chanting voices away, but they resonated steadily louder in her head.
"Bí a neart." "Be his strength."
"Bí a síoraí." "Be his immortality."
"Bandia bí a críoch." "Goddess, be his end."
"Roinn a beatha agus roinn a bás." "Deal his life and his death."
Shaking her head, she pleaded with the voice in her head,
"But for love or fear, how could a man be made kill?"
"The man becomes as a god, without love or fear."
"Without love…or fear…?"
"Save for his goddess…whom he shall love AND fear."
A searing pain on the inside of her wrist forced her to look down. Branded into her skin was a mark, resembling two lowercase p's. Again, there was that feeling; that shifting inside her heart, that firestorm in her mind. She fought its control; she pushed back as it surged forward.
"No fear. No escape. No return. All must be done before the Rest,"coaxed the all too familiar voice in her head. "Be his strength. Be the goddess to his god…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…"
A sense of towering dread caused her to look up and see one of the dark priests standing over her; his white-masked face gazing down at her. In his hand was a knife covered in blood. Upon seeing him, the inferno in her mind welled up to such intensity that she felt her head would split. Unable to move, she watched through trembling eyes as he raised the knife over her head. The blood on the blade seeped down till a drop formed on the tip. Emilie felt her head being pulled back. She lashed out, helplessly, against the rage in her heart one last time as the drop separated from the knife and fell towards her. When the drop hit her forehead, it felt as if her skull had been cleaved, and she silently crumbled to the grass
Powerless now to its strength, she could feel the angry writhing in her heart begin to spread. It branched out like a black vine from her core. It curled itself into her limbs; unfurling all the way to her fingers. It caught hold of her mind and drank away any resistance she had left.
Weakening, Emilie curled up in a ball on the grass and stared up into the star-filled sky. The lights above sparkled within the immense blackness with a startling indifference over the terrible scene below. The night seemed to grow steadily colder and she felt the dew gathering. Slowly the chant faded back into the night until all that was left was the sound of fire, the scorching rancor in her heart and the smell of death.
6:47 am October 31, 1978
She awoke, startled, to the sound of the car door shut. For a moment she lay there in the back of the station wagon; trying to remember where she was. When she realized that the bonfires and the white-masked druids were gone, she slowly lifted herself up and turned herself all around. She noticed something large on the bench seat in front of her. It was a slab of stone. She tilted her head to read was carved into cold face.
"Judith Myers" was as far as she read.
She creased her brow and looked back up. They had parked out of the view of the main road. Behind a low hill, she could partially see two vehicles: a red tow truck and a small sedan.
The air was cold as she climbed out of the wagon and the chill dirt stung her bare feet. Still clutching the screwdriver, she walked around a small dirt hill to where she had seen the truck. He was there, rummaging inside the cab, still in his clothes from the hospital. She stood there for a minute, watching him. She noticed he had a pair of work boots lying at his feet as he pulled a worn pair of coveralls from underneath the seat. He was just as she remembered him: fairly tall, broad shouldered and fair of face; almost angelic. He didn't seem to know she was there when he began to strip off the filthy, wet uniform. She smiled as she watched as him pull on the pair of coveralls.
As he knelt down to lace up the strings of the boots, she turned and headed towards where she had seen the other car. That's when she saw the sprawled out body of a man. She stared at the dead man's pale, shocked face with casual indifference for a moment and then walked around to the sedan.
The woman, who had been waiting to get her car pulled from the mud, was slumped over in the front seat. She had been strangled in the same manner as the mechanic.
"Ár slánú sa an lámh dar Bás,"she remembered the dark figures chanting in her dream."Our salvation is in the hands of Death." She shivered at the memory.
The woman hadn't been much older than Emilie; and relatively the same size. Emilie kneeled down and pulled off the woman's tank top and jeans. Her feet had been larger than Emilie's though, and so the sneakers were a bit large, but the sweater in the back seat would fit her fine.
After she gathered up the clothing she stood up; only to see him standing a few yards away, staring at her. Her surprise faded quickly into a sweet chuckle. She dropped the clothes, as he started to stalk towards her. Dreamily, she half danced, half glided towards him and dodged his first attempt to grab her. She laughed as she twirled past him, and caught one of his hands as it came down towards her, while he grabbed her other hand that held the screwdriver. He was much stronger than her and forced the screwdriver back down towards her. She strained too keep a smile as he forced her backwards and up against the side of the car, but her smile faded as his face came close to hers. She could feel his compulsion to kill her; it blazed like an inferno in her mind.
She moved her face closer to his. "You know you could do it," she said. "But, I know you won't." He stopped suddenly and stared back; his eyes flickering for a moment.
"They are so dark; so angry…yet so calm," she thought to herself. "Why do I feel so drawn to him?"
"Because he is drawn to you...he is not like the others.."
"There's more to it than that. I can't look away. I couldn't run away if I tried. There's no anger in my heart for him."
"Sacrifice is a double edged sword and both sides are necessary."
Again she felt two entities struggle within her. Her heart was being pushed and pulled; her mind fought the darkness. But, as she stared into his eyes, her resistance fled from her.
The voice inside her dealt the decisive blow, "You are his and he is yours." Her eyes dilated as the world around her suddenly seemed to drain away. She furrowed her brow and moved in closer, whispering seductively, "We are the same; you and I…we are two halves of the same promise."
"Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Be the goddess to his god," She could here the pulse in her mind.
She hadn't realized it but tears had begun to stream down her face. She didn't move; didn't make a sound. Something about him being so close made her feel as if her skin was on fire. He pulled back a little and loosened his grip; and his fingers found the raised scar on her wrist. He stared down at it. It matched the one on his forearm. He lifted his head up to her and she searched his face. It took him a second, but he read something in her eyes…something that cause him to back up, but she caught his face in her hands, her eyes raging. The air around them seemed to be on fire as a voice, not her own, said,
"Michael, you have come to be Death…you shall deliver your wrath…so that others might be spared. But I have come for you…to be your Immortality…and to be your End. May you be a shadow to your prey and a rock to those who would do you harm. So be it…a reaper, anointed in blood, to sacrifice in the sway of the Thorn."
For a moment, they both sat there frozen. Slowly, her hands slid from his face, as the fire slightly receded. Her blazing stare locked with his cold eyes, she raised herself up to stand before him. He didn't move, but followed her with his eyes. Looking down and without a word, she slowly peeled off the damp, blood-stained scrubs.
"Roinnt bandia go dtí bhur dia…""A goddess to your god…"
7:58 am October 31, 1978
The sky was overcast and the autumn breeze gave her goose bumps as she pulled the sweater across her shoulders. She began to feel herself as she walked ahead of him to the car and once again got in the back bed; her back to him. She smiled whimsically as she watched a crow lift off of a power line. He hesitated as he went to put the key in the ignition. Without looking at him, she nodded.
"Haddonfield."