deadline I had never gave me a chance to absorb the story to my liking. It was a unique opportunity to inject elements uniquely me into the Halloween lore. Because I was ordained to do what I wanted in translating the script into paperback form while remaining true to the story, the urgency in getting it done quickly left me with feelings that the final product was incomplete.
Hence, I present to you Halloween IV: The Special Limited Edition .
By special arrangement with Trancas International Films, the novelization is able to live again and this time with all the additional elements I was at liberty to include, the same elements which separate a good novel from a good movie.
A word of advice:
If ever Michael Myers comes knocking on your door, you better do what he says.
Or he’ll kill your ass.
And he doesn’t speak very often.
---- Nicholas Grabowsky Summer, 2003
PROLOGUE
Haddonfield, Illinois, at one time long ago had been a peaceful town, just like any typical town away from the boisterous rumblings of factories and packed, bumper-to-bumper cars and buses and cabs on busy streets and intersections. Instead of smog, pollution, and haze, in Haddonfield there was only clear air and the sweet smell of home- baked apple pies cooling off on country porches and the joyous cries of children’s laughter echoing forth from games of tag and jumprope beneath the shade of maple trees. This was a town of the seasons, a town where the magic of Christmas and the building of carrot-nosed snowmen waltzed with time’s glorious dance of tradition, where Easter egg hunts and the July Fourth fireworks show down at Fallbrook Park were anxiously awaited by everyone year after year.
And then there was Halloween.
Halloween used to be no exception to the thrilling festivities of yearly customs. Children never used to fear the night of October thirty—first, when they gathered their share of candy as they trick-ortreated down chilly sidewalks, usually getting treated and rarely getting tricked.
But the horror began back in nineteen sixty— three, when the scream of murder broke the autumn silence in Haddonfield. And, years after, the horror returned, and this time to a more gruesome and terrifying magnitude.
Time had been unsuccessful in keeping away the horror; in the midst of innocence and quietude there is always a share of horror. It is a fact we all must face. But sometimes the horror goes away.
In Haddonfield, however, the horror keeps coming back.
Chapter One
A muddy wave rolled over the shoulder of the rain drenched road as the medical transport bus cut through the showers. The thick blackness of the night was illuminated only by the bus’ headlights and an occasional flash of lightning. The crimson hues of Autumn burned from horizon to horizon but seemed to remain within the boundaries of the sky, disassociating themselves from the darkness of the world below. The sunset that separated day from evening was now but a memory on this, the thirtieth of October.
Somewhere within the far horizon, despite the encompassing darkness, a cold Fall breeze whispered through the fields of corn silent words of somber hush like a mother to her child, and the whisper found the industrial harvesters which in turn would soon rest in preparation for the following day’s work. Crows remained perched on the shoulders of scarecrows until the wind grew from a whisper to a scream and the rain drove them off into the sky and the blackness.
In a clearing near the midst of the fields, paper witches riding brooms fell victims to the wet rain, and a cardboard skeleton which swung on a string like a hanged man from the same Birch tree met the same fate. At a
Hence, I present to you Halloween IV: The Special Limited Edition .
By special arrangement with Trancas International Films, the novelization is able to live again and this time with all the additional elements I was at liberty to include, the same elements which separate a good novel from a good movie.
A word of advice:
If ever Michael Myers comes knocking on your door, you better do what he says.
Or he’ll kill your ass.
And he doesn’t speak very often.
---- Nicholas Grabowsky Summer, 2003
PROLOGUE
Haddonfield, Illinois, at one time long ago had been a peaceful town, just like any typical town away from the boisterous rumblings of factories and packed, bumper-to-bumper cars and buses and cabs on busy streets and intersections. Instead of smog, pollution, and haze, in Haddonfield there was only clear air and the sweet smell of home- baked apple pies cooling off on country porches and the joyous cries of children’s laughter echoing forth from games of tag and jumprope beneath the shade of maple trees. This was a town of the seasons, a town where the magic of Christmas and the building of carrot-nosed snowmen waltzed with time’s glorious dance of tradition, where Easter egg hunts and the July Fourth fireworks show down at Fallbrook Park were anxiously awaited by everyone year after year.
And then there was Halloween.
Halloween used to be no exception to the thrilling festivities of yearly customs. Children never used to fear the night of October thirty—first, when they gathered their share of candy as they trick-ortreated down chilly sidewalks, usually getting treated and rarely getting tricked.
But the horror began back in nineteen sixty— three, when the scream of murder broke the autumn silence in Haddonfield. And, years after, the horror returned, and this time to a more gruesome and terrifying magnitude.
Time had been unsuccessful in keeping away the horror; in the midst of innocence and quietude there is always a share of horror. It is a fact we all must face. But sometimes the horror goes away.
In Haddonfield, however, the horror keeps coming back.
Chapter One
A muddy wave rolled over the shoulder of the rain drenched road as the medical transport bus cut through the showers. The thick blackness of the night was illuminated only by the bus’ headlights and an occasional flash of lightning. The crimson hues of Autumn burned from horizon to horizon but seemed to remain within the boundaries of the sky, disassociating themselves from the darkness of the world below. The sunset that separated day from evening was now but a memory on this, the thirtieth of October.
Somewhere within the far horizon, despite the encompassing darkness, a cold Fall breeze whispered through the fields of corn silent words of somber hush like a mother to her child, and the whisper found the industrial harvesters which in turn would soon rest in preparation for the following day’s work. Crows remained perched on the shoulders of scarecrows until the wind grew from a whisper to a scream and the rain drove them off into the sky and the blackness.
In a clearing near the midst of the fields, paper witches riding brooms fell victims to the wet rain, and a cardboard skeleton which swung on a string like a hanged man from the same Birch tree met the same fate. At a
Similar Books
Soul Surrender
Katana Collins
Paris Stories
Mavis Gallant
1901
Robert Conroy
Long walk to forever
Kurt Vonnegut, Bryan Harnetiaux
Alpha Alpha Gamma
Nancy Springer
Tessa's Treasures
Callie Hutton
Dakota
Gwen Florio
Girl with a Pearl Earring
Tracy Chevalier
Claimed
Clarissa Cartharn
Sparked
Lily Cahill