Michael Myers is Too Old for This Shit

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What Halloween Would Actually Look Like in 2018

By Bob Freville

FADE IN:

EXT. LONESOME HIGHWAY – NIGHT

PRISON TRANSPORT OFFICER staggers out of the mangled, overturned prison bus clutching his bloody forehead. We can see his breath in the gelid night air.

As Prison Transport Officer coughs and looks up the desolate road, THE SHAPE emerges from the bus, his ghostly and slightly hunched but nevertheless imposing form appearing as a silhouette backlit by the moon.

Dramatic synth music kicks in as Prison Transport Officer steps forward and staggers anew. POV reveals that Prison Transport Officer’s shoe is untied.

As he bends down to lace up his work boot, The Shape raises his arm above his head, ready to strike. After a beat, he looks up at his fist, bewildered.

The Shape tilts his head to the side, confused by the absence of…something. After yet another beat, The Shape realizes something and turns around, starting back to the bus.

Prison Transport Officer makes rabbit ears with his shoelaces then stands up. He takes out a flashlight and trains it on the overturned bus.

We can see PRISON BUS DRIVER, half-decapitated and lifeless behind the wheel. Prison Transport Officer steps hesitantly towards the bus.

As he reaches the doors, The Shape steps in front of him and raises his arm over his head. Prison Transport Officer gasps and recoils…then looks up, befuddled.

The Shape wields a road flare.

Prison Transport Officer (emboldened): What the fuck you gonna do with that, old man?

The Shape looks from Prison Transport Officer to the road flare. He cocks his head to the side.

Prison Transport Officer goes for his holster.

The Shape reads the directions on the side of the flare. He squints hard to make out the tiny writing.

As Prison Transport Officer unbuttons his holster, The Shape bends down with much difficulty and strikes the top of the flare on the pavement, successfully igniting the flame.

He rises with a grunt and turns his attention back to Prison Transport Officer. The Shape advances towards him.

As Transport Officer removes his sidearm and fiddles with the safety, The Shape brings the road flare down into the officer’s gaping mouth.

Transport Officer wriggles about in anguish, his cheeks bubbling and gushing crimson as The Shape holds him fast by his lapel.

After a beat, Transport Officer goes limp. The Shape stares at him then recoils in pain as the flare burns his hand.

The pain smarts, as evidenced by the fact that The Shape clutches his hand and drops Transport Officer’s dead body. A faint hissing noise escapes Michael’s notoriously pallid mask.

CUT TO:

EXT. SUBURBAN CUL DE SAC – NIGHT

TOPLESS BABYSITTER, her ample bosom caked in blood, runs barefoot towards the only house with lights on in its lonely windows.

The Shape pursues her with knife clutched in his right hand. He begins to wheeze as they approach the end of the road.

REVERSE ON THE SHAPE as he hunches down, resting his palms on his knees. He reaches into the pocket of his overalls and produces a Ventolin inhaler.

The Shape takes two long pulls off the inhaler then waits to catch his breath before continuing on his path of destruction.

CUT TO:

INT. STRODE HOUSE/LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The Shape flings GRANDMA STRODE over a davenport sealed in plastic. She lands on an end table and struggles to right herself.

The Shape comes up from behind and sinks his blade into the small of her back. Grandma cries out and her eyes go wide.

The Shape rips the blade out of her back and brings it up over his head before plunging it into the back of her neck.

This motion is repeated again as he drives the knife into her skull. Suddenly, Michael throws a cramp and his arm locks up. He tries in vain to remove the blade from Grandma’s head with his left arm, but it is no use.

Finally, he gives up and limps out of the room.

FADE TO BLACK.

FADE UP:

INT. FREE CLINIC – DAY

SNOTTY ADMINISTRATOR files her Freddy Krueger-like press-on nails as she talks on her desk phone.

SNOTTY ADMINISTRATOR: (into phone) I’m sorry, Mr. Myers, but you can’t see our pain management specialist. (beat) Because, sir, you killed his wife. (beat) Yes, and his nursing staff, exactly. (beat) Try some Lidocaine and Motrin.

CUT TO:

INT. STRODE HOUSE/KITCHEN – NIGHT

The Shape sits at the kitchen table and stares at a laptop which sits beside a pumpkin on the tabletop. He scratches his head and peruses the healthcare.gov website.

Using two fingers, The Shape types in his personal information. He hits enter.

A fresh page is loaded which informs The Shape that he is not eligible for healthcare coverage at this time.

The Shape hangs his head in defeat.

CUT TO:

EXT. HADDONFIELD/INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX – EVENING

The Shape lumbers along seemingly aimlessly, his mask slouched down like Droopy the Dog.

NARRATOR (V/O): Learning that a hip replacement surgery had taken Laurie Strode’s life before he could was too much for Michael. The world had changed a lot in forty years. Pure evil was no longer a threat so much as it was the status quo. The Shape was forced by fate to return to where he belonged.

CUT TO:

EXT. ROADSIDE – EVENING

We see a sign that reads “Haddonfield Psychiatric – 2 Miles.” The Shape walks past it.

NARRATOR (V/O): Little did he know that a darkness lay ahead, for his home of the last four decades had been forced to close due to budget cuts. And in its place arose a far greater evil than even pure evil could fathom.

CUT TO:

INT. PARKING LOT – NIGHT

The Shape looks up ahead and sees that Haddonfield Psychiatric has been replaced by a Walmart Superstore.

Synth music reaches an apex as we CRANE UP to the store’s logo.

FADE TO BLACK

FADE UP:

INT. WALMART – DAY

The Shape stands by metal detectors in a blue vest. As NEW ARRIVALS enter the store, The Shape greets them.

THE SHAPE: (muffled through mask) Elcome oo Almart. I Ove oo.

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