Chapter Text
“Jamie, if you’d like, we can begin.”
“Sure, Dr. Loomis.”
Dr. Samuel Loomis extended one burnt finger, and delicately, as if he were putting the final touch on a masterpiece, pressed the record button on the cassette recorder.
“Dr. Samuel Loomis. October 15th, 1998. Smith’s Grove Sanitarium—er, damn it, Smith’s Grove Institute of Mental Health. I’m here with Jamie Lloyd. Jamie, would you like to start the session?”
Jamie Lloyd sat across from Dr. Loomis, eyes ringed with dark circles and a half-smoked cigarette in one hand. She picked at stray threads on her black sweater, looking up at the slowly ticking clock nervously, then back at Dr. Loomis.
“My least favourite day of the year is coming,” she said, calmly. “It’s been ten years and I still don’t know how to feel.”
“That’s perfectly alright, Jamie. I cannot say I enjoy Halloween either. I remember my cousins used to take me trick or treating when I was a child, but even then—there was something about that night that set my teeth on edge. I felt sometimes that I was gazing headlong into some coming darkness, one that would sink its fangs into my bones if I dared wait until all the other children had come home.”
“Mom was right about you,” Jamie said, drily. “You have such a grasp of the…dramatic. Still, guess I can’t complain. Gave you plenty of reason to check me in to regular therapy. That, and well…dear old uncle Michael and his kitchen knife fetish.”
“Your mother was a brave woman. One of the bravest people I’ve ever met, Jamie. Would you be able to tell me more about how you feel when you think about her?”
“She crashed her car. Probably saw Michael staring at her from some hobo’s face. What am I supposed to say? She was never really my mother. I wish she had been. I wish she hadn’t run for her life.”
“She must have felt she had to. To be honest, I often wonder why either of us is staying here.”
Jamie sighed and stabbed the cigarette into an ashtray.
“Doc, let’s face it—you and I are both here because of a river in Egypt.”
“A river in Egypt?”
“De Nile. We’re so knee-deep in our own fucking justifications for what we’re doing that we’re still here. I don’t want to give my creepy uncle the satisfaction of scaring me. He hasn’t shown his stupid rubber face around here for ten years. As far as I know, he’s at the bottom of a mineshaft being eaten by vermin, like he deserves. And you? Maybe if I’m a good little girl, I’ll be your first successful patient.”
Loomis sighed. Jamie had developed a sharp tongue—more than a little like Laurie when someone was testing her patience. Still, he would take adolescent spite over the cold, dead, empty eyes of his former patient.
“Jamie. I’m only trying to help. I know things have been…difficult. But the fact you’re here, alive, and unharmed—that is the greatest gift, you know that? Life is such a precious thing, and I don’t know if most of your family ever realized that.”
“What makes you so sure I’m not just Michael in a miniskirt?” Jamie deadpanned. “That’s what the girls say at school. Every fucking day since I was seven. ‘Every day’s Halloween at Jamie’s house.’”
“Well, I imagine the attire doesn’t help,” Loomis said, looking over the studded metal belt, black miniskirt, and skull choker Jamie was wearing.
“I’m giving the people what they want. Maybe I should get myself a mechanic jumpsuit, slice it up all nice and slutty, and wear a white mask this Halloween. Give Ben Tramer’s youngest brother a nice lap dance.”
“Jamie…”
Jamie sighed, counted to ten in her head, and hung her head.
“I just…I wish I was normal. But I can’t be. Everyone knows. And even if I left…people know Jamie Lloyd. People know Laurie Strode. I have legions of horny fans on Usenet asking if there’s anyone selling my belongings on eBay. People actually sold the fucking knife Michael used on my mom there, you know. I had to tell people that in no uncertain terms if I found my panties missing during gym and listed on eBay, they’d see just how much I take after my uncle.”
Loomis gave a sympathetic nod.
“Celebrity is the greatest enemy of the individual. So many claim to see the truth of the icon, none truly know them. I suspect that, more than anything else, is why your uncle wore that mask. He was no one, and he wanted to be known as no one. Your mother expressed a similar desire. The horror of being known, Jamie—it is what makes us human. To truly live, one cannot be a cipher. To be more than a shape, drifting through the world, it is not enough to act—one must also be. That said…did you have to be so…dramatic about it?”
Loomis paused when Jamie started mouthing ‘pot, meet kettle.’
“Fair. I don’t suppose you have another cigarette?”
Jamie slid one out, tossed it to Loomis, and passed him her lighter.
“Thank you, Jamie. Like I was saying—it is tempting, always, to hide behind masks. I like to think I know you, Jamie—and I hope you’ll prove me right in saying that you cannot hide when you see evil staring back at you.”
“Well, I broke some creep’s nose the other day. Got sent to the office, but he was drugging people’s drinks at a party. Cops did almost nothing. So…go me, I guess?”
Loomis sighed and gave a weary chuckle.
“That’s a response, certainly. Can’t call that hiding, that’s for sure.”
Jamie gave a hint of a smile.
“Doctor…” she said, after a minute. “I’m thinking of celebrating Halloween this year. Properly.”
“That might be a good idea, Jamie. The evil is gone. Maybe it’s time you came out of your shell.”
“I also want to show mom and dad that I’m not scared of going crazy with scissors and stabbing them anymore. That…that’s why I was scared, I guess. I’m afraid, sometimes, that I’ll put on a mask and costume and just completely lose my shit, like Michael.”
“I don’t believe Michael Myers was insane, Jamie. Insanity is not cold, calculating, and murderous like your uncle was. Your slip—and that’s all it was—was the result of panic, fear, and if I had to guess, Michael’s encouragement.”
A flicker of anger passed over Jamie’s face. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, white knuckled, biting her black-painted lip and taking deeper and deeper breaths.
“Jamie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
“No, no…it’s fine, but--Michael never said shit to me. And I just hate it when people think he and I were buddy-buddy murderers. Michael and Jamie, Batman and fucking Robin. Like—I’m tired.”
“I understand, Jamie, but my words were not meant literally, nor were they to suggest you wanted to kill. He never speaks—not with words. Michael is always talking. Always sending messages. You know they put him in solitary confinement for a long time? The other patients couldn’t stand being near him. In Smith’s Grove, nobody knows what you did. Most of the population that was there had no idea what Michael did when he was returned there after his escape. They still wanted nothing to do with him. Violent incidents increased at Smith’s Grove just by him being in the same room as people. I don’t know if I believe in God, Jamie, but I do believe in the devil—I shot him six times.”
“Y-Yeah…I think I was jumping at shadows, as a kid. I think I just…needed to lash out and acted out what I kept seeing in my nightmares. And mom…mom never got mad at me about it. Even when she put me in that home for a while…she kept coming to see me. She held me when I got scared. And…I should be grateful. Instead, I just feel like a typical TV angst case teenager. Chopped my hair short. Wearing all black. Just waiting for Prince Charming to show up, knock my metaphorical glasses off, shove me in a prom dress and make me all normal and perfect.”
“Michael seemed normal, Jamie. You may find, and I suspect you already do, to some extent, that evil does not hide behind a gruesome guise to frighten us; it takes the appearance of normalcy, of a man, to inflict harm upon us. I feel no fear from a teenager in black clothes and Hot Topic jewelry—I know there are some who fly into blind panic upon seeing a skull or a Marilyn Manson CD, but I know enough about the nature of evil to know it does not manifest in people who have been hurt senselessly by an uncaring world.”
“Wow. You’re the first person to actually get it. Maybe you should go talk to the guidance counselor at Haddonfield High. She says I’m giving all the signals of a mass killer.”
Loomis frowned.
“I trained the guidance counselor some years ago. It seems she ignored everything I said. I actually will have a talk with her.”
Taking a drag on his cigarette, Loomis sighed.
“Please tell me though, that you do have some good news. You mentioned you had some before we set up this session.”
“I do, actually. Well, I was gonna quip about not being dead, but that’s not really funny. The good news is, I’m playing the lead role in our school’s production of Hamlet. I auditioned, and the drama teacher’s an old hippie so he has no problem changing genders of parts around. It probably helped I was the only one who memorized a soliloquy for the audition.”
“A play would be just the thing you need to get out there. I’m proud of you for auditioning, Jamie. I’ll see if I can get a ticket for the show. I’m sure they can go without me here for one night.”
“I’d love it if you could come, Dr. Loomis. You know you’re practically family at this point, right?”
For a reason she could not quite explain, Jamie felt compelled to look out the window. A chill had begun to slowly creep down her spine, and her eyes watered for a moment. She looked out the window.
Nobody was there—there was nothing but falling leaves and sheets of linen blowing in the breeze.
--
Jamie returned to school, a half-empty coffee cup in her hand, a new smile on her face, and the taste of a freshly baked cookie on her tongue. Today, nothing could go wrong—
“Hey, Jamie! How was the loony bin Halloween party? Sacrifice any babies to Satan?”
A brunette surrounded by giggling girls desperate for even a shred of attention stood in the entrance to the cafeteria.
“Gee, Meghan, you know, I was gonna, but I’d hate to intrude on your dumpster baby business,” Jamie quipped, idly. “I charge for sacrifices anyway, and I’d hate to try to be competition when all my dark lord has to do is wander around the bathrooms after a major school event.”
Meghan frowned.
“Very funny. Should I tell the nurse you’re on suicide watch again?”
“You keep talking and I just might be. Death would be infinitely preferable to hearing you try to be funny.”
“Give it a rest, Meghan,” said a calm, level boy’s voice from nearby. “I get you’re mad about being dumped, but with the way you talk, everyone knows why.”
“J-John!” Meghan said, caught off guard. “Look, just—tell me what I did wrong—”
“I just did,” answered John Tramer. “You are a terrible person. I don’t date bullies.”
“I’m normal! Unlike her! Tell me you’re not gonna chase her ass just because I called her out on her demon shit!”
“And what exactly has she done?” John said, levelly. “What has she done that hasn’t been either disproved as complete bullshit, or been exaggerated to hell and back from when she was a kid? You want a date here again, learn to shut your mouth when you can’t say anything nice.”
“Or at least find another dick to shove in it,” Jamie deadpanned.
Jamie walked off to the table near the back of the cafeteria where she typically ate lunch with other associated misfits.
“God, I can’t fucking wait till graduation. No more of Meghan trying to frame me up as the queen of the witches, no more drama, no more rumours—” she said, sitting down, as her friend Jimmy Doyle. welcomed her.
“Hey, Jamie. Did you notice the way John looked at you? God. Keep yourself open, girl. Good things are coming your way.”
“Jimmy. There is no way John Tramer is into me. He’s just being nice, which I guess is rare enough around here.”
“Fair enough,” Jimmy said. “Still. Dude had bedroom eyes. I know when a guy’s attracted, trust me.”
“I do trust you. How’s dating?”
“I have made myself the enemy of most of the country club’s young men’s girlfriends. Took a job there as a ball collector and washer over the summer. May have done my job a little too well!” he said, cackling.
“You devil,” Jamie teased. “Does your dad know? Or your uncle Tommy?”
“Fuck no, I ain’t telling either of ‘em. But I think they suspect and don’t care. Still, you never know. I don’t want my life going all Jerry Springer ‘cause dad finds out I’m not into chicks.”
“So, what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Jamie asked.
“Bought one of those Ghost Face costumes from Scream. I’ll swing by your place after a little time out in it—”
“Actually,” Jamie interrupted. “I’m going out this year. I can’t keep running from a stupid holiday. It’s been ten years, and my rubber-masked uncle is rotting at the bottom of a mine shaft. I’m not going to let anything ruin this.”
Just then, John Tramer took a seat at the table.
“Hey, Jamie. Uh, listen, I just want to apologize for Meghan—I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“N-no,” Jamie stammered, swallowing hard. “Seat’s free. It’s usually just Jimmy and I here.”
“I don’t think I’m very welcome at the Huskers’ table these days after ditching Meghan, but I couldn’t put up with her bad attitude any longer,” he explained. “Mind if I join you going forward?”
“Not at all,” Jamie said, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “You’re not…freaked?”
“No, I know that boogeyman stuff is bullshit,” John said, putting his lunch bag on the table. “I feel your pain on it, believe me. Lost my brother when someone mistook him for Michael. Everyone blaming you for it—you weren’t even around for that whole stupid night.”
“I’m guessing Meghan told you the scissors story?” Jamie said, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah. And I asked her what she would have done if she was freaking out and not thinking straight. She shut up. I don’t know why she has such a hateboner for you.”
Jamie shrugged.
“I guess she thinks I’m probably a man-stealing murder ho who likes gutting cats for fun or something. That’s the one thing I never understood. I hate my uncle. I’m terrified of him. So why the hell does everyone think I’m just Michael 2.0?”
“Well, Jamie, not to be insulting, but I think it’s your wardrobe. Personally, I would go with a nice bright feather boa to offset the Spirit Halloween chic, or maybe some white lace,” Jimmy said, in a camp tone of voice. “You know, so many of those uptight young men at the country club really like wearing a bit of lace when they’re coaxed into it. Especially in intimates. You, though—I’m thinking pastels.”
Jamie choked on her drink laughing.
Even Meghan’s death glare across the lunchroom could do little to dampen the moment.
Especially not when Jamie could feel her heart leap when John smiled at her.
--
That night, the wind felt wrong. Jamie couldn’t quite figure out why—it smelled weird, like something dead. As she sat in her bedroom, she sighed and went to shut the window. Eventually, the offensive odour dissipated, but even so, she lit a scented candle.
A knock came on her door.
Answering it, it was just her foster mom, Rachel.
“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to ask you about your day. I really hate that I’ve been so in and out and all over the place lately. You did a good job with the lasagne. I wish I could have eaten dinner with you, but work’s been crazier than ever down at the call centre. I want to help people, but I swear half the calls we get are just the worst kind of pranks.”
“It’s okay, mom,” Jamie said, smiling.
“You’re smiling? Today must have been really good,” Rachel said. “Any breakthroughs with Dr. Loomis?”
“Well, not really, but he said he’s going to try to see me in Hamlet. He said he was proud of how I was handling everything. Wants me to work on the attitude, but doesn’t everyone? At school, though? Something really nice happened. John Tramer actually stuck up for me and ate lunch with us!”
“John is such a nice boy. I’m glad he took time to spend time with you.”
“He said he hasn’t been welcome anywhere else since dumping Meghan. I’m just glad he got some taste. Meghan is such a cun—”
“Jamie, dear. Language. You told me you were going to work on that.”
“Meghan is such a bitch.”
Rachel sighed, but laughed in spite of herself.
“Okay, that’s better. And, honestly, yes, she is. She was so rude to your father down at the general store the other day. She acts like she owns this town.”
“John said he’d had enough of her being a bully. Probably didn’t help that the first thing that happened when I got back from Smith’s Grove on lunch was Meghan asking me how many babies I’d sacrificed to Satan over there. That’s when John stood up for me and told her to stop. Apparently, she even blames me for the death of Ben Tramer. I must be one hell of a psycho bitch, because I wasn’t even born when he died.”
Rachel bit her lip, looking out a nearby window for a moment, and back to Jamie.
“Does this have to do with…Mi--, uh, him? Is he on your mind?”
“Mom. He’s Michael Myers, not fucking Voldemort. May as well say his name. And yeah, not so much on my mind as on everyone else’s. Well, everyone except John Tramer and Jimmy Doyle. Barring the only two decent boys in school, everyone is convinced that I’m going to be Michael 2: Electric Boogaloo and start slashing the place up.”
“Is it…” Rachel said, vaguely gesturing at the posters of various goth bands, metal bands, ultraviolent shooters, and the skull necklace around Jamie’s neck.
“No, no, that’s just me giving people what they want,” Jamie deadpanned. “I wear this shit because I don’t want to be scared anymore, either. Loomis even said my tastes and behaviour are nothing to worry about. What he does worry about is how I’m taking this. He doesn’t want all the good we’ve achieved in ten years to be flushed away because some perfect little skank is spreading rumours about me.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted me to order a pizza on Halloween, and what movies you wanted me to get from Blockbuster—”
“That won’t be necessary, mom. I’m going out for Halloween this year. Probably with John and Jimmy. I’m tired of hiding. I’m going to go buy my costume tomorrow, and then really have a good time.”
Rachel smiled warmly.
“You know, if you want to take John back here…I can always vanish.”
Jamie blushed crimson.
“Mom! It’s not like that…not…that I wouldn’t like that…”
“Good luck, Jamie,” Rachel said, smiling. “I’ll leave you to rest up. I’m so glad you had a good day.”
Miles away, however…
Earth began to break. Wood began to splinter. From under tons of rubble, dust, and bone, a single hand burst free from the ground.
A ragged breathing filled the night air.