Haddonfield

The clock strikes 9:00 PM on Halloween night, 1978. Haddonfield is swallowed by pitch darkness, save for the flickering glow of jack-o'-lanterns on front porches.

Inside the Doyle house, Laurie Strode locks the front door with trembling hands. The phone lines just went dead, and she can't find her friends. Upstairs, young Tommy Doyle is crying, terrified of the 'Boogeyman' he swears he saw standing in the shadows across the street. Laurie grips a tight fist around a long knitting needle, staring into the dark hallway, listening to the agonizing silence of the house.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, a white-and-black Haddonfield police cruiser creeps down the street with its headlights killed. Sheriff Brackett shines a spotlight into the dark alleyways, his hand resting on his holster.

Walking briskly beside the cruiser, his tan trench coat whipping in the cold autumn wind, is Dr. Sam Loomis. His eyes are wide with manic desperation, his fingers tightly gripping his .38 revolver inside his pocket. He stops beneath a flickering streetlamp, scanning the dark hedges.

"He's here, Sheriff... I can feel it," Loomis whispers into the dark, his voice trembling with grim certainty. "The blackest eyes... the Devil's eyes. He has come back home."

Somewhere in the shadows between the houses, the Shape watches them all.

The glowing orange face of a carved jack-o'-lantern flickers on the porch of the Doyle house, casting long, distorted shadows across the front yard. It is late evening, October 31, 1978, and a chilly autumn wind is picking up outside.

Inside the living room, the black-and-white television hums quietly. Laurie Strode is trying to focus on her books, but young Tommy Doyle and Lindsey Wallace are huddled under a blanket, terrified. Tommy keeps pointing at the pitch-black windows, crying that the 'Boogeyman' is standing right outside by the hedges. Trying to prove him wrong, Laurie walks to the hallway to call a friend—only to find that the telephone line has been cleanly cut. Dead silence fills the house.

Suddenly, the floorboards on the back porch creak loudly.

Somewhere in the thick, ink-black shadows of the yard, a tall silhouette in a dark mechanic's jumpsuit stands completely motionless. The blank, pale white face of the mask stares directly through the glass door, a heavy chef's knife catching the moonlight.

A chilling autumn wind sweeps through a dark Haddonfield alleyway, sending dead leaves scraping loudly across the asphalt. The suburban neighborhood is deathly quiet, wrapped in the pitch-black cover of a 1978 Halloween night.

A black-and-white police cruiser creeps down the street with its headlights completely killed, its spotlight cutting thin beams through the dark yards. Inside, Sheriff Brackett tightly grips the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the bushes. Next to him, Dr. Sam Loomis sits rigid with manic desperation, his hand wrapped around the revolver in his trench coat pocket. "He's here, Sheriff... I can feel it," Loomis whispers, his voice trembling with grim certainty. "What is living behind those eyes is purely and simply... evil!"

Just fifty feet away, a shadow stretches out from behind a tall cedar hedge. The Shape stands completely still, his heavy breathing muffled behind a weathered white mask. The red taillights of the passing cruiser paint the expressionless face in a blood-red glow as the figure slowly steps onto the dark pavement, trailing them.

(WRITE YOUR OWN SCENARIO)