Rewatching Halloween (1978) yesterday, I had a thought I simply could not make sense of. When did Michael actually break into the hardware store? It had to have been either the night he arrived back in Haddonfield or the following early morning. He already has his mask by the time Laurie drops off the key at the Myers house for her father, yet:

• Laurie goes to school
• Laurie sees Michael watching her from the street while in English class
• Michael stalks Tommy Doyle as he leaves school
• Laurie sees Michael drive by while she, Annie, and Lynda are walking home
• Laurie sees Michael at the hedge near Lynda's house
• Laurie bumps into Sheriff Brackett on her way home
• Laurie sees Michael in her backyard
• Annie picks Laurie up at 6:30pm

Annie and Laurie pass by the hardware store on their way to the Doyle and Wallace houses and see Sheriff Brackett, the alarm at the hardware store is going off, and Leigh tells them someone stole a Halloween mask, rope, and a couple of knives.

You mean to tell me that the alarm was going off all damn day and the police are only now responding to the break-in at the hardware store?

For example, look at the timer at the top of the screen.

• When Michael is breaking down the door: 00:52
• When it switches to Rachel's perspective: 13:12
• When it switches to Dr. Loomis' perspective: 12:46

Even though this is "meant" to be the same scene/moment, it was staged and crafted.

I'm not saying the game isn't going to be good or anything inherently negative, but temper your expectations around an experience that has this level of manipulation in its marketing.

I’ve always been an animal person, whether it was cats, dogs, birds, even the occasional reptile. Growing up, there was rarely a stretch of more than a few months without us having an animal companion around. When I finally moved out of my parents’ place and into my own apartment, I took my cat and the dog stayed with my parents, as he was really my father’s dog. I still got to see him on weekends when I’d go visit for Sunday dinner and he’d always greet me like he hadn’t seen me in years. My cat, Matrix, is independent enough that the move was relatively easy for him, and he always seemed to be comfortable if I was somewhere nearby. He’d been a member of our family since he was a kitten and had a skill that I didn’t fully appreciate until I lived alone: he was a complete assassin when it came to pests. Spiders, moths, the occasional housefly, nothing got past him. I kept a clean apartment, but old houses breathe, and things find their way in. Matrix made sure they didn’t stay.

The apartment itself was rich in character. The house was built in 1842 as a small mansion and was later carved into a two-unit home sometime in the last century. It was part of the town’s historical society, so it was in a highly coveted neighborhood and I had the privilege of having the upstairs unit which boasted high ceilings, tall windows, crown molding, and this beautiful reflective, gold stencil that outlined a sort of art nouveau motif on the ceiling in the parlor. It was the kind of space that looks stunning in photographs but heating it up in the winter was a pain. It was perfect. The downstairs unit was occupied by Charlie and his wife, Evangeline. They were friendly, but a little socially stiff; they were the kind of neighbors that would wave from a distance rather than strike up a conversation until you got to know them. Charlie was a surgeon and Evangeline taught senior-level English at the local high school. Our landlords lived up in Boston and drove down every other weekend to tend the garden and ensure nothing had fallen apart. It was a good place to live.

A few months after I’d moved in, things started to feel off. It wasn’t that things felt wrong, exactly, but it was like the way a room would feel different when a piece of furniture was moved an inch and you can’t figure out which one. It started on an ordinary, rainy night. Charlie and Evangeline were home, and I could tell because their record player sat close enough to their door that music leaked into the hallway. That night it was Springsteen, low and warm through the old plaster walls. I’d been in the parlor, reading a new thriller that I’d picked up, and I got up for a snack. In the two minutes that I was gone, Matrix claimed my spot on the couch, as it was an ideal position for him to look out of the window and judge the street below. I came back with a granola bar half-eaten and found him staring straight up at the ceiling, utterly still.

I followed his line of sight and saw nothing other than a hairline crack near the crown molding and a slight shadow cast by the floor lamp in the corner. I walked over to the opposite wall and flipped on the overhead light, expecting to perhaps startle a moth into view. The moment that the room brightened, Matrix shifted his attention to me as if he’d been shaken loose from whatever had held his curiosity a moment prior. He meowed in a short and direct matter-of-fact acknowledgement and moved to the chaise lounge and loafed. I didn’t think much more of it as I shut off the overhead light, returned to my spot on the couch, and resumed my reading. An hour or so later, I went to bed without having thought much more of it, still.

At around 3:25am, I woke to the mattress shifting under Matrix’s weight as he jumped on the bed and moved up closer to me. I lay still, waiting for the usual routine: he'd make a few careful steps, a slow circle, and then I'd feel the warm weight of him settling against my side. He only ever cuddled with me when he thought I was asleep, affection on his terms, so I made sure to keep his expectations in order.

However, he never settled. When I finally opened my eyes and let them adjust to the dark, I saw him sitting at the foot of the bed, upright, staring at the ceiling. He was motionless in a way that didn’t look like curiosity, it looked like attention.

“What the hell,” I muttered, sitting up and reaching for the lamp.

It happened the same as earlier that night; the moment the light turned on, he broke from concentration. He turned and meowed at me, like he was answering a question I hadn’t asked, moved over to the right side of the bed about halfway up, and laid down. I turned the lamp off, but it felt like hours before I finally fell back asleep.

The next evening, I called my mother and walked her through it, already anticipating what she was going to say.

“It was probably a bug or a reflection,” she said. “Cats stare at things all the time, Mason. You’re never going to see whatever it is that they see.”

“I know, I know, it’s just weird.”

We talked for the better part of an hour about nothing in particular, and by the time I hung up and made dinner, I’d mostly talked myself out of thinking about it at all. The evening unfolded as normally as one could expect. I read a few chapters of my book, watched an episode of a true crime documentary I’d been interested in, and it was a relatively quiet night.

As I was about to get ready for bed, I turned off the television and glanced over and saw Matrix at the far end of the couch, head tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling again. I reached over and scratched behind his ears, more to break the spell than out of affection.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is it a bug?”

He didn’t move a muscle. I followed his gaze up, more out of habit than expectation, and this time I understood what he’d been staring at for two days.

It wasn’t just on the ceiling, it was almost pressed into it, like the way a hand impression is pressed ever so slightly into wet clay. It was long, with limbs bent at angles that would be impossible for anything remotely human. Where I would’ve expected to see a face was instead just two patches slightly darker than the rest, as if they were eyes, and I had the sudden, nauseating certainty that they were aimed directly at me.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, and then it did. It folded backward into the plaster the way a spider draws its legs in, gone into the ceiling like the ceiling had never been solid to begin with; all that remained was the hairline crack in the crown molding. Matrix sat in the same spot on the couch, still staring, his tail flicking only slightly. I had the overwhelming sense that something had just changed its mind about being seen in its entire form.

I remained sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling, until the sky started to change color.

Black Tower Studios took over development of F13, Predator, Ghost Busters, and Texas Chain Saw Massacre for "quality of life optimizations, updates, and maintenance" and always seem to break more than they fix. It smells like a pattern and I hope Halloween doesn't suffer the same treatment.

I'm thinking the events of the story mode don't exactly follow the events of the 1978 film. Going by some of the wording in the news articles published to the website, namely Unleash Hell Upon Haddonfield and Welcome to Orange Grove Estates...

>Orchestrate the deaths of every unsuspecting victim while carving your own gruesome path toward the final babysitter encounter with Laurie Strode. Stunning cinematic story cutscenes introduce these chapters, characters, and story beats with signature Halloween aesthetics and shot recreations, building a Haddonfield true to the original film.

>Following his escape from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, Michael Myers methodically stalks and terrorizes various districts throughout Haddonfield, eventually bringing him to the neighborhood of Orange Grove Estates, the location of our third official map reveal for Halloween: The Game.

...as well as the commentary on the livestream Q&A and the article, The Night He Came Home Reimagined, that stated the hero characters (Jennifer, Tanya, Thomas, etc.) are all in the story mode, I'm thinking that the story mode won't even involve stalking Laurie, Annie, and Lynda at all, at least not in the way most of us may have been expecting.

It sounds more like Michael escapes Smith's Grove and makes his way through Haddonfield one district at a time, being tracked by Dr. Loomis, and ultimately being shot off the balcony of the Doyle house...which is only one ending. Since it was confirmed there are multiple endings "that are determined by the actions players take throughout their homecoming to Haddonfield," it's reasonable to think that Michael could successfully kill Laurie Strode and vanish into the night, by being stealthy and hiding bodies so Dr. Loomis can't figure out where Michael is, or maybe get captured by Dr. Loomis and sent back to Smith's Grove anywhere between Chapters 4 and 6, if Michael draws too much attention to himself.

With that being said, I'm thinking the story mode chapter layout may be as follows:

• Chapter I: Smith's Grove Sanitarium
• Chapter II: Rabbit in Red Lounge
• Chapter III: Phelps Garage
• Chapter IV: Haddonfield Town Center
• Chapter V: Haddonfield Heights
• Chapter VI: Orange Grove Estates

I initially thought that we might be able to play as child Michael in 1963, stalk and kill Judith, and then skip ahead to Smith's Grove in 1978, but it seems more plausible that it'll just be a cutscene.

Fortunately, there's only about 48 days left until we find out. 🎃

EDIT: After re-watching the story mode trailer, I saw that Phelps Garage is actually right next to the Rabbit in Red Lounge, so they're most likely in the same chapter.

A $150 collector's edition should not be missing content from its lesser priced or digital editions. Players shouldn't have to buy multiple copies of the same game to get everything on offer.

If you want a physical copy but also want the Phantom Michael and Inmate Michael skins as well as the Richard and Alexis characters, you'd have to buy a digital version, too. "Exclusive" or not, that is insane.

I said what I said.

I made the mistake of scrolling on X earlier and all the comments I was reading were so full of brain rot, it gave me a headache. I've never seen such collective nonsensical discord in my life.

>"It's ridiculous that GTA VI's physical edition is $80 and doesn't even come with a disc and probably not even a booklet."

One has nothing to do with the other. Never in the history of mainstream gaming has a physical edition cost more than a digital edition just because it's on a disc and vice versa.

Expecting a game to cost less due to a lack of physical consumer material is insane. You mean the booklet that you'll either look at once or not at all? You mean the disc that still only serves as a license to download and install the game, since PS5 and Xbox game discs can only hold a max of 100GB of data?

If you want to be mad or upset about GTA VI not having a physical disc, at least use a logical reason. If you want something physical to show for the money you spent, sure. If you want the freedom to be able to sell/trade the game in the future, sure. If you just don't like digital media and prefer physical items, sure. But don't use some cockamamie performative excuse to complain.

>"I can't believe they're locking core gameplay functions behind a $100 edition."

They're not. These are bonuses. Yes, Rideout Customs, Sara's Unisex Salon, Stock 305, Electric Fang Tattoo, and One-Eyed Willie's are all exclusive to the Ultimate Edition, but they are not the only vehicle modification garage, barber/salon, clothing store, or tattoo studio in the game.

You'll still be able to customize Jason and Lucia and vehicles in other locations, just not these. It's not a hard concept to grasp. There's no core gameplay functions being locked behind anything, just cosmetics and a couple of cars out of hundreds. These are additional offerings. I could see if these were the only locations in which you could customize Jason and Lucia and their vehicles, but they aren't.

If you agree, great. If you disagree, argue with each other in the comments, I guess. I've had enough of the internet for today. People are literally exhausting and really need to strongly consider therapy.