Every October, I return to Halloween. Not just because it’s tradition, but because it feels like the beginning of everything horror movies represent. John Carpenter’s film is deceptively simple: a masked killer stalks a small town on Halloween night. That’s the story, but it’s never really about the story. It’s about what you feel watching it.

The quiet suburban streets, the leaves rustling in the wind, the way the camera glides like it’s breathing with you. It’s calm and ordinary until it isn’t. The film doesn’t rely on shock; it relies on patience. The tension builds so slowly it almost feels gentle, and then suddenly it isn’t. That restraint is what makes it timeless. The horror lives in the space between sounds, in the dark corners of rooms you think are safe.

Jamie Lee Curtis gives Laurie Strode a warmth and realism that make her fear believable. She’s not a scream queen; she’s a person. Donald Pleasence’s Dr. Loomis feels like he’s seen this nightmare before, and his certainty about Michael’s evil gives the film its mythology. Michael himself is less a man and more a presence. He’s the shape in the doorway, the shadow at the edge of the frame. You never understand him, and that’s what makes him scary.

Even though it was filmed in South Pasadena pretending to be Illinois, Halloween still feels like pure October. The golden light, the soft sweaters, the jack-o’-lantern glow—it’s fall distilled into film. I play it while decorating, and then again alone, fully present. It’s comforting and eerie at once, a film that makes me feel like I’m home.

I first saw it when I was young, after hearing my mom talk about how it terrified her when she was fifteen. It never really scared me, but I loved it instantly. The score especially—the Halloween theme still makes me smile every single time. It’s simple and perfect, instantly recognizable, and somehow soothing. Maybe that’s why this one never leaves me. My love for this film and for the franchise runs deep, and Michael Myers has always been my favorite of the monsters: silent, deliberate, unstoppable, and somehow human enough to stay with you long after it’s over.

Halloween is quiet, elegant, and endlessly rewatchable. It isn’t just the story of a killer, it’s the story of fear itself, of how it seeps into ordinary spaces until they feel haunted. Some films fade with time but Halloween has proven to stand the test of time.