A novelization by Todd Strasser Based on the screenplay by John Hughes For Adam, Matthew, and Maggie Brenner Prologue On a cold, dark Illinois night, a police car stopped at a railroad crossing. The icicles hanging from the flashing crossing lights broke and fell as a long freight train rumbled past. In the back of the patrol car, Marv Murchens' head throbbed where old man Marley had smacked him with his snow shovel. Next to him, his partner Harry Lyme stared angrily ahead at the slow-moving boxcars. Harry's face was swollen and bruised, and the top of his head was raw where his hair had been burned away with a blowtorch. All Marv could think about was that blond-haired McCallister kid grinning and waving as the cops put them into the back of the patrol car. If he ever got his hands on that kid again he'd . . . aw, what was the point? By the time they got out of prison the kid would probably be a grandfather. Suddenly Harry nudged Marv and revealed a lock pick he had hidden in his hand. Marv grinned. Maybe they'd get that kid after all! While the cops sat in the front seat, listening to the loud clanking of the freight train, Harry picked the car door lock and the two bad guys quietly slipped away. That night Kevin McCallister stayed up late cleaning his house. He picked up the toys the bad guys had slipped on, and went to get the electric barbecue starter, which was still hanging on the front door. He wished he could have seen Harry's face when he grabbed the red-hot doorknob. Crash! Without warning, the door burst open and there stood Harry with a nasty, toothless grin on his face. Next to him, Marv was reaching for Kevin's throat. "Merry Christmas, little fella!" Harry chuckled. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" Marv imitated an evil Santa Claus. Kevin didn't have time to ask how they escaped from the cops. He was still home alone and these guys wanted to carve him into little pieces. It was time to run! "It's all over for you, pal!" Harry shouted as he and Marv raced after him. "Yeah!" cried Marv. "You're all out of tricks, kid!" Maybe not. Kevin dashed out the back of the house and ran through the snow to the side door of the garage. He managed to get inside just an instant before Marv reached the door. Kevin grabbed the remote garage door opener and then climbed up into the small storage attic that covered the back half of the ceiling above the cars. Outside, Harry ran to the garage door. It was closed and the handle to open it was missing. As Harry stuck his finger in the hole where the handle used to be, Kevin pressed the automatic door opener. Suddenly the garage door began to rise. Harry tried to get his finger out, but it was stuck. The next thing he knew, he was rising along with the door! Crash! Marv smashed the side window with his elbow, then reached inside and opened the door. Stepping into the garage, he looked up and saw two sneakered feet hanging over the edge of the storage attic. Thinking they were Kevin's, Marv grabbed them and pulled. "I got him!" he shouted. But the body he pulled down wasn't Kevin's. It was a child-size mannequin. And there was a rope attached to it. Suddenly Marv heard an engine cough to life above him. Behind Marv, trapped between the ceiling and the raised garage door, Harry watched the blades of an old self-propelled lawnmower begin to churn as the mower rolled toward the edge of the storage attic right over his partner's head. "Marv!" Harry shouted. "Heads up!" Marv looked up just in time to see the churning blades appear above. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened to let out a scream, but it was too late! The lawnmower tipped over the edge and came crashing down! December 1992 The Illinois State Penitentiary Nighttime "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" In a dark cell, Marv Murchens screamed in his sleep and woke up terrified. His heart was pounding and cold sweat poured down his face. He jumped out of bed and dashed across the cold concrete floor to his cell mate's bunk. "Excuse me." Marv tapped the man on the shoulder. "Whadya want?" snarled his cell mate, a huge brutish man, who thought Marv was a wimp. "I just had a bad dream," Marv gasped. "Would you mind if I crawled in with you?" Wham! The next thing Marv knew, he was sailing backwards. Thunk! Marv's head crashed into the wall and he sank down into his bunk, unconscious. In a cell nearby, Harry Lyme heard his partner's head hit the wall with a sickening crack. Harry had also had a nightmare about the McCallister kid. The dream had ended with Harry looking up an old rain gutter and seeing a rusty ten- pound barbell come sailing down straight at his skull. Harry slid out of his bunk and walked toward the thick bars at the front of his cell. His ulcer throbbed painfully in the pit of his stomach. He had a plan and, if it worked, both he and Marv would be busting out of this joint in a couple of days. Then they'd have to get some money and leave the country fast. Only one thing could slow them down. Harry's fists tightened around the cold steel bars of the cell. If he ever saw that McCallister kid again . . . December 22 Oak Park, Illinois 6 P.M. The ground was covered with a white blanket of snow, and the houses were lit with colorful twinkling Christmas lights. On the outside, the large brick McCallister house resembled the other stately homes on the block, but inside was a tornado of pre-travel chaos as everyone rushed to pack for their holiday trip. "Has anyone seen my sun block?" shouted Tracey, a pretty dark-haired high school senior, as she tried to get down the center stairs. Her path was blocked by her younger sister Sondra, who was lugging her snorkel and fins upstairs. "What's the point of going to Florida if you're going to use sun block?" Sondra asked. "Yeah," chimed Megan, who was trying to get down the stairs behind Tracey. "I don't care if I age like an old suitcase, I'm getting toasted." "So you'll just be a skag with a slightly darker shade of skin," said her older brother Buzz, who was big and wore his red hair in a flattop crewcut. Buzz was pushing his way up the stairs as if he thought he were Refrigerator Perry of the Chicago Bears. "Buzz is jealous because he doesn't get tan," yelled Linnie, who was fourteen and blond. "His freckles just connect!" At the base of the stairs, Fuller, the youngest member of the McCallister clan, watched the human logjam while sipping a can of Pepsi. Kevin had given him the soda after recording a big burp on his personal Talkboy tape recorder. Now, a chubby, bald man with bad posture came into the room. His name was Frank and he was Fuller's father. That day he had driven his family from Ohio to Oak Park so that the McCallister clan could all travel together from O'Hare Airport the next morning. "Hey," Frank said, waving a copy of the local newspaper at the crowd on the