This will be my account where i post fanfics and my other writings!
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About me and my page:
• This is my first time writing Fanfics for others and posting them so please be nice and let me know if i’ve made any mistakes 😭🙏
• My name is Bella and my pronouns are she/her
• This will be my writing space but also a safe space for others!! feel free to ask me anything! 😁
• Fics or on going writes may come out a bit slow depending on the time. i usually have a lot on my plate but will try and post whenever i can
• Fuck Trump, Maga DNI
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Fandoms i’m in/will write about:
• Texas Chainsaw Massacre - Bubba, Nubbins, Chop Top, Thomas
• House of 1000s corpses - Otis, Baby, RJ, Mama
• House of wax - Vincent, Bo
• Halloween RZ - Micheal, Laurie
• Friday 13th - Jason
• Marvel - Loki, Thor, Bucky, Tony, Moonkignt boys
• DC - Bruce wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian, (only platonic for Damian), Two-face, Lobo
• Spider-verse - Miguel, Hobbie
• Last Of Us - Joel
• MHA (will write sometimes, but rarely) - Aizawa, Tenya,
• Gravity falls - Stanley, Stanford
• Sinners: Everyone but especially Remmick
PLEASE NOTE:
There will be times i will write a fic and only put a name to the character, everything else is up to your imagination. Feel free to imagine another chapter if you like!!
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 2.8k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, Michael steals panties and other personal belongings, stalker Michael, mentioned of  suicide, eventual smut
A/N: I am so so sorry for the wait, i got caught up in a few things plus writers block ☹️ that’s why the chapter is so short! but i will try to push out another this week. I will try to post new chapters every friday, but if i don’t, bear with me!
ADDED TAGS‼️ please read before continuing.
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Chapter: 6
“Michael….”
Blood pools around the limp man’s body, staining the parking lot. The street light overhead flickers slightly as you manage to tear your gaze away from the man, you look at Michael. His knuckles are white from how tightly he grips the bloody knife in his hands, his chest heaves up and down as he takes deep, rapid breaths, though you can’t hear them.
He looks at you through the mask, eyes piercing into you.
Your body screams at you to run but you know that’s not an option.
You glance back to the building. Were there any cameras that saw? What would happen if there was? Would you get fired? Taken to jail?
From the quick look around you do, it seems to be a blind spot at the outside building. But someone could walk out of those doors at any time and see.
You can still feel the cold metal of the man’s pocket knife against your skin. The spot where it was stings a bit. You reach up and lightly touch it. Pulling your fingers back down, there’s blood on them. He probably nicked you when Micheal pulled him away.
You look back at the body. You can’t leave him here, can you? Even if you don’t, there will still be the pool of blood against the pavement, and blood on the light pole where Micheal smashed his head in.
There’s no way you’re hiding a body.
Micheal killed him, not you. It’s not your problem to deal with.
You shove your hand in your bag, fingers finding the cold metal of your keys, wrapping around them and quickly pulling it out.
How did Michael even get here? It’s a 2 hour drive back home and a definite longer walk. Did he really walk that long to just come and stalk you?
You quickly unlock the car and open the door, ready to flee the scene and get home. But you pause. Michael walked all this way already, and did technically ‘save you’ from getting assaulted and possibly killed, even if it was in his own brutal way. It feels wrong to leave him here after he just killed a man for you.
“Get in.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The old front door slams shut behind you.
After arriving home, Michael went off to only god-knows-where, leaving you alone to deal with trying to comprehend what all happened.
Honestly, you don’t know what to think.
Michael saved you, even if it was in his own very brutal and murderous way. He saved you from getting assaulted and maybe even killed.
Why? He didn’t have to. He could’ve let that guard have his way with you, left you for dead in that parking lot.
But he didn’t, and you don’t know why.
It’s not like you could just ask him why he did it, so your brain starts to work overtime to figure it out.
You head upstairs and walk into the bathroom before turning on the shower, stripping down, and stepping into the warm water.
Some part of you hopes the water will wash away all the events of today. Maybe if you scrub hard enough, all the thoughts of it will go away entirely. But you know that won’t happen.
The sight of Michael smashing the man’s head in never leaves your mind for a second. Just the thought of the blood and brain matter splattering everywhere leaves you very nauseous.
You see it every time you close your eyes. You hate it.
You've seen gore in movies, but have never experienced something as real as this. The weight of his life weighs on you. Sure, he was very, very shitty, but he said he had a wife and kid, a 6 year old. That six year old is gonna have to grow up without a dad because of you. Because of Michael.
Tears fill your eyes before you can stop them. You don't really feel that bad for the guard, but more bad for his child.
You may have just ruined a life. Or many, for that matter.
Quickly, you wipe your eyes, and continue scrubbing your skin, harder and harder with each swipe of the rag.
Meanwhile, as you’re in the shower, Michael slowly makes his way up the stairs, knowing which steps not to put his weight on because of how loud the creak might be, where to step so as to not make a sound. He’s made sure he knows every little thing about this house and its layout.
He slowly pushes the cracked door of your bedroom open, his ears immediately catching onto the sound of the shower running in the connected bathroom.
Michael has been in here a few times, much to stare at you as you sleep or to just watch as you get ready in the mornings, but never has got a good chance to snoop around. Why not now then never?
The whole room is thick with your scent, he notes. The whole house smells like you, but in this room, it's the heaviest.
Your dresser is lined with lotions, perfume, makeup, jewelry, and some other personal belongings.
He steps further into the room, footsteps silent against the hard wood.
His eyes lock onto your nightstand beside your bed. He goes there first.
Pulling open the top drawer, it first looks like just a bunch of junk, That is, until he digs a bit deeper.
Underneath a few things, is what looks to be your diary, or what you call a ‘journal’. His eyes scan the pages as he fips through each one. Mostly, it's you logging your dreams and nightmares. But there's also more personal stuff too. Stuff about your parents, childhood, complicated thoughts, work, ex boyfriend. There's one page dated back to before you moved here. It reads,
“Im done. I can't do it anymore. I've asked and asked him to do literally anything around the house, to at least try and respect me. Nothing has worked, nothing has changed. Then I came home today after work to him in bed with my bestfriend? How shitty can life really get? What god really hates me? I'm getting out of here, I'm gonna stay with other friends until I can figure out what I'm gonna do. Maybe I could move back to Illinois. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I deserve better than this. At least, I think I do.”
Michael flips through a few more pages until he finds another one that's dated only when you both were at Smiths Grove.
“Loomis has assigned me to work with Michael. I don't really know how to feel. I have a lot of questions. Does he remember me? What if he does but i dont look the same? What if he just flat out doesn't? Was all this wondering and thinking all for nothing? I guess I'll see what happens.”
He flips more until he gets to a more recent one, only a few nights ago. A nightmare.
“Its the same. But each time I wake up terrified again and again. By now you would think I'm used to it, but I'm not. Each time my brain manages to make something new to keep me on edge. I don't want to wake up in a cold sweat anymore. I dont wanna go to bed terrified of the dreams that await me. But I don't know how to stop it.”
Shutting the journal, he stuffs it into his larger pocket. He wants to read more, to more deeply pick into your brain. But he doesn't have much time left to explore before that bathroom door opens and you step out.
He walks over to one of the last parts of your room that he has yet to explore. Your dresser.
Now, Michael isn't really exploring anything here. He knows what he wants in here and is one of the only reasons he decided to snoop in the first place.
You see, when Michael first started to watch you sleep without you knowing, he noticed these red little laced panties that you've worn. And, for some reason he can't explain, he had to have them. Especially after you found out about this weird habit and covered up more while sleeping.
As much as he would get satisfaction from seeing dark crimson leak from your neck as he watches the life fade from your eyes, he also doesn’t want you gone. And the feeling of wanting to keep you near overpowers the urge to kill.
You make him feel…something. Even if he truly doesn’t know what that is. Not yet.
He searches through your top drawer until he sees something red peaking out from under some other colors. He pulls them out and just holds them for a minute, his fingers slowly brushing over the lace edging.
It ends soon when he hears the shower turn off. Michael quickly stuffs them in the same pocket that has your journal in it before quietly leaving the room.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The cold, wet water from your hair slowly drips down the back of your shirt as you stand in the kitchen, waiting for your tea to finish.
The shower has helped a bit, but you think some fresh air might do you good too.
Grabbing your cup, you head outside and onto the porch. You lower yourself onto the old and creaky porch step.
Crickets fill the air as you look up toward the night sky. You try to remember some of the constellations, and find them. Ursa Major, Scorpius, and Orion. You think back to those nights where you and Mikey used to sit up on his roof, climb out from his bedroom window, and look at the stars. You would get out a book about stars and lay it out between you two and see who can find the most.
Looking over to the other house across the street, you look at the rotting wood and peeling paint. You look over to the window that used to be his bedroom. It's boarded up, like all the others are.
It's sad, really. You have a lot of good memories in that house, even if the bad that has happened out weighs the good.
You remember cooking with Debbie, her baking while you and Michael play with boo, Debbie protecting you and Michael from Ronnie's harsh and demeaning words.
What happened to them? Well, you know Michael killed Ronnie that night, but what about Debbie and Boo?
You set your tea down beside you and get up to run inside. Grabbing your laptop off the coffee table, you rush back onto the porch .
It doesn't take long to find it.
Debbie is dead. Died of suicide, only a few weeks after Michael got into Smiths Grove. You guess it all got too much for her. Seeing her son slowly slip away, you wonder what she would think of him now. Murderer. Serial killer. The town's urban legend.
Tears silently spill down your cheeks. She was like a second mom to you, she was there when your mom wasn't.
You quickly type ‘Angle Myers’ into your computer. And weirdly, there's nothing.
No death record, no police record. There's nothing.
Odd.
A yawn interrupts your train of thought. Right. You got too busy caught up in memories and forgot how tired you were,
But you should probably journal this before you go to bed, just to get it off your mind. You go back in the house and make sure to lock the front door. The back door is still not fixed so it makes it easy for Michael to come and go as he pleases. You set your laptop back down in the living room before heading upstairs.
You hop into bed before opening up the drawer on your nightstand, you dig through it a bit.
Nothing.
Weird. You swear you put it here? You get up to look in a few other spots. You still can't find it.
Well, shit. Guess you'll just have to look harder in the morning.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You still can't find it. No matter how hard you look. You swear you've searched every damn square inch of this house.
Michael is currently watching you tear apart the living room. Cushions hastily thrown all over the room, side table drawers emptied out on the coffee table. You look up at him from your place on the floor.
“Are you just gonna keep standing there, or are you gonna help me?”
And in fact, he does keep standing there. Watching you nearly lose your mind at 6 in the morning over a journal, which was hidden by Michael downstairs in the basement.
You sigh and glance up at the clock.
“Shit! I'm gonna be late!”
You almost topple over as you stand up, rushing to get your stuff together and get out the door in time.
Michael watches as the front door shuts behind you, quickly followed by the sound of your car pulling out of the driveway, all the while thinking about what in your room is worth taking next.
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 4.5k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, eventual smut
A/N: I will try to post new chapters every friday, but if i don’t, bear with me! we’re really getting into it here! 👀
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Chapter 5:
Nothing has happened.
At least, nothing major.
Michael just kinda… shows up sometimes. It’s weird.
All the rest of the time he’s not in your house, you’re not sure where he goes. Maybe outside? Or across the street to his old house?
It took you a while not to be as scared as you were. But you’re definitely always still on edge, especially because of the power he holds over you.
He could easily kill you at any given moment, but he chooses not to.
You wouldn’t say you’re comfortable with him, but you aren’t as freaked out. You still tiptoe around him a lot, still afraid that something you might do might set off a trigger and he’ll pounce.
He never hurts you or attacks you, even if he has his knife in hand. He’s just… there.
It’s been a few weeks and you guys have had a few odd moments.
For example:
One night, you wake up in bed with an abnormal dry throat. Reaching over to your nightstand, your hand finds the glass you keep there. You lift it up. Empty.
With a tired sigh, you throw the covers off your body.
You pad into the dark kitchen, rubbing your sleep filled eyes. With your free hand, you pat the wall to find the light switch. Feeling it, you turn it on.
“Fucking hell! Michael!” You almost have a heart attack. There he is, in the middle of the damn room, just standing there. He turns to look at you.
You sigh and push past him to the fridge.
“You gotta stop doing stuff like that. Couldn’t you sit on, like, the couch or something?”
It’s a rhetorical question. You know he won’t answer nor won’t he sit down on literally anything. You don’t think you’ve seen him sit down since the sanctuarium.
The hum of the refrigerator fills the silent kitchen as you take the pitcher out of it and fill your glass.
After you finish, you close the fridge and turn around to face him, bringing the glass to your lips. His body has turned to follow your movements around the room, his head slightly tilted. You notice he does that a lot, tilt his head. You don’t really know why.
Your eyes flicker down to his dirty and blood stained coveralls. Where the hell did he even get them? Especially in a size that fits him. They trail down to his hands, also dirty, and his knife nowhere to be seen. You know it couldn’t be too far, though.
You finish at least half the glass before putting it down on the counter and wiping your mouth with your sleeve. He keeps staring, unmoving. God, sometimes you can’t even tell him he’s breathing.
You wonder what he sounds like now. He definitely won’t sound like how he was when he was 10. Would it be deeper? Rougher? Loomis said he hasn’t talked in 17 years, does he never remember how to after that long?
“You ever gonna talk again?”
Nothing.
Worth a shot.
“Whatever, I’m gonna go back to bed. Night, Mikey.”
You leave the light on as you leave the room, it feels wrong to turn it off and leave him in the dark, even though that’s how you found him. If he really wants to, he’ll turn it off himself.
——
Or another example:
You’re stuffing your face with popcorn, watching one of your favorite horror movies. It’s one of the only things you’ve been doing these past few weeks as your on leave for work.
It’s one you’ve seen a thousand times before, you can practically resist the script by now. But somehow it never really gets old. Blood and gore but just the right amount of real plot to keep you on the edge of your seat.
It’s about half way through when you feel a pair of eyes on you.
You turn your head to look over your shoulder and there he is. Standing a bit ways behind the couch, towering over you, is Michael looking at the TV with the same amount of attention you were.
“Can I help you?” You say, mouth full of popcorn.
He turns his head just enough that now you know his focus has turned to you now and not the movie.
“You know you can sit on the couch, right? I don’t bite.” (bars)
But he might.
Once again, he just looks at you.
You shrug then turn back to the TV.
“Suit yourself.”
———
You also think he likes scaring you. It’s like he pops up out of nowhere.
Getting something out of the cabinet and turning around? He’s there.
Opening the door to the bathroom after getting ready in the morning? He’s there.
Turning around literally any corner? He’s there.
You swear he drives your cortisol through the fucking roof.
You don’t really know how to feel having a serial killer and also ex childhood best friend live in your house. He scares you a lot of times, yes, but he hasn’t done anything.
You always keep in mind that he can literally end your life at any moment, even when you’re sleeping, but for some reason he hasn’t yet.
He also keeps going down to the basement. You don’t know what he’s doing down there and don’t really wanna find out. But you might have to whenever it’s time for you to do laundry.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You’re currently lounging on the couch, flipping through random channels as you try to find something good to watch, as Michael lingers somewhere in the house.
You saw him earlier so you know he’s here.
This is all you’ve really been doing ever since Michael’s escape and you being put on leave until further notice. You’ve also been debating on texting Jenny to see if she wants to hang out. But maybe you’ll wait off on that.
You’re bored out of your mind. And having nothing to do causes you to think, you don’t want that.
So you’ve found things to busy yourself with. The house is spotless after being deep cleaned about five times, the books on your shelf have been rearranged in alphabetical order, the pantry and fridge are stocked from how many times you’ve gone shopping, and you think you also have about five new outfits from how many times you took a trip to the mall.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the doorbell ringing.
Your eyebrows furrow as you push yourself up from the couch. Who could be at the door? You aren’t expecting anybody and you don’t think anyone knows your address. Maybe it’s a sales man?
On your way over, you spot Michael lingering in the foyer. He heard the knock too from the looks of it. Before you can even say anything about it, he hides himself behind the wall in the main entry way, upstructing the view of him from whoever is on the other side of the door.
The sound of the deadbolt sliding fills the empty room as you unlock the door and pull it open.
“Loomis…?”
To say seeing him at your doorstep is shocking is a total understatement. He was the last person you were expecting to show up at your door.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes look past you and into your home, eyes scanning the area. “Well, I needed to talk to you”
“And you couldn’t just call me?”
“It is urgent.”
You sigh and glance over to where Michael should be hiding. He should still be hidden if you let Loomis in. You open the door further and step out the way.
“Fine. Come in.”
Loomis gives a small ‘thank you’ before stepping in. You lead him to the living room so you can both sit down. You sit yourself at your original spot and Loomis takes the chair diagonal to you.
“So, what is it you need to talk about?”
His eyes still heavily scan the room and everything surrounding him, like he’s looking for something.
“It’s about Michael.”
You sigh and drag a hand over your face. “This again? Loomis, I already told you—“
“I know! I know you told me but I don't think you quite understand the severity of it!”
The anger starts to slowly bubble up in your chest. Talking about the whole thing over the phone is one thing, you can handle that. You can lie over the phone and deal with his stupidity. But in person? You’re not so sure how much you can take before you snap.
Loomis continues, “You are in incredible danger, at risk. Michael has killed many already and I have great theory that you’re next.”
“You keep saying that but you’ve never actually shown me you’re proof. If you really think I'm in ‘such danger’ then show me, tell me what really makes you think this.”
He sits now on the edge of his seat, elbows leaning on his thighs as he clasps his hands together. “Well, I can't give out too much detail but I've been trying to keep tabs on Michael to the best of my abilities. His murders, at least. His destruction has a path, and it’s leading right to you.”
Well he doesn’t know that Micheal in fact already has made his way to you. And guess what? You’re not dead yet! For whatever reason…
His eyes keep darting around the room and he keeps looking over his shoulder. What is he searching for? You ignore it for now.
“Right. And what am I supposed to do about it? Go to the cops and say that I have a great chance of being murdered? You know Haddonfield PD won’t listen to that. You want me to move houses? Maybe even states? That’s also off the table. I don’t have the money for that.”
Loomis looks directly at you now. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”
“Then why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me this if you know there’s truly nothing I can do about it? To make me worry more?”
“You aren’t worried enough! Get it through your thick skull that you are in danger. Why aren’t you worried more? Do you know something?”
You feel your heart skip a beat. He’s catching on. Is that why he keeps looking around? You do know something, a lot of things. But he can’t know that.
You take a deep breath to try and say calm. You try your best to play it off.
“You think I know something? Loomis, you are truly fucking insane to think that. I’m not insanely paranoid because I haven't seen anything yet. But I am worried. You don't think I'm scared that I could get killed at any moment?”
“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re too calm, you know something.”
You throw your head back.
“Fucking hell, Loomis! I don’t know what the fuck you think i’m hiding from you but you’re crazy. You know what I think? I think you need to stop looking too far into it. Go home and take a nap or something, and stop riding on Michael's case like it’s a dick.”
Was that a bit too much? Yeah. But you couldn’t really help it!
Loomis does seem definitely taken back by that.
“I’m trying to help you, to warn you.”
“Yeah, well, I don't want it. Thank you, Loomis, and respectfully, please get out of my house.”
He stands and says your name. “You don’t understand—“
“Out! Please, Loomis.”
He listens this time, taking his leave as you follow behind him. As he opens the door, he turns around to speak. “You’ll regret this. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You don't know the level of evil you're dealing with—“
”Goodbye, Loomis.”
You shut the door in his face. Twisting around, you lean your back on it and sigh as you listen to the screech of his car as he pulls out of your driveway and speeds down the street. Your head drops into your hands. What the fuck did you get yourself into?
A thought pops into your head. Did Michael hear any of that?
You walk over to the spot where he was supposed to be hidden. He’s not there. You look over towards the back door. It’s cracked slightly. How did he leave without getting noticed? Especially with Loomis’s creeping eye.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
He doesn’t come back for a few days.
It bothers you more than it should.
He’s done this before, it’s fine. Or, at least that’s what you tell yourself.
It’s around 4 in the morning when you hear a crash from down stairs. You instinctively bolt up from your bed, hair roused and night clothes all crinkled from sleep. Your body calms down, but only slightly, as you know it’s probably Michael.
You slide out of bed and make your way downstairs.
You find him standing near the once again broken back door. Right. You forgot to keep it unlocked so he decided to just barrel through it this time. This time, it’s gonna be his job to fix it.
Your eyes drift over to him as you try and blink the sleep out of them. You also quickly wake up when you realize he is absolutely drenched in blood and dirt. Some of that blood has to be his, right?
“What the fuck happened? You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.” like he was going to anyway.
His chest moves fast with the ragged breaths he’s taking. Whatever it was, it must have been intense.
The knife in his grip slowly drips blood onto your floor.
“Come on, Mikey, I just cleaned those! Can’t you like, hose off in the yard or something?”
He just looks at you.
Fair.
“Or at least a shower?” You try. Honestly, you thought he would just ignore you completely and head down to the basement.
But he seems to think about it for a moment.
He looks at you, then slowly turns his head to the blood pooling on the floor and the bloody and muddy footprints he’s tracked into the house.
Then he makes his way slowly to the downstairs bathroom,
No fucking way.
You just got Michael Myers to listen to you.
Picking your jaw up off the floor, you speak. “And— uh, while you’re showering, maybe I could wash your coveralls for you?” Two in one. You don’t know if it’ll stick, getting him to shower is already a damn miracle in itself, but it’s worth a shot.
He stops, seemingly to think about it. Then keeps walking.
Oh well, you had to at least try.
The door slams shut behind him and a few moments after, you hear the shower start.
You turn around, ready to head back to bed, when the sound of the door clicking opening makes you turn back around.
There, on the ground near the door, is his dirty coveralls. No mask though, he took that with him.
The door closes once more.
You just kinda stand there for a moment, not really believing what’s in front of you.
You try not to give yourself a lot of time to dwell on it, rushing over to pick up the pile and take it to the kitchen. Touching it almost makes you gag. It reeks of death and must. You highly doubt he’s washed it before this. It’s not just his coveralls, but his under clothes too, which aren’t as stained but still pretty bad. God, how could he stand wearing these. Well…nevermind. It’s Michael.
Glancing towards the basement, you debate if you really do want to go down there to wash his clothes. You could hand wash them up here but that would take forever and you doubt his shower will be that long.
With a sigh, you leave the mask on the counter for now and make your way to the basement, swinging the door open and turning the light on.
You’ve only been down here a few times. Once when you were still moving in and needed to store boxes, and a few other times to wash your clothes. But you haven’t been down since Michael has come crashing into your life and seems to spend most of his time down here.
Carefully making your way down the old steps, you reach the bottom.
To much of your surprise, nothing has really changed down here.
It makes you wonder more what Michael could be doing in here.
Shaking your head, you make your way over to the washer and dryer. The small light in the middle of the room flickers from time to time, causing your breath to hitch. You don’t like the dark, especially down here. You don’t know what, but something about being down here just gives you chills. You pray that the light doesn’t go out on you.
You lift up the coveralls to see them fully. There’s many tears and stains that you honestly have no clue how they got there, nor do you wanna know. You throw the pile of clothes into the washer, making sure to put a shit load of detergent and softener in first before you start it.
You stand there and watch as the water and soap inside turn red and brown. Gross.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You’re standing in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee, when you hear the shower stop.
After you finish, you lift the mug up to your lips and turn around.
Your body jumps back at the sight, spilling coffee on your night shirt.
There Michael is, standing there, blankly staring at you, with only a towel covering his lower half, mask in hand
Your eyes immediately go to his unmasked face. Most of it’s covered by his wet, long, matted hair but you can still see slightly past it. Definitely not the cubby faced 10 year old you knew.
From what you can see, he’s definitely grown into his face and now has a stubble/beard? His eyes are older, less bright, more narrow.
Your eyes trail down to his bare chest and you snap out of the daze you're in.
“Shit. Your clothes are in the basement on top of the dryer and your knife is over there.” you say, pointing to the other counter where his knife lays.
Micheal looks at you, then at his mask. With a few long strides, he crosses the room and grabs his mask, then makes his way down to the basement, shutting the door behind him.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
It’s been a few days since you’ve seen his face.
And strangely, things have settled down a lot more.
You’re less scared and don’t watch yourself around him as much. I guess your body realizes that he’s not actively trying to hurt you. Not yet, at least.
You’ve also noticed a few more things around the house.
There was one night where you were gonna heat up some leftovers that you had in the fridge for dinner. But when you opened the door to the fridge and looked around, it wasn’t there.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
You know you had it in here.
Your eyes dart over to the sink, finding the empty container there. You know you didn’t eat it, so there’s only one other person it could be.
It happens only a few times which makes you wonder how much he eats. Does he go days without food? That's what it seems like.
Michael also has seemed to get a bit more comfortable, unfortunately for you.
Another night, you woke up after another nightmare to find him standing over your bed. You swear you almost pissed yourself and probably woke the neighbors with the scream you let out.
Currently, you’re making dinner, a large enough portion for the two of you, though you doubt he’ll eat tonight. Michael stands somewhere behind you, close, but not close enough to get in your way. His coveralls and mask look a lot better, but still not great. There’s still some stubborn stains that won't come out.
You wonder if he’ll ever take them off and wear normal clothes, like the ones in the sanctuarium. Maybe if you get him some…
Your thoughts are cut off by the phone ringing. You set down the knife you were using to cut up vegetables and wipe your hands clean. You turn around and push past Michael to the phone. It better not be Loomis again. You pick it up.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice on the other end says your name.
“This is she.”
“Hi! This is Smiths Grove. We wanted to let you know that you are now available to come back into work starting tomorrow.”
A smile sneaks its way across your lips. As much as work was stressful, it gave you something to do, and you really need that right now.
“Thank you for letting me know! I’ll be in tomorrow morning.”
You put back the receiver and turn back to Michael. He’s staring at you, head tilted.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You would never dream of the day that you would wake up at the crack of dawn and say ‘I'm excited for work!’ but well, today’s the day!
You woke up extra early to do your hair and makeup. Honestly, you don’t think you were this ready and excited to do something since moving here.
As you grab your keys and purse, you look around. Michael’s nowhere to be seen. Should you leave a note telling him where you’re going?
Instantly, you mentally slap yourself in the face. You’re a grown ass woman, you don’t need to tell him anything! And he also goes out every other night without you knowing where he is, why does it matter?
You step outside and lock the door behind you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The smell of chemicals and dust hits you as soon as you walk through the door. Things have changed. There’s a lot of things that obviously have been repaired and some stuff still broken. There’s areas that are still blocked off.
How much havoc did Michael really cause here?
Once you change into your scrubs, you head into the break room, where you are greeted by Jenny and Chris.
As soon as Jenny spots you, she lets out a squeal and runs toward you, pulling you into a hug.
“Oh my goodness! You don’t understand how much I missed you, girl!”
You smiled, a true smile, and hugged her back. “I missed you too.”
“We were so worried!” Jenny says, pulling back to look at you, setting her hands on your shoulders.
“We didn’t know if you were working that night or not.” Chris chimes in, walking up behind Jenny.
“I wasn’t, I got off earlier that night, thankfully.”
“Good.” Chris says.
“I have so much to tell you, girl! Sit, sit!” Jenny says, pulling you further into the room.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Today went well, better than normal, patients were great and Jenny‘s company felt good after being with just Michael for so long.
Even though it was a long 12 hour shift, it should be good money. To say you’re tired is greatly an understatement, your eyes feel heavy as you walk out into the parking lot. Your car is one of the few left, the rest mostly being guards.
You sigh as you dig through your purse to find your keys.
“Well, what do we have here, sweetheart.”
You almost slam your head down on the hood of your car as you hear that voice. You glance over your shoulder.
It’s that fuckass guard.
He smiles at you, teeth rotten and yellow.
You turn back around, now focused on trying to find your keys, fast. “Not interested.” You say, keeping your voice void of any emotion.
“Oh come on, honey, I miss ya, you know? That freak that broke out made me so sad I couldn't see you anymore.”
Him calling Michael a freak sets a deep ache and anger in your chest. But you act like you don’t hear him, and keep looking.
You hear his footsteps coming closer before his hand wraps around your forearm.
You wipe around and try to hit him, or at least get out of his grip. But he’s quick to hold a pocket knife to your throat.
You look at the blade, then at him with fearful eyes. “Please don’t.”
“Oh but I will if you make a scene.” A grin spreads across his face.
“I’ve been waiting a while for this, y’know? To shut up that pretty mouth of yours, to use it for actual something good.”
Your nose crinkles at the smell of his nasty breath fanning over your face. This wasn’t how you thought you would die, in a parking lot with some perv.
He leans in closer, assumingly for a kiss. You close your eyes tightly and turn your head as far as the knife will let you without cutting you. You hope that this is all a nightmare, that you’ll wake up at home, in your couch, with the TV playing in the background.
Just as you feel his grimy skin graze yours, he gets yanked away from you with a scream.
Your eyes open as you stumble backwards and hit your car.
Michael stands, towering over the man that’s in his grip. He has him by his throat and lifted up off the ground. The man’s face turns bright red in seconds from the lack of air. His hands claw at Michael’s but it’s no use. Babbles spill out of his mouth and you can make out some sort of apology.
The sound of Michael’s knife plunging into the man’s stomach is something you never want to hear again.
Michael drops the wounded man and the guard scrambles on the ground, moaning in pain but also gasping for air. Michael's feet go on either side of the man’s body as he reaches down to yank out his knife.
The guard screams and tries to crawl away.
He doesn’t get far before Michael grabs him by the back of his neck.
“Please, Please! I-I’ll do whatever you want! I-I got a wife, a son, he’s only 6 please! Don’t kill me, I'm sorry! I won’t do it again, plea—“
His begging gets cut off as Michael slams his head into the light pole. Again. And again. And again. Until he’s unrecognizable, face blooded and smashed in. The deep crimson color covers Michael’s hands and sleeves as he drops the limp, dead man to the ground.
You tear your eyes away from the body and look at Michael, who is staring right back at you.
He turns slowly to look at you.
You don’t know when the tears started, or when you started shaking. You’ve seen gore and blood in the shitty horror movies you watch but it’s nothing like this. Nausea fills you at the sight.
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 4.2k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, dead animals, vomit, intense fear, nightmares, panic attacks, mentions of depression, eventual smut
A/N: I will try to post new chapters every friday, but if i don’t, bear with me! New warning added, please read those before continuing!
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Chapter 4:
A tired groan escapes you as you push open the door to your house, rubbing your sore wrist.
You shut the door behind you and look down at it. The finger prints are starting to bruise already, it also hurts to move in certain ways or put any pressure on it.
The whole drive home you tried to wrap your head around why Michael grabbed you the way he did. He hurt you, yes, but not as bad as he could have. You’re sure he could have killed you on the spot if he really wanted to. But he didn’t.
But why?
Why didn’t he hurt you worse?
Was it a reminder? A reminder of how badly he could hurt you, the power he dangles over your head, just out of your reach?
Today was supposed to be you forgetting about Michael, finally moving on and getting your fresh start that you wanted, moving on from the past. He would be gone and then you could keep going with your life.
But it seems like every time you try to move on, something like this happens. Something always happens to bring you back into this circle of questions, of why’s. Whether it’s a nightmare, a rediscovered memory, a new article. Always something.
You can’t seem to escape him, no matter how hard you seem to try. But do you really want to escape? You’ve kept trying for a ‘new start’ but keep ending up back to him.
Michael plagues your mind, even if you want him to or not.
You’ve tried and tried to make yourself forget over the years but nothings ever worked.
You came here for a fresh start. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Surely all the events that happened to go on in Maine didn’t just give you an excuse to go back to Haddonfield, right? Surely you didn’t just get the job at Smiths Grove just to see Michael, right? Surely you didn’t come back just to try and ease that undying curiosity and connection you feel towards Michael, right?
A groan leaves you as you drag both hands down your face.
You’ve tried to hide from it, ignore it. But how much longer can you do that before your mind eats itself alive at the thoughts of him.
The grumble from your stomach disrupts every thought. You haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning and are definitely too tired to cook anything. You were also planning to pass out candy to kids tonight but you’re too tired for that too.
Deciding to just call and order a pizza, you drag yourself to the phone.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Shedded from your work clothes, you’re spread across your couch, greasing pizza in one hand, remote in the other, bowl of candy and an empty and half drunken beer on the coffee table. Some shitty horror movie plays on the tv, one with an over used plot and very crappy gore.
The alcohol is made for you to forget.
Maybe if you drink enough everything will just go away.
You can faintly hear kids laughing and walking the sidewalks outside, going trick or treating.
It makes you think of that night, how happy you both were just hours before the murders. How Michael knew just the right streets to go on to get the most amount of candy, what streets the dickheads at school took on halloween, what houses gave out apples and not candy.
You feel stupid by how much you miss it. Stupid that you’re missing something from when you were a kid, something that you can’t get back no matter how hard you wish for it.
Finishing off the rest of your beer, you set the bottle down on the coffee table.
Your eyes feel heavy with sleep. It’s been a long day, your wrist still aches and no matter what you do or how much ice you put on it, your mind won’t stop running. Maybe some sleep is what you need.
It’s a bit early, yes, but you don’t really care.
Too tired to walk to your bedroom, you lay down and pull down the blanket from the back off the couch.
You drift off, listening to the screams of the victims on the tv.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Halloween Night, 1990
You stare out the window, eyes darting around the scene in front of you.
Bright red and blue lights flash against everything, lighting up the dark night.
Bodies get carried out of the house across the street on stretchers, covered by a tarp.
The sound of Debrah screaming and sobbing, while holding Boo, fills the air.
At first, you didn’t know what was happening. You were really worried about Michael, you couldn’t see him anywhere, was he one of the bodies that was getting dragged out of the house? What happened?
It takes a few more minutes of watching before you see him.
Michael getting escorted out by police, clown costume still on from when you were treat-or-treating just a few hours before. Yet, now it’s covered in blood stains
You watch for a minute, mouth slightly parted in shock, eyes glued to him as he gets walked to the police car.
The pounding of your heart against your chest fills your ears as it gets faster, and faster.
You meet those baby blue eyes as he steps into the police car and you feel your vision tunnel as you finally snap out of the daze you’re in.
The cop closes the door behind him, blocking your view. And that’s when the band snaps
Your legs move before your brain can even register you’re running. You bolt downstairs, practically screaming Michaels name at the top of lungs, running as fast as your 9 year old legs will take you.
You’re not really sure what your goal is. All you know is that your scared, terrified your best friend is about to be taken from you. And you feel an immense need to stop him from leaving. Or at least talk to him, figure out what’s going on.
Almost hitting the banister on the way down, you dart there room and into the foyer
The front door was so close. So, so close. Your fingers almost curl around the handle when a pair of arms wrap around your small torso, yanking you back. It's your father.
Your mom stands nearby, still in her night clothes, like she also just got woken up by the scene outside. Her hand covers her mouth as she has to turn herself away from you. She knew how much you and Michael meant to each other, even if she didn’t like how much trouble you both got in.
Tears quickly fill your eyes as you thrash in your fathers arms, desperately trying to escape his hold.
Your voice cracks as you call out his name. You don’t know what you expected to happen. Maybe for him to come through that door and tease you for crying over him and then invite you over to watch some random movie.
But part of your 9 year old brain knows that won’t happen.
Turning into your fathers chest, you grip the fabric of his shirt, you sob, whispering Michael’s name every few seconds until everything goes black.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The first thing you notice is a chill, unfortunately familiar cold air.
A cold that settles deep into your body, no matter how heavy of a coat or sweater you wear.
You’ve seen this room too many times to be as scared anymore. Yet, no matter how many times you visit this place, there is still some fear that lingers each time.
You stand up from your place on the ground. The red lights cause an ache to settle behind your eyes. The group of masked figures are at their usual spot at that long dinner table.
Something you will never get used to is their stares. Even though you can’t see their eyes through the stupid masks. The unseen eyes feel judgemental, heavily so. A deep judgment, just like the cold.
You’ve played this game before. Too many times to count.
You look over to the center of the table, expecting you 17 years ago in that little witch custom, looking like you're sleeping even if there’s no rise and fall from your chest. Peaceful. Innocent. Unknowing.
But that’s not what you see this time.
It’s you. Now. You’re sleeping form on the couch, from another person's perspective. Like someone is standing right above you, and you’re seeing yourself through their eyes.
You swear your heart skips a beat.
No.
No, this is not how this is supposed to go. This is not how it ever goes.
You’re supposed to see the younger version of you, then Michael comes in and says some odd shit each time. Not this.
Panic rises in you. What does it mean?
It’s different. Not a good different.
You stare at yourself in the center of the table, trying to ignore heavy stares all around you.
The sound of a footstep fills the room, the sound of weight creaking against a floor board. You know who’s entered. You turn around, heart pounding in your chest.
Michael myers. 10 years old, in that fucking clown suit.
There’s a tremble in your whole body that you can’t control.
He reaches his hand up and pulls the clown mask off his face. You both stare at each other for a second.
He opens his mouth.
“He’s here.”
—
You wake up with a gasp and a burning feeling in your chest. There’s a ringing in your ear, blinking as you try to get the blurriness of sleep out of your eye. Pushing yourself up into a sitting position, you try to control your breathing. Tears fill your eyes as your face falls into your hands.
Everything is so overwhelming. The fucking flashbacks, the strange dreams. It’s all too much. The reason you went to bed early was so you could escape from it. From him.
But it seems like your mind has other plans.
“Fuck...” You mumble, wiping the tears that have escaped your eyes and fell down your cheeks. Why does this have to happen to you out of all people?
Why does your mind torment you with replaying the same shit over and over?
You’ve never had two in one night. A memory and a nightmare. Maybe it’s because you’ve been very stressed lately.
“Breaking news! An outbreak has occurred at Smiths Grove.”
Your head snaps to the TV. What?
“Early this night, a patient of the name ‘Michael Myers’ had massacred the building and escaped. The number of people injured is still coming in. Police are refusing to give further details. Updates will keep coming in.”
Michael escaped?
Massacre?
What the actual fuck is happening to you right now.
Whatever god that is out there must absolutely hate you right now.
Where’s Michael at? Is he in police custody? How many people has he killed? How the fuck did he even escape?
At least you weren’t working tonight.
Your thoughts are running a mile a minute when you feel a gust of wind.
That’s weird. No fan or AC should be on.
Your head turns to look over the back of the couch, trying to find the source of the breeze.
Another breeze guides your gaze to the back door. It’s wide open. You can see from your spot on the couch that the deadbolt has been broken.
Then your eyes lead to the figure in the middle of the room.
His coveralls and boots are soaked with blood and mud. In his hand holds a knife, equally as bloody. Then the mask. Paper white yet tattered with years of worn, weathered and gritty, brown hair sitting in mats on top of the head.
It feels like your body has sunken itself into the couch below you. No fight or flight, just stuck. Frozen.
Your eyes dart around him.
His posture, height, build, dirty blonde hair peaking out from the bottom of the mask. It all leads to—
“Mikey…?”
The nickname slips out, out of habit.
His hand that holds the knife tightens around it, knuckles turning white.
Shit. Is he here to kill you? Here to finally end the endless cycle of your mind that’s been plagued with him for the past 17 years? Finally here to end the endless thoughts and nightmares? The endless memories?
If he attacks, what would you even defend yourself with? The empty beer bottles on the table might do some damage if you try hard enough. Or would you even try to fight back? Would you just give in and let him end the suffering of your mind?
Well, to much of your surprise, he doesn’t.
He stands there and stares. It’s not the cold and judgmental stare you were feeling almost moments before in your dream.
Okay, well maybe it is a bit cold.
You can’t see his eyes in the dark through his mask, but you can imagine them. From what you remember from when he grabbed your wrist, the brightest in his eyes have dulled in 17 years. They’re more of a gray now.
You don’t know how to describe the feeling of his stare.
You don’t know long long you just stare at each other before you try and speak.
“Micheal, wha—“
Before you can get out whatever else you were going to say, he turns away and walks deeper inside your house, footsteps eerily silent as he carries himself.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
It’s very safe to say that you don’t go back to sleep that night.
Even when morning comes, he hasn’t left.
Or, you didn’t see him leave at least.
Your brain is still in scrambles. Part of you doesn’t believe it. Part of you wants to believe that it was just another dream, maybe a hallucination because of stress. But the still open back door and the muddy footprints that lead into the house tell a different story.
Michael Myers, Michael fucking myers is in your house. A man that just murdered a whole lotta people before breaking into your house.
And he did nothing but stare. Didn’t lay a single finger on you or shove his knife deep into your body.
Is he fucking with you? Waiting until your guard is let down so he can strike?
The hours have gone by unbearably slow. Every slight sound of the house has you jumping and your hands curling into the blanket. You haven’t seen or heard him ever since he came in.
You’ve spent the rest of the night on edge, in fear, until the sun comes up.
How long had he been in the house, looking at you before you woke up?
And what the actual fuck was that dream? “He’s here.” How did he know? How did your brain subconsciously know?
The only thing that tears you from the couch is the sound of the landline phone ringing. Gaining enough courage to leave your spot now that it’s day time.
Taking quiet and as quick steps as possible, you reach where the one is mounted to the wall. You grab the receiver with a still trembling hand and answer.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice comes through.
“I’m assuming you have seen the news?” Loomis.
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
“It was an absolute blood bath up there. At least 10 deaths so far, police are still looking into it, won’t let too much information out, even to me.”
Nausea fills you. 10 deaths. 10 more lives taken by his hands.
“It’s safe to say you’ll be on leave for a little while until everything gets cleared up.”
“I thought you retired, how would you know I'm on leave?” The words leave your mouth before you can even think about how they sound. But it is true. He technically had no power over your schedule anymore.
“Well for one, I only retired a day ago before all this happened and two, I know because police won’t let anyone back into the building without finishing the entire investigation.” Loomis responded, clearly a bit annoyed by your previous tone.
“Is that all you had to tell me, Doctor?”
“No,” he says with a heavy sigh. “No, it is not. I need you to listen to me.” His voice drops a bit quieter, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear what his next words might be. “You are a very high target right now. Not only because you have known Michael, but that you also live across from his house. Be careful, and safe. Only god knows the extent of the things he could do.”
If only he knew.
If only Loomis knew that you have said serial killer lurking somewhere in your house right now.
You don’t know what to say. “Oh yeah man, he came to stop by last night, no biggie though,”
Yeah, no.
You can’t just tell him, can you. Michael might be listen from… wherever he is right now. If he hears you snitch, he might come and kill you now. And you would like to not die by a stab wound to the chest.
“Yeah… I’ll be careful, Loomis.”
“Good. Let me know if you seen anything.”
The line goes dead. You put down the receiver and lean your head against the cold wall. Sleep gnaws at your body but you refuse to surrender to it. Too much could happen. You’d be too vulnerable. And you really don’t want another nightmare.
The light filling the house brings you the tiniest amount of comfort. It’s not as scary anymore now that you can actually see everywhere.
You pad into the kitchen, peaking around every corner on your way, on edge and filled with a fear that you might see Michael lurking around a doorway. Once you reach the empty kitchen, you throw open the cutlery drawer and grab a knife. You doubt it would do anything if Michael does try to attack you, him being able to easily over power you with size and strength, but you never know.
You creep back into the living room to check on the broken backdoor. The lock is completely done for, you’ll have to get a new one. Some of the wood has been split around it too. How the hell did you not wake up to the sound?
Your eyes fall down to the large, muddy footprints on the wood floors. They lead further into the house.
Should you follow them? The reasonable answer is no. You shouldn’t. You should leave the house, go to a neighbor's house for safety and call the police.
But in what world have you ever been reasonable?
You follow them until it leads you to the door of the basement. The door is shut
You never shut that door. It always gets jammed if you do. You always leave it cracked so you spare yourself the misery of having to slam against it with your shoulder.
Now, there is some sense still left in you to know that you will most definitely not go down there.
At least you know where the hell he is.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Hastily throwing on clothes, you rush to grab your purse and keys. You can’t stay here. You’re too paranoid and worried. You have to go get a new lock anyway, why not go to the store and try to clear your head?
Once you’ve gathered everything up, you take a glance at the basement door. Still closed. Good.
You fling open the front door and the smell hits you like a truck.
Death.
You recoil as you look down to your porch mat.
A dead coyote lays, tied to a makeshift crucifix with twine, all bloody and rotting. Flies surrounded it, landing on the open, glossed over eyes.
Nausea overcomes you quickly at the sight.
You rush back inside and double over the trash can, all the candy and pizza you had the night before coming up.
It’s from him without a doubt. You remember all those times Michael would show you the polaroids of dead animals he took. Whether he killed them or not, he didn’t say.
But this is fucking sick. You don’t know the meaning behind it, or even if there is one.
You stand there for a minute, gaining back your composure. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before standing straight up again.
What the hell are you gonna do with this thing? Throw it away? Would Michael get mad if you do.
You shake your head and run your hands down your face, walking back to the front door.
You push the dead animal to the side with your foot, looking away while doing so to avoid gagging and vomiting again.
After it’s moved, you quickly shut the door and hurry down the sidewalk. You figured a walk would be better, help you clear your mind a bit more than a drive would.
Plus the store isn’t far
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The whole way you feel watched, followed. But every time you check over your shoulder, nothing.
You try to chalk it up to being just paranoid from all that has happened, but the feeling doesn’t die down until you get inside the store.
You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were hiding when the automatic doors slid open. The cold air of the AC hits you in the face, it's colder inside than outside in the fall air.
It doesn’t take long to find a replacement lock. But you end up just wandering around the isles, because honestly? You don’t wanna go back home. Not yet
There’s only so many cans of soup you can stare at before there’s nothing else to look at.
Eventually, you drag yourself over to the checkout.
The teenage cashier looks a bit perplexed at your choice of groceries, which is just a door lock, and gives you a weird look. You’re too tired to say anything, let alone fight back. You just wanna go back home, to your home before there was any serial killer in it.
You hand over the cash a bit too harshly before grabbing the bag and walking out.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
As you lower yourself down on the old porch step that creaks under your weight, you throw your head down in your hands.
The tears come fast and quick. With no sleep and enough stress to kill a man, a serial killer and past childhood friend in your house that may or may not kill you, everything is way too overwhelming. You wanna crawl under a bridge and just sleep everything away. You wanna wake up and this all be another horrible fucking nightmare.
Death feels like the only real escape at this moment.
You truly don’t really know what to do.
Why hasn’t Michael killed you by now? Is he just fucking with you? Toying with his prey before he strikes? Is he even planning to at all?
And why the hell did he take sanctuary in your basement? Is he even still down there?
Life really likes to throw a big shit in your face.
You wipe the remaining tears off your face before standing up and fishing your keys out your bag.
The dead coyote is still rotting on your porch. You’ll deal with that in the morning.
Pushing the door open, you take a hesitant step in.
It’s quiet. Unnervingly so.
You slowly creep more into the house. Nothing has moved or is out of place, yet.
You take a peek at the basement door. It’s cracked open.
Your heart pumps faster against your chest. Is he somewhere else in the house now? You’re starting to understand why the town has given him the nickname ‘The Boogieman’. This shit is fucking terrifying.
Your head whips over to the back door. That’s left open too. You closed it before you left, you know you did.
Does that mean he left? Is he gone for good?
Whatever the case is, you’re just happy to have some peace, even if it is just for a little while. You drag yourself over to the couch, practically throwing yourself down onto it.
God, you want nothing more than for everything to go back to normal. Shit, at this rate you might even consider going back to your shitty life in Maine. It might even be better than whatever the fuck is happening to you here.
None of it makes any sense, even when you try and put stuff together in your head, you just can figure it out. You throw on the TV, leaving it on the first channel.
Sleep claws at your eyes and body. You’re entirely and utterly exhausted. But you can’t sleep. Not yet. He might break in again, but this time you might not have the chance to wake up.
The light from the TV sets a deep ache into your eyes.
You try and fight it, you really do. But the sweet lull of sleep soon comes, and your eyes fall shut.
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 3.2k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, eventual smut
A/N: this chapter is short but i promise it is very very worth it. next chapter will also makeup for it!
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Chapter 3:
It’s been a little over a week since you’ve started working with Michael. Nothing really ‘amazing’ has happened ever since the first time with that head tilt, or whatever it was. The most he’ll do is look at you, but Loomis still insists that it’s somehow ‘great progress’. Whatever that means.
You’ve just got done passing out meds as you push open the break room door. You’re met with the faces of Jenny and Chris. You haven’t talked to them in a while.
“Hey guys” you say, forcing a little smile. It’s not like you were unhappy to see them, you were just tired. It’s been a long week of dealing with difficult patients. There was this one man who tried to fight someone in the cafeteria during lunch over a cup of jello. Yeah, not fun.
“Hey girl!” Jenny says, with too much enthusiasm with someone who works a lot more hours than you do.
She continues, “I was just talking to Chris about you!”
“Good things, I hope?” you say with a slight laugh, pulling up a chair across from them.
“Of course! I was wondering if you’d wanna go out with us tonight?”
“Where at?”
Chris pipes up, “This bar and grill downtown, a few others from here and probably gonna come too.”
“I figured it’d be good for you to get out! You’ve worked your ass off here and since you’re new in town, it would be a good way for you to make some new friends. Oh! Or maybe even a few guys!”
She reaches over and grabs your hand, squeezing and shaking it a little as she laughs.
“I don’t know, guys… I’ve never really been the social type—“
“Come on, girl! Live a little! what does it kill ya to relax and drink for a few hours!”
You think about it for a second. Would it really be that bad? It has been a very long week and it wouldn’t be that bad to get a little buzzed and eat some food.
What you definitely won’t be doing is making new ‘guy friends’ Jenny suggested.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
It takes a very embarrassing amount of time for you to find an outfit. It took about 30 minutes for you to pick between two dresses and double that to find a hair style you wanted.
There’s an even more embarrassing amount of the times you’ve fixed yourself in the mirror.
You can’t remember the last time you were dressed up like this. A nice dress, makeup and hair done. Hell, you even put on your expensive perfume. It’s a bar and grill, yeah, but Jenny told you to go all out.
It feels very unnatural, but good. It’s nice to get all dolled up once and awhile
Nervousness claws at your stomach. You’re not a very social person, never had been. You like familiarity, not meeting new people.
The warm heat of your car almost makes you stay in it.
But the thought of the sweet burn of alcohol sliding down your throat overcomes that.
With a heavy sigh, you push open your car door and step out.
____
You’re met with the sound of laughter and drunk yelling as you walk in. Your eyes scan across the crowd of drunk old men yelling at whatever football match plays on the tv, soon finding Jenny waving you down.
It feels weird seeing her not in a nurse outfit. Same with Chris who’s sitting beside her.
You make your way over with quick steps, sliding passed chairs and people, trying not to slip on the dirty ass floor in your heels.
Jenny has already spared a seat for you, next to her. There are a few others at the table that you recognize from work, but none whom you know the names of. You think the most you’ve never interacted with them was a nod or two.
“You look great girl! That color suits you. I’ll buy you a drink, first ones on me.” Jenny says with a smile.
—-
Conversation flows smoothly around you as time passes. You only talk when spoken to, mostly just listening to everything happening.
You’ve deemed that the drink you're nursing right now will be your last one. You’re buzzed and you don’t have a DD so you thought it would be best.
You do feel more relaxed, laughing more easily at jokes, your body not as tense. It feels nice to have a break form… Well, everything.
Work hasn’t been too bad, just tiring. Plus the nightmares have been getting worse since it’s closer to halloween, more frequent. They’ve always gotten bad in the fall, ever since the murders.
What's also been keeping you up is what Michael said in that dream…
“Why’d you back?”
You came back for a fresh start. Right? I mean, sure the idea was definitely impulsive but what other reason would you have to come back?
You have been curious about what happened to Michael for a while but that curiosity is hardly enough to drive you back here. Right?
Whatever. You take a big sip of your drink, trying to get the idea out of your mind
Jenny’s not drunk yet but is close to being. She’s the more talkative one at the table. She always has been. In every room she walks into she seems to be the light of it, no matter who else is there. A part of you envies her easiness to make friends and conversation.
As whatever conversation she was originally was having gets boring and shifted over to Chris, she turns to face you.
“Soooo, a little birdie told me that you are the new nurse of The Boogieman.”
That name makes you cringe inside. You hate it. You hate how this town has turned Michael into an urban legend to scare others, a story that parents tell to their kids to scare them to get back home before dark.
But nonetheless, you force a smile and nod.
“Yeah, Loomis assigned me to it a little over a week ago.”
“Why? I mean, it’s not like I think you can’t do it, it’s just not the thing you were originally hired for.”
Shit. Now you gotta lie.
You can’t just say,
“Oh yeah, I was his childhood friend before I moved away and Loomis thought it might be a good chance to see if there’s any signs of him improving. Nothing special though!”
Yeah no. So instead,
“Not really sure, actually. I think it might have had something to do with my resume. I’m not complaining though, I get a bonus out of it.”
Is it a great lie? Not at all. But Jenny seems to buy it.
“How is it?”
“Not bad at all. He’s like most patients, just really quiet.”
“Really? Loomis makes him sound more evil.” Jenny mumbles, taking a sip of her drink.
“Has he talked to you about Michael?”
“Not to me, but I've read his book on him. He sounds messed up as fuck.”
Loomis wrote a fucking book on Michael? You try your best to suppress the shock on your face but it obviously slips through.
“You didn’t know?”
“No! What has he been saying?”
“I can’t remember exactly but he describes him as like this embodiment of a demon, a true psycho, really fucked up stuff he says. If you’re that interested, look into it. It might be best to know a patient of that extreme better.”
Loomis never once mentioned a book to you. Who writes a book on someone they’re trying to help? And if what Jenny is saying is true, why would he write that about Michael even after he’s stated he thinks there might be room for improvement, even if it’s small? You will look into it.
“Yeah… yeah I probably will. I’m probably gonna head out. See ya monday.” You say, getting up from your chair, forcing a little smile despite your racing mind.
“See ya, girl! Drive safe!!”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
It doesn’t take you long to find it.
It’s called, ‘The Devils Eyes, The Story of Michael Myers’
Not all of it is bullshit. Loomis does do a deep dive of what mental problems might be wrong with him and proof from his studies, you don’t doubt that. He also talks about the nature of his murders, which was kinda tough to read.
What is bullshit is how he talks about Michael’s childhood in Haddonfield.
He gets most of it wrong, and doesn’t even mention you once. (which you are kinda glad for.)
You were there, you would know. It’s like he’s literally just pulling information out of his ass.
Jenny was right, he does describe Michael as a demon, if the title wasn’t already enough to tell.
Here’s a quote for even more proof,
"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss, but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."
- Dr. Samuel Loomis
Michael killed 3 people at 10 years old, yes, but that does not give Loomis— his doctor, one that has been supposed to help him—to over exaggerate his childhood and life for blood money.
But what do you really know about Michael now? You knew him when he was a kid, and Loomis has been with him for 15 years. He could’ve seen stuff you didn’t. He could very well really be the ‘devil’ or ‘boogieman’ as they say.
Maybe you’ll ask Loomis about it.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You go into work the next day absolutely exhausted. You stayed up late researching, then could get no sleep because you were thinking about everything. Almost every part of your childhood with Michael replayed in your mind, trying to piece together things that might go with whatever diagnoses that Loomis gave him, trying to maybe see the early signs
So with 0 hours of sleep and enough caffeine to kill a horse, you walk over to Dr. Loomis’s office.
The hallway has been decorated with halloween decorations, they’re practically everywhere in the building now the holiday is only a few hours away. Little pumpkin stickers decorated the walls and doors, with the occasional bat or ghost.
Halloween has always been your favorite holiday, even after the incident with Michael. You like the shitty horror movies with unrealistic gore, you like the costumes and masks and dressing up (even if you don’t dress up anymore unless it’s for a party), you like the candy, you like the pumpkin scent that fills the air.
Lifting your hand, you place three soft knocks on the door. You wait until you hear a ‘come in’ from the other side before going in.
Loomis looks up from whatever paper he’s reading and greets you with a smile.
“Oh great! I was already hoping to talk to you today. Come in, sit.” He says, waving you over with his hand.
You pull out the familiar chair you’ve sat in many of times
before, and take a seat. Loomis speaks before you even get a chance to open your mouth.
“I know I've said this before but I've worked with Michael for 15 years and every technique I have tried to help him has failed. Even with bringing you in to maybe help, I didn't do much but have a bit of a reaction change. I’m going to be honest with you, I don't see much more I can do for Michael. Therefore, I'm resigning.”
You freeze in your seat. This is definitely a lot and not what you were expecting. “What will happen to Michael?”
“He will be transferred in a few days. After that, you can go back to what your routine was before.”
He’s just gonna quit? Just like that? “So that’s it? You use him for blood money then just give up?”
This obviously takes Loomis back. His eyebrows pinch together and his eyes narrow. “Blood money? I’m afraid I don't know what—“
“The book, Loomis. Don’t act stupid. You used the deaths that he caused and his mental state to capitalize off of other people’s misery, so you could get enough money to retire.”
“That is not what I did. I wrote that book to inform people of the evil that Michael holds, to show them my work and how I tried to help Michael.”
“Maybe originally. Originally, when you first met him, you truly tried to help, but after realizing you failed, you decided to use him for your own benefit. That’s definitely what it seems like to me and many others, Doctor.”
“I tried everything. Everything. But nothing can fix evil like that. I wrote the book to share my experiences with Michael.”
“Sure. Sure that’s all you did it for…”
The chair legs screeches as you stand.
“Have a good retirement, Loomis.” you call over your shoulder.
“I don’t know what Michael you knew before the killings, but I promise you it’s not him now. Michael is pure evil. And maybe one day you’ll see that.” He yells out before you slam the door behind him.
That’s not how you expect that to go. Well, you don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that.
You didn’t expect Loomis to just retire, especially after this long of working with Michael.
______
You try to not think about it for the rest of the day, but fail pretty miserably. It plagues your mind non stop.
Where is Michael getting transferred to? Loomis didn’t say, he was very vague about it. Another facility? Maybe another part of the building?
You shake your head. Why do you care so much? It’s not like he’s your friend anymore, let alone do you know anything about him now.
It’s your last day being his nurse anyway. Maybe after your routine goes back to normal, it’ll help you stop thinking about him.
The cart you push down the hall is filled with trays of lunch for your patients, plus their meds. Each paper cup has a name written on the side. The first one?
Michael Myers.
With a heavy sigh, you keep pushing until you reach the gated area.
The same guard is there again from last time. He spots you as you're still a good amount from the gate. His face spreads into a grin, rotting, yellow teeth on full display.
You internally groan, praying to whatever god is out there that this fucksss guy doesn’t talk to you again.
And much to your luck…
“Hey, sweetheart? Back so soon?”
The amount of restraint you have not to punch this dude in the throat is astronomical.
“Again, just doing my job.”
“And looking damn sexy while doing it. Tell you what, I'll let you in that gate, if you let me take a sweet thing like you out for dinner.”
There isn’t much you can say without losing your shit and getting fired. So you stick with,
“I have a boyfriend.”
“He doesn’t have to know, gorgeous! Come on, now…”
You glance up at the camera on the ceiling. It points directly at you two. You’re hoping whatever guards that might be watching have enough pity to understand the situation and what you’re about to say and don’t report you.
You take a deep breath and close your eyes for a moment.
“Listen, man. I’m not interested. At all. Now, will you please get the fuck out the way so I can do my damn job!”
The man’s grin drops at your sudden switch.
“Whatever, bitch.”
The gate opens with a buzz.
“Here, damn.”
“Thank you.”
You say mockingly before flipping him off, dragging your cart in tow.
You’ve always hated people like that, who can’t take hints even if you shove it right in their face. Especially creepy ones like that guy.
Does he do this to just you or other female nurses? Either wouldn’t surprise you.
You stop in front of the door labeled ‘Myers’. Taking your hands off the cart, you drag them down your face with a sigh. You can already tell this is gonna be a long day.
Loomis isn’t here to do his usual standby at the door. You figure it’s because of the argument earlier.
Grabbing his tray off the cart. You push open the heavy metal door.
Michael is at his desk, like he normally is. You don’t think you’ve seen him anywhere else in the room.
With careful steps, you go inside.
You sorta take in the moment. This will probably be the last time you’ll even be in the same room as Michael.
Did you get all the answers you were hoping for? No. But you have gotten some. But there is a part of you that wish the others you were curious about one day do get answers.
He doesn’t look up or pay any mind to you as you walk in, continuing to work on whatever and papier-mâché mask is now taking up his time.
You walk over to his desk and reach to set the tray down, like any other time.
Before you could pull your hand away, his own shoots out and wraps around your wrist.
In an instant, his grip around your wrist tightens and a white-hot pain shoots up your arm.
Confusion and fear set in. Why is he doing this? And how is his grip so strong? It almost feels like he’s crushing the bones beneath your skin.
You look down at where his hold is on you and see the red mark forming. There will 100% be a bruise left.
But he’s not doing anything else. Just holding. You’re
“Mikey, please… you’re hurting me.”
His grip doesn’t let down, but only for a few more moments. Only then does he let go. But his eyes. His eyes burn through you, much like the ones in your nightmares, seeing straight through you, deep in your soul.
You take a tiny step back, then another, and another, and another, until you’re all the way outside the door, all while holding his gaze. Only when you start to shut the heavy metal door does he look away and go back to his work.
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 5.4k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, eventual smut
A/N: I will try to post new chapters every friday, but if i don’t, bare with me!! Some exciting things happen in this chapter 👀
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Chapter 2:
The room feels cold. A deep chill that seeps down into your bones. Everything is blurry as you try to sit up from your place on the ground. Rubbing your eyes, you find that you're in a dimly lit, red room. When you look up, you see a table, a long dining table. There were multiple masked figures sitting, looking down at you. Well… at least, you assume they’re masks.
Quick to get up to your feet, you stumble backwards, hitting the wall behind you. They all stare. And even though some of them don’t have eyes, it seems like they can see right through you. See all that you have done, all the wrongs you’ve committed, all of the nights that have went wrong because of you, every mistake you have never made. And they judge you for it. Hard and ugly judgment.
You feel like you just wanna back into one of the corners and curl into a ball, begging whatever god is out there to make it stop, for you to be anywhere but here. But you can’t. For some reason, your body won’t let you. All you can do is just stand there, trying to avoid their stares and the increasing beat of your heart.
Looking somewhere else to look that’s not them, your eyes settle on the table. Though, you wish you would’ve looked at your feet instead. Laying in the middle of the table, is you. But not you now, no. It’s you, 15 years ago, in that witch costume you wore on halloween night. Your eyes are closed, like you're asleep, but there is no rise or fall of your chest. Just stillness.
That stillness seems to spread like fire across the room. There’s no breeze in the air, no sway in your stance, no breath from the masked people. Just stillness as you stare at the younger you.
It’s only broken when you feel a new pair of eyes on you. Not like the cold and judging ones that are also currently on you. Something familiar. Your head turns to look, snapped out your sudden trace. You’re met with the blue eyes you know all too well.
The blonde 10 year old stares back at you with a blank expression. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he even thinking anything? There’s no emotion on his face to give you any hints.
Seeing his face again brings a sharp pain in your chest. “Mikey…” Your voice comes out quieter than you wanted it to, almost a whisper.
There’s quiet for a moment. He just looks at you, you look back. Then, he speaks.
“Why’d you come back?”
Why’d you come back? Confusion fills your head. You came back for a new start! Right…?
All thoughts get cut off by a sudden sense of dread. You look at Michael then back at the younger you laying on the table. Tunnel vision starts to hit and you swear the room starts to get even colder. Dread. The feeling gets stronger. And stronger. And stronger. And stronger. Then—-
You wake up with a jolt, pushing yourself up on your elbow. Looking around your familiar room, a small piece of you calms down. Trying to catch your breath, you remind yourself that it was just a nightmare. A sick nightmare you could never figure out. It's the only nightmare you’ve had that seems reoccurring.
You’ve heard about stuff saying dreams have different means so, a few years ago when they first started, looked into those websites and shit to see if there’s anything on… whatever the hell your dream means. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don’t even know when you started having it. It started shortly after Mikey left. He always says something different at the end. This time, it’s more strange. “Why’d you come back?” You came back for a fresh and new start. Nothing else.
Once your breathing finally settles and you’re finally calm, you look over to your digital alarm clock on the nightstand. Oh shit! you’re gonna be late! It’s your first fucking day too! You toss the blankets off you and scramble to get ready. You almost trip as you try to put on your pants and shirt at the same time. You decide to do your hair and makeup in the car just so you can get there on time, grabbing your keys and scrambling out the door.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
You’re greeted by the same grumpy old woman that was at the desk the first time you came. That is, until Loomis comes in to greet you. You shake hands before he starts to lead you down one of the halls
“Before you get started, I want to get you settled and grab you a few things. First, your uniform.”
He stops and disappears into a supply closet before coming out with a folded pair of clothes that you mention be your uniform. He leads you to the women’s locker room and waits outside as you go in
In the locker room, you put all of your stuff into a tiny locker, including the clothes you wore here. You pull on the nurse uniform that Loomis gave you. It’s definitely not new. There's some odd stain on the side of it and it kind of smells weird. You lift the shirt to your nose and recoil back at the smell. What did the nurse who wore this before you do to it? You make a metal note to bring perfume to keep in your locker next time your next shift.
You meet Loomis again outside of the locker room where he gives you an ID card and a name tag.
“Now, I won’t be the one doing the tour and all that. I’ve paired you with some coworkers who will help you for the first few weeks until you get settled.” Loomis says, walking beside you.
He leads you to a break room where you meet your coworkers. God, you really hope they aren’t bitchy. You can’t stand nasty coworkers. The door opens and you see a man and a woman sitting at one of the tables. They look over when you walk in.
Loomis speaks first. “I’d like you to meet Jennie and Chris.”
You give a polite smile and introduce yourself to them. Jennie, a blonde haired and blue eyed woman, greets you a little too enthusiastically.
“Hi!! I’m Jennie! And oh my god, I love your hair!! Who’s your hair stylist? You have to show me how to do this look sometime—“
Chris chimes in, shutting the blonde up. “Don’t mind her, she talks too much,” This earns him a playful hit on the arm by Jennie. “I’m Chris.”
Dr. Loomis smiles at all of you before speaking, “I’ll leave you all to it.” and closes the door behind him.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Jennie does most of the talking during the tour, Chris only adds something occasionally. The place is big but you’re thankful there’s only a small area of the place where you actually have to work. They show you the cafeteria, activity center, multiple break rooms, supplies closets, and the main hallways that holds most of the patients you’ll care for. You tag along with them as they take care of some patients, watching to see just what you’ve got yourself into. Jennie greets them with the same enthusiasm she greeted you with.
“Good morning Mrs. Jones! I have your medicine!”
Mrs. Jones, this small and frail old woman, gives a shaky smile and chats with Jennie as she does a check up and gives the woman her meds. It doesn’t seem hard at all. Easy job, easy pay.
Well, at least that’s what you think until you get to one of the men’s cells. Chris steps in a bit more this time but that doesn’t stop the man ogling at Jennie and making lude comments. Most of the younger men here seem to hold themselves together well around the female nurses, it’s the older ones that seem to be the problem.
They let you practice on a younger women. You greet her with a kind smile, a soft voice, not too loud like Jennie and not too quiet like Chris. She stays silent the whole time but complies with everything. She takes her meds without a problem and lets you take her vitals before you all leave.
“Are all the patients that easy?” You ask with genuine curiosity as you walk to the last door.
“Some are, some aren’t. It depends. You’ll get a couple that are off the rocker a few times but nothing really crazy happens. You don’t have to worry about much.” Chris answers.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Jennie sighs as she shuts and locks the door behind the last patient.
“We do the check ups and meds in the mornings, what you just saw. The rest of the day is usually just watching over the activity center and cafeteria, bringing lunches and dinners to patients who aren’t allowed to leave their rooms, and fetching stuff for doctors. Plus the handfuls of paperwork.” Chris tells you as he leads you all to the empty cafeteria for some shitty coffee.
“Seems easy enough.” You shrug.
Chris laughs, “You say that until you come face to face with a patient that’s talking about the ‘ghosts’ they hear in the walls while wrecking their room.”
A small smile graces your lips, “Seems way above my pay grade.”
“It is.” Jennie chimes in.
Chris serves you all coffee that tastes like it’s been sitting out too long. You couldn’t expect more from workplace drinks. You fall back into one of the chairs and Jennie and Chris do the same. You look at the tiny TV playing in the corner of the and kinda space out for a moment.
You can’t imagine what Mikey has felt these passed 15 years. You haven’t even been here 2 hours and these plan ass walls feel like it’s slowly draining the imagination out of you. Where is he now? Is he even in the same wing as you? Hell, he might be up another floor. You can’t imagine spending 15 years in this place, growing up here and spending your teen years here. Staring at the small walls for years must do some shit to people.
You saw they have a court yard but do they even let cases like Michael go outside? What if he hasn’t been outside since he’s came here, hasn’t felt the sun or fresh air? That thought kills you. No one deserves to be locked in a room their whole life without seeing the sun or hearing the birds' songs. No one.
Your thoughts get pushed to the side when you hear chains rattling and feet scuffing coming from the hallway to your right. The cafeteria is open with hallways of patients going through your left and right. Your head turns to look when the sound gets closer. You watch as a man gets escorted by two guards. He’s easily more than a head taller than both of them, even with his slight hunch. He walks slowly, not really picking up his feet. His matted hair covers his face from your view, same with… a mask? You didn’t think those were allowed in places like this. His shirt and cardigan looks like it’s too small for him, especially length wise. You don’t doubt it was because this place doesn’t have the right size for an absolute tank like him.
It seems like Chris noticed your staring because he speaks up, quite enough so it won’t echo but you can still hear.
“That’s Michael Myers. You know, ‘The Boogyman’. A town scary story in Haddonfield. Probably the most insane freak in this place.”
THATS MICHAEL? What the hell did they feed him for him to get so fucking big!? That is not the chubby, blonde, 10 year old you remember. His hair is more darker and he sure as hell is a lot fucking bigger.
“I wouldn’t stare too long,” Jennie says. “The Boogyman might come and get ya!” She jokes, shaking your shoulders.
You force a fake smile. It doesn’t sit right with you that they call him that. But you can’t show it. Because you don’t plan on anyone else besides Loomis to know about your past friendship with Michael. Gossip spreads like wildfire around here and you’d rather not be the center of it.
But your mind does wonder for a second… Is he actually that insane as they say? Did he get worse while in here? He did look in kinda bad shape with his walk and how his hair is matted. Loomis said he hasn’t talked in 15 years either. God, what happened to him?
The rest of the day you still can’t wrap your head around how Michael has changed so much. Where’d all the height come from? Maybe his dad. You never got to meet his dad when you were younger, only heard about him. Then the dip fuck Ronnie came.
You bristle just thinking about his name. Seeing him confirms that you’re at least in the same wing as him. Will you see him more? Will he notice you? Will he even remember you? What if he doesn’t? What if he’s too far gone like they say? Maybe you’ll just have to wait, even if it pains you to do so.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
“Morning Miss Jamie,” You greet as you push your cart into the room. The older woman looks up from her book and smiles. She talks about her grandson as you nod along and give her her meds. Most of the patients are like that, talking about their family that never visits them and leaves them to rot in this place.
You’ve noticed that the care here isn’t the best. Guards ignore patients' pleas for basic wants or needs. They end up getting called names that you would never ever say to anyone. They treat them like animals, not people. Sure, some people in here have done bad things, but all of them are here because they aren’t and weren't in the right mind as they did it.
With a sigh, you close the door and pull your cart with you. You’ve been here for a few weeks now and things have been going okay. There’s no longer a need for Jennie and Chris to be at your side but you still hang out with them during your breaks. They’re kinda the only friends you’ve made since you’ve moved in. Shocker, I know.
But you really feel like going out to a random bar just trying to make some friends while also getting hit on by a bunch of drunk guys. No… you’d rather stick with Jennie’s blurted out comments and Chris’s egg sandwich stinking up the break room.
As you continue to push the cart down the hall, you come up to the blocked corridor. There’s usually a quiet guard there that you flash your ID to and he opens the doors with a small, polite nod. But instead of him, you see another man.
This other man is more scrawny and kinda short. The hat he wears does very little to conceal the mess of hair under his hat. His stubble is the same. Honestly, it looks like they got him right off the street and pushed him in front of the doors.
Pulling your supply cart full of medicine, you walk up to him. He looks up from the current magazine he was reading. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering a bit too long on your legs before he meets your eyes and gives you a unsettling smile.
A shiver goes down your spine at the sight of his rotting teeth twisted into a smile. He doesn’t seem to notice. Despite all this, you put on your best fake smile and give a cheerful “Goodmorning!” and show him your work ID that’s in the lanyard around your neck, hoping he’ll just open the doors.
But it’s not that easy. Instead of opening them, he leans in closer. Instinctively, you take a small step back.
“Now what’s a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Now, you’re a bit irritated. Pervy patients are one thing, but pervy guards are another. “Working. And if you would just open those doors, I could go back to doing just that.” The smile is still there, but a bit faltered, same with your voice. A VERY clear sign.
That doesn’t seem to stop him.
“Working? A young woman like you should be at home, with your husband providing for you! Not here where anyone could just snatch you up!” His hand flies out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away, smile and fake voice completely gone.
“I would appreciate it if you could just open the door and let me get on with my day.”
“Now, why would I do that?” He says, smile getting bigger as he takes a step closer
Your mouth opens, ready to tell the guy off, but a familiar voice calling out your name from the end of the hallway stops you. You turn around.
Loomis is speed walking towards you. You turn back to glance at the guy. He sees Loomis and steps back, not before stealing a few more looks at you though.
You meet him half way.
“What is it, Dr. Loomis?”
“I need you to come with me, it’ll be quick. I’ll have someone take over the rest of your routine.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Back in a much familiar office, you sit down at one of the chairs across from his desk.
“Am I in trouble or something?” You ask, even though you can’t think of literally anything you could have done to get you reported. You’ve only been here for a few weeks after all.
“No, no, not at all! I just… I have an idea that I want you to hear me out on.” He sits down in his own chair, lacking his fingers together as he meets your eyes.
“Now just hear me out for a second. In the 17 years I've worked with Michael, I have yet to see any change. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t know what to do to help. I don’t know if there’s even anything that might help him. But what I do know is that when his mother was around, he was at least talking. He showed a bit of emotion. So, what i’m asking of you is that you become Michael’s nurse.”
“You want me to…what?”
“Now, hold on. I’ve worked with Michael for many, many years and he’s shown no signs of change or emotion, like I said. Maybe, with a familiar face, it might show some progress.”
To say that you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. Is he insane?! Loomis wants you to waltz into Michael’s cell after 17 years and expect a magical change? You’re not the 9 year old you he knew, you don’t even look like how you used to. Especially not in nurse scrubs.
“I doubt he’ll even remember me, it’s been 17 years.” You say after a second. Your voice is quiet because you’re unsure of yourself. Will he? Is he as far gone as Loomis says?
“Maybe, maybe not. But I do promise you, miss, that it’s worth a try.” Loomis puts a finger up before you can respond again, silencing you. “Now, before you accept or decline, just listen. You won’t be doing anything crazy, just bringing him his lunch and fetching other things he might need. Simple. And I'll be there in the doorway the whole time, so you don’t have to worry about being in any danger.”
Danger. That’s all you seem to hear about Michael, about how ‘Dangerous’ he is. What has he done here to earn that title? Has he done more than just kill his sister, her boyfriend, and Ronnie back home? Has he killed somebody here? Or is everybody just feeding off rumors… The towns around here spread like wildfire. One person spits out a lie and they take it like idiots, spreading it around to anyone that will lend an ear, twisting every word.
“It’ll only be for a few weeks, if there’s no change after that then we’ll pull you.”
Silence fills the room as you think. It is a lot to say the least. 17 years of wondering. 17 years of ‘what if’s’. 17 years of unanswered questions. If you expect, you would mainly be doing it for Michael, to help him. If there is a slight chance of change that could happen for the better with your help, you’ll do it. But you'd also be doing it for your curiosity. You’ve wondered for too long. Maybe now’s the time to figure out some of those questions.
“I’ll do it.”
A smile quickly spreads across Loomis’s face. “Great! Come with me…”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Your hands tremble slightly as you hold the tray of food in your hands. Are you scared? Kinda. More nervous. All you know of Mikey is that little boy you knew all those years ago. Who knows what he’s like now. You glance over your shoulder, back at Loomis. He gives you a quick nod of the head, crossing his arms. The guard on the side unlocks and opens the door for you.
With a big deep breath, you step into the room.
It’s… not what you were expecting. Most patients' rooms are bare, only having a bed and a desk, with off white walls stained from the years. Yet, Michael’s room has a lot. His walls are littered with what looks like papier-mâché masks, all of different kinds and colors. His desk is filled with craft supplies, paints and brushes littered the space, though it does seem somewhat organized.
Seeing it reminds you of when you were little. Mikey did love to draw. You remember him showing you different sketch books and drawings he had done. You don’t remember him having this love for making masks though. He did love this one clown mask he always wore, you do remember that.
Most patients don’t get this kind of treatment, from what you knew. The most you’ve seen was either courtyard time or extra tv for those that have been on good behavior.
Loomis clears his throat behind you and you snap out of whatever memory lane you were just in.
Your eyes lock on the massive figure sitting down at the desk, back towards you, radio softly playing some station in the background. Michael.
Your feet feel like they’ve sunk themselves into the concrete, unmoving and stuck.
Reminding yourself that this is that little boy you once were inseparable with, you tighten your grip on the food tray and keep walking.
The few, quick steps to his desk feels like years. Years of memories flooding back into your brain, years of moments that have forgotten in time, years of laughs, years of cries, years of remembering.
Reaching the side of his desk, you gently set down his food where there is a spot cleared, trying to hide the clear shake in your hands.
Clearing your dry throat, you speak, coming out softer than intended.
“Here’s your lunch, Mr. Myers”
Mr. Myers. You almost recoil while saying it. It feels so odd on your tongue. You’re used to ‘Mikey’ or ‘Michael’, not Myers. You don’t like the unfamiliarity of it. But yet again, you really don’t know this version of him. So maybe ‘Mr. Myers’ really does fit.
Michael’s hand stops mid swipe of the brush.
A sense of nausea washes over you. Fear? Nervousness? You don’t know.
His eyes slowly look over. Not to your face, but to the name tag hanging from your shirt. It doesn’t have your last name, only your first, but is that enough for him to remember? Would he even care?
He stares like that for a moment, but it feels like forever. Then, his eyes slowly drift up towards your face.
You can’t see what he looks like now, due to the orange mask and the matted hair on his face. But those familiar blue eyes peering at you through all that are enough for you.
After a moment,his head slowly tilts to the side.
Your heart practically hammers out of your chest. Does he know? It seems like it. But what if he doesn’t? What if this is just how he acts with others? It could be, you don’t know him.
You can’t tell how long you stare at each other before your hear Loomis call your name from the door way.
Right. You have a job to do. Your gaze quickly drops to your feet before you walk out.
Once you cross that doorway, the air feels lighter and it’s like a weight is lifted off your chest, but only slightly. It still lingers, like a bad after taste. A deep breath escapes you, one that you didn’t even know you were holding.
“Are you okay?” Loomis asks, grabbing you by the shoulders. “That was amazing, I haven't seen him act like that to anyone before!”
You ignore his question because you don’t really know if you are.
“Can— can I take my break now?”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The cold water that splashes against your face calms you down a bit.
You pat your face dry with the bottom of your shirt, looking up into the cracked and stained bathroom mirror.
There’s slight eye bags starting to form under your eyes. Is it from the nightmares? You don’t know. You don’t really care either.
If what Loomis said was true, then maybe Michael did recognize you? You don’t know what all has happened to him in this place, what all these years could have done to his mind, but he looked at your name and saw your face, he should have put two and two together, right?
You’ve changed, yes, you’ve grown older and more mature. You don’t have the same baby face you did when you were 9, but you still do have resemblance.
And when he looked at you…
It was so weird. Like there was no emotion in his eyes, just a blank stare.
You glance down at your watch and see the time. Shit! You went 10 minutes over break.
With a sigh, you run a hand over your face and push open the door.
summary: After a very shitty life in Maine, you decide to go back to your hometown, Haddonfield, for a fresh new start (and an undying curiosity to figure out what really happened to your childhood best friend) .You move back into your old house and start a new nursing job, not knowing what dangers are waiting for you.
wc: 5.4k
these chapters contain: cursing, violence, gore, murder, blood, conflicted feelings, no use of Y/N, bits of misogyny (don’t worry, reader doesn’t take ANY bullshit), you will see my hate for Loomis later on, introverted reader, eventual smut
A/N: I will try to post new chapters every friday, but if i don’t, bare with me! i’m sooo excited for this story and i really hope y’all like it! the first few chapters are kinda boring but i promise, it’s worth it!
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Chapter 1:
5 more miles. That’s it. Just five more miles until you're out of this damn car and done driving. Everything hurts from sitting so long. What really compelled you to think you could take on a 19 hour drive in one go? You started to regret it only 5 hours in. Traffic made it so much worse so now it’s been almost a full day. A full day of no sleep and filled with gas station coffee and trashy snacks.
It’s taking all your strength just to not pass out at the wheel. The heaviness that weighs down your eyelids makes it almost impossible to not doze off. You don’t know how much longer you can sit in here before pulling your hair out. Maybe you should’ve stopped at a motel or something. God, you really need some sleep.
The only reason you did this long ass drive from Maine to Illinois is because your childhood home was left to you by your parents. The house has already been paid off, thanks to your dad. Plus, you getting laid off from your job back in Maine (because of your stupid boss) and breaking up with your ex, all in the same month, also played a big part in you deciding to move so far away.
The breakup was messy. Very messy. He was a lazy, cheating piece of shit. You don’t know how you stayed with him as long as you did. He made you pay all the bills, groceries, everything. He said he’d get a job but he never did. The breaking point was when you found him in bed with your best friend. You didn’t freak out, just left while he frantically tried to explain himself while pulling his boxers on. You stayed with a friend that night and grabbed your stuff in the morning, ignoring his pleas and desperate phone calls. Good luck paying rent, you dickhead.
And then, there’s your boss. You worked as a standard nurse, nothing special. As if working long hours wasn’t enough, your new and creepy boss decided to poke at you. You heard from some coworkers of his advances on them but you didn’t really think much of it. That is, until he came to you. Backing you into an empty operating room, he tried to get you to blow him, but he failed miserably. You can still feel his dirty hands on you. You get shivers just thinking about it. He fired you because he couldn’t get laid.
It was a very shitty month indeed.
Yeah, moving back to Haddonfield Illinois might have been an impulsive decision but the offer has been on the table for years. Your parents moved out to the coast to live out their retirement. They left the house to you and your siblings. But no one took it until now. You don’t blame them. Your home town was boring and your siblings seemed to want more exciting lives. You aren’t like them though. You don’t have kids, or a husband or wife. Nor do you go out for parties and do drugs. You like your life quiet and controlled, comfortable. So, maybe Haddonfield is right for you.
You’re hoping Haddonfield can give you a new, fresh start in life. A redo. Sure, it’s a quiet town, but you think that’s what you need right about now. Quiet.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The house looks… run down. Guess that’s what 10 years of no one living in it does to a place. It doesn’t look too bad, though. The front yard definitely needs some work. Seeing it again definitely brings back memories. Siblings, old friends. With a shake of your head, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out. The porch stairs creek as you walk on them, the wood straining beneath your feet. You search your pocket for the keys, pulling them out after a second. Placing the key in the lock, you turn it and push the door open with your foot. The door creaks open and the smell hits you. Dust, yes, but under that, nostalgia. It smells like home. It looks just like how you remember it, just less decorated.
It almost feels unreal. That this will be your home again, just this time it will be all you. No siblings fighting, no parents screaming, just you. It doesn’t always have to be neat and tighty like your mother always wanted it. It can be yours. You can make it yours.
You decided to take a walk through before unloading. You check all the lights to see if they work, they do. Same with the stove and fridge. Thankfully, your parents left it furnished. They took the TV in the living room though. Shame. You’ll need to get a new one. You didn’t pack much when you left, just what you really needed. Like you said, impulsive. There was probably a lot of stuff you missed and left with your ex. Knowing your luck, it was probably pretty important too. There’s definitely a lot of stuff you’ll need to buy, though there is only a limit of what money you have in your pocket at the moment. On the first floor, there is the foyer, living room, kitchen and first bathroom. Nothing special. But it’s definitely an upgrade from that shitty apartment you and your ex shared.
Your hand trails over the railing as you walk upstairs. Upstairs has the master bedroom and bathroom, and two other bedrooms. One of them you’ll leave as a guest bedroom, even if you aren’t really planning to have guests. But what could you do with the other one? You don’t really need an office, your job doesn’t really need that. Maybe you could make it into a mini library? Or like a movie room? Maybe even a really big dressing room? You’ll have to put more thought into it.
The master bedroom door gets nudged open by your foot. This was your parents room. It feels so odd to see it so empty, only things being the bed in the middle and the dresser by the wall. You weren’t really allowed in here growing up. It was off limits to you and your siblings. It kind of feels weird having free range of stuff now. Your mind already wonders to how you could rearrange stuff.
In the basement, there’s a storage room and a washer and dryer. You’ve never liked it down there. It always gave you the creeps when it was your turn to do laundry. It always felt like someone was watching you, even if it was just you down there. Maybe it’s because the light never reaches the corners of the room. You don’t know. And don’t really care. You’ll only go down there if you need it.
With the walk through done, you head back outside to start unloading. You step back out onto the porch with a sigh. Your eyes wander to the house across the street, The Myers house. It breaks your heart to see the state that it’s in, it’s so much worse than yours. The front yard is way overgrown and vines seem to climb the walls of the house. The white house that you remember is now a yellow-ish color with some odd black splotches. Wooden boards block the windows, the porch is covered in graffiti. It looks like there’s beer cans and bottles all over the yard. It probably got turned into some party house for teens. Seeing the house brings back a lot of suppressed memories…
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Halloween night, 1990
“Come on, Mikey! You’re too slow” You say, running ahead of him in your witch costume.
“I’m trying! You’re just too fucking fast!” Michael catches up in his clown costume. He’s a year older than you but in the same grade. You’ve grown up with each other and went to the same school. He’s your best friend, and you are his.
“I wanna hit the good houses before they run out.” He says, checking his bag.
“Well, you would’ve had more time if you didn’t take so long to come out.”
“I told you already! Judith wouldn’t take me cause she was with her dumbass boyfriend! I had to wait till Ronnie fell asleep to leave.”
A scoff leaves you at the name of his step-dad. “I don’t know how you deal with that dick, let alone live with him. He should’ve broken more bones than he did.”
That gets a little laugh out of Michael. “Yeah, it is kinda fun to fuck with him right now, he can’t do to much but wack me with his cane.”
“Is that how you got that bruise?” You ask, pointing at his arm.
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. He’ll get what’s coming for him.”
What is that supposed to mean? “I hope… Now hurry up! We’re gonna miss all the good candy!”
…..
You both traded candy on the way back home. You did get a decent amount, pillow cases 3/4s of the way full.
“You got anymore tootsie rolls?” You ask around the sucker in your mouth.
“Nah, I gave them all to you.” You both stop when you reach your houses.
“Wanna come over and trade some more? We could count everything that we have! I think my mom is baking something too.” You ask, looking over.
He looks out of it. Not tired, but just that his mind is somewhere else. Mikey tends to do that a lot. Especially when he gets a beating from Ronnie. He tends to shut down completely and just not talk. You always helped him through it though, never pushing him to speak, just sticking with him until it passed.
“No, not tonight. I gotta go check on Boo. I’ll see you later though.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Mikey!” You say, starting to walk over to your house.
“See ya.”
You wake up later that night to sirens. Rushing over to your window, you see police surrounding the Myers house. Deb, Mikey’s mom, is outside with Boo, sobbing. You see Mikey being carried away by two police men. The sight makes your heart drop into your stomach. You lock eyes for a second before he gets in the back of the police car. You watch as three bodies get carried away on stretchers, covered in a white cloth, before your mom rushes in and pulls you away from the window. She closes the curtains and sends you back to bed.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
Present day:
That was 15 years ago. 15 years and it still causes an ache in your chest when you think about it. You tried to ask your mom what happened and where did Michael go, but she never answered. You did your own research when you were old enough and found out Mikey killed Ronnie, Judith, and Judith’s boyfriend all that night, just a few minutes after you both said your goodbyes. You found out he was sent to Smiths Grove, a sanctuary for the criminally insane.
And it just happens that you're going for an interview there in a few weeks. You don’t doubt that Mikey did it. He was always odd, but you liked odd. He’d show you the pictures of his dead animals and let you hold his rats, and tell you about different ways he wanted to strangle bullies. You always listened and nodded. You found him interesting, you liked Mikey. If he could kill innocent animals like that, he could kill Ronnie without a doubt. What you don’t really get is why he killed Judith. Yes, she could be a bitch to Michael but she wasn’t as bad as Ronnie. But, yet again, you didn’t live with him. You didn’t know what was going through his mind when he committed those murders.
What happened to Boo and Deb? You thought maybe Debrah would at least still be here. By the looks of it, she isn’t. What happened to them? You’ll look more into it later.
You’d be lying if you’d say that you haven’t thought of seeing Michael at Smiths Grove if you got the job. You’re curious to see what he looks like now, how much he changed, if he even remembered you. You doubt you'd even be put near his cell, though. You're a nurse, yes, but not that type of nurse. You’d probably be put with the easier patients to begin with. That is, if you even get the job. You still have to go to the damn interview.
With a few blinks, you step off the porch. You can’t think about the past, not right now. You still need to get everything inside and you’re quickly losing daylight. Think later, work now.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The last box makes it through the door just as the sun starts to completely set. It wasn’t much, but it sure felt like a fucking lot. And you still have to unpack it all. With a sigh, you drag all the needed boxes up to your room. You start there and work your way down.
Cleaning needs to be done more than anything right now. You vacuum every square inch of the bedroom, as well as the mattress, making sure to get every little dust bunny there could possibly be. Bleach is your best friend when wiping down things. The dresser, vanity, nightstand. Everything. 10 years of grime have to go away before you can sleep comfortably here. You think you get in from your mom. Things have to be at least semi clean before you can take a breather. Once you're done, clothes get put into their places in the dresser, the bed gets made and decorated with pillows, your makeup fills the vanity, and the decor gets hung up on the walls. It’s starting to feel like you. You change into something a lot more comfortable before moving downstairs, making sure to throw the dirty ones into the newly set up laundry basket. You open a few windows to let the house and the bathroom air out a bit. It does need much, just a quick wipe down and mop. You put your stuff in the shower and cabinet over the sink before heading downstairs.
The living room doesn’t take much either. You vacuum the place and couch before throwing a blanket over the back of it and filling the empty TV stand with a few DVDs and candles. Once you get a TV, maybe you could binge some horror movies.
Now there’s the kitchen. Your parents, bless their hearts, left a few dishes and silverware behind. You’ll be good for a while but you still need to get more. You wipe down everything and mop. The fridge is the worst part though. You wipe down the inside but there’s some sticky residue on one of the shelves. It almost makes you gag. Once finished, you put the few drinks you hand in the fridge and the snacks in the pantry. It looks sad. You need to go shopping soon. The sight of the food makes your stomach growl.
Right. You have no food and definitely don’t have the energy to go out shopping. Looks like you’ll be ordering pizza. You find your phone and look up the number before calling and ordering your preferred pizza. You flop on the couch and decide to do some online shopping while. You look for different things, mostly decor and stuff for the kitchen. Your mind starts to wander to the house across the street.
What was going through Michael’s mind when he killed them? Was he truly as evil as all of the articles state? He always seemed to linger in the very back of your mind, even 17 years later. He was your first and one of the few only friends you had growing up in Haddonfield. After you moved to Maine, it was a bit different. You made more friends in college and through different work places. But you’ll never forget your first friend. The boy who’d you always skip class with in the halls. The boy who you had your own little secret hideout with in the woods. The boy who’d always come over and watch shitty horror movies with you. The boy who was an escape for you when your parents got too pushy. The boy who seemed to always have some sort of bruise on his body. The boy who broke a guy's nose when he said something about you at school. Yeah, you miss Mikey. None of your friends were like him.
Going back to your parents, you love them, you really do, but god are they picky. You’re thankful that they paid off the house for you, that they even offered it in the first place, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t come free of cost. Your father was a more laid off kind of guy. He worked late nights but always seemed to make it home before bedtime. He was good to you, just followed everything your mother said. Your mother on the other hand, she’s the picky one. She beat the ‘housewife stereotype’ into your head when you were younger. Though, from a young age, you knew that’s not what you wanted to do. You didn’t want to stay at home, cook and clean for some man as he screams at the TV at some football match. It’s not like they disapprove of you being a nurse, it makes good money and it’s quite respected, it’s just the fact that you haven’t settled down with anyone yet. Your siblings are married and have kids, you're not. So, she definitely picks favorites based on that. She was ecstatic when she heard you wanted to go back to Illinois. She said that you can finally find someone and settle down in your childhood home, finally give her some more grandkids. Like that’s gonna ever happen. You just let her keep talking and nodded along.
The doorbell rings and you snap out of your thoughts. You look towards the door, forgetting for a moment that you ordered pizza. Getting up, you walk over to the door and open it. The delivery boy looks about 15-16. He looks scared. At first you’re confused, but you realize what it is after he keeps glancing over his shoulder at Myers house. You feel yourself roll your eyes. He acts like the boogie man is gonna come running out of the house once he turns his back. You wonder if Mikey became some story to scare kids. A town scare story that gets passed around on Halloween. It seems like it. You put the cash in the kid's hand and take the pizza, accidentally slamming the door a little too hard in his face.
You eat the pizza while scrolling on your phone. The night is still young but you're exhausted from the drive and unpacking. You might as well just call it and early night. You finish up the piece of pizza that you were eating, throwing it in the fridge before heading upstairs.
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The next week blurs together in one big mess of unpacking and shopping. You're pretty sure your wallet might be a bit low from all the trips to the store. You don't realize how many things you were really missing from the house until you actually need said things. For example, a few days ago, you were trying to cook some dinner when you realized you didn’t have any serving spoons for your pasta. Or, when you were in that creepy ass basement, trying to do your laundry, when you found out you didn’t have any detergent. Let’s just say, there were a lot of trips to the store this week. Every time you swear you had everything, something new that you needed would pop up.
Your home is starting to really get more comfortable, though. More you. You fill your walls and selves reflect back on all your interests, Your bed filled with your favorite pillows, plushies and softest blankets, cabinets filled to the brim with your favorite snacks. The TV also finally came! It was a bitch to set it up by yourself, that and the router. You sat on the wood floor in front of the TV stand forever just trying to figure out how to hook the damn thing up. After managing to figure it out, you can now watch your favorite shows while eating dinner and not sit in silence.
Now, you’re enjoying your last night of peace. No work, no worries. Tomorrow, you’re going in for the job interview at Smiths Grove. And if that doesn’t work? Then you’ll go to the next nearest hospital and apply. And the next. And the next. And the next… You get the point. This is basically a self care night. It might be the only one you’ll have in a while. You take a nice and long shower, order your favorite take out, put on your favorite show and sit back on the couch, trying to relax.
As you stuff your face full of fast food, you can’t help but feel the anxiety creep up on you. Sure, you know things won’t go terribly but you still can’t help it. Because what if something goes horribly wrong? What if no one will hire you? What will happen when you slowly start to run out of money? The ‘what if’s’ never stop. No matter how hard you try. You feel like your mind is cursed with the cost of overthinking. You hate how much your brain thinks of the worst outcomes possible. You’re sure everything will go well…right? At least, you can only hope.
Whatever. Maybe you’ll just take an early night again. You grab the remote and turn off the TV, throwing back on the couch when you finish. Sleep might help your mind relax.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
You groan and roll over, hand searching blindly on the nightstand for the alarm clock. Once it’s shut off, you run a hand over your face, trying to wipe the fatigue away. You need to wake up early so you can have time to get ready and be there on time for the interview. Reluctantly, you pull the covers off your body and get up. You rub your eyes on the way to the bathroom. You grab a towel from the closet and turn on the shower. You let the shower warm up before stepping in.
The warm water embraces your body as you step in. A sigh of relief leaves you as you feel your stress wash away with the water and down to the drain. As you wash yourself, you also try to reassure your mind. You’re more than capable for this job, you think, there shouldn’t be any reason why you shouldn’t get it. And if you don’t get it? Their loss.
It helps a bit. You know it’s true that you are over qualified for this job, but that little voice of anxiety in the back of your mind never fully shuts up.
After you’ve done your shower routine, you grab your towel and dry off the best you can before brushing your teeth. Next, you style your hair how you think is best for today. And after fighting it for a few minutes, you get it how you want. Going back to your room, you go over to your closet to pick out some clothes.
You need something formal but casual. Digging through a few drawers, you finally settle on a button down and some comfy dress pants. Next, makeup. You go with your usual, just a bit more natural looking. And finally, your accessories. After picking them out, putting all your final touches and some quick spritz of perfume on, you’re ready to head out the door and even with a few minutes to spare!
Maybe you could pick up some breakfast on your way there too.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
It’s… big to say the least. You don’t know what you were expecting, really, but it wasn’t this. It’s fucking huge! If you get this job, you think it will take you at least a year to be able to remember where everything is. You might even get lost just on your way to the bathroom.
With a shake of your head, you head for the doors. Inside, the lights are the normal blinding white. Though, the one above your head seems to flicker from time to time. Then there’s the smell… It’s odd. The hospital smell is there, yes, but there’s something else. Something that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s something deep. Something that lingers in the walls of the building. You can’t really explain it well.
There’s an old woman at the front desk. She barely even looks up from her magazine when you come through the door. You go over, setting your hands on the counter.
“Um, Excuse me, ma’m? I’m here for a job interview.”
This time, she does look up. Clearly annoyed by the situation of her actually having to do her job, but she forces a tight, little smile.
“Give me one moment.”
She picks up the desk phone and dials a number. It rings for a moment before whoever is on the other line picks up.
“Hello, Doctor? Yes, I have a woman down here that's looking for an interview…. Yes, doctor.”
She hangs up the phone a bit too aggressively before turning back to you.
“Down that hall and the 3rd door to the left. Knock before you come in.”
Your eyes dart over to where she pointed before you give her a polite thank you and head that way. You would never get people who act like it’s such a hassle to do such an easy job like hers. Quickly reaching the door, you give it three soft knocks. “Come in!” Says a voice across the threshold. You turn the knob and step in. It’s an office. A bit on the bigger side but filled with stuff. filing cabinets, bookshelves, normal shelves filled with trophies and other certifications. And at the center, there’s an older man sitting at a wooden desk, papers scattered around him. He stands up to greet you and extends his arm for a hand shake.
“Dr. Loomis, pleased to meet you.”
You shut the door behind you and quickly shake his hand. You give him your name and he suddenly freezes up.
“That name… I’ve heard it before.”
Now, you also freeze up. Do you know him? You don’t think you do. He doesn’t really look familiar and Dr. Loomis doesn’t really ring a bell.
“Really? How so?”
He sits back down and rummages through a draw at his desk.
“Give me just a moment. And take a seat, please.”
You sit in the chair across from his desk as he pulls out a file. He opens it to a certain paper and nods slowly.
“Ah, That’s why your name sounded so familiar.”
“I’m sorry— how do I know you? It’s been a long time since I've been back here and I'm not sure I would remember meeting you if I did.”
Dr. Loomis shakes his head. “No, no you have not met me. I know you through someone else.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, who?”
He goes quiet, for just a moment, before answering.
“Michael.”
Now, whatever you were expecting, it was definitely not that.
“Myers?” The question seems stupid only after it leaves your lips. Of course it’s Myers! What other Michael’s have you met?
“Yes, Myers.”
“Has he… Talked about me?”
Loomis sighs at the question and puts away the file. “He used to. When he first came in. I’m Michael’s doctor, you see. I’m assuming you know what happened?”
You nod and he continues. “Well, after everything and he was brought here. He asked for you, his mom, and his younger sister. Only his mother was allowed to come. But he never got you or his younger sister. I didn’t think at the time it would be good for him or you.”
“He told me about you when he was younger, what all you used to do. He asked me when he could go home, when you could go and play with you again. God, how did it break my heart to tell him he couldn’t.”
Hearing everything causes a deeper ache to form in your chest to form. He asked for you back then? He talked about you? Slightly pushing away those thoughts, you can’t help but feel off on Loomis’s last words, ‘that it broke his heart’. it seems a bit… forced, like he actually isn’t really sorry. Maybe it’s just something you're overthinking. It probably is. Loomis continues.
“Michael doesn’t talk anymore. Hasn’t in 15 years. It’s amazing how quiet he became after just a few weeks.”
That brings back memories of when Michael got quiet when stressed, angry or overwhelmed. Every strong emotion he felt led with silence. But maybe just now, he stayed quiet because there was no one to help him through it, to get him to keep talking. The room stays quiet for a few moments as you collect off of the pieces of your mind and stuff them back in your head.
“I doubt he even remembers me after all this time.” You manage to get out after a few long seconds.
Loomis shrugs. “He might, he might not. It's sad for me to say, but even after these years with him, I still can never figure out what’s happening in his brain.”
Again, a thick and heavy silence fills the room before he speaks once more, voice more enthusiastic than last time.
“Alright, enough about that past. You’re here for an interview, correct? let’s get on with that.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The interview goes well. Doctor Loomis asks you a few questions and goes over your resume.
“You got the job.” He says, sliding the resume back across the table to you.
For a moment, you’re taken back. “That’s it? I just got the job? You don’t need a few days or anything?” He sighs and stands up. You follow.
“Well, we are a bit understaffed and just by looking at your resume and talking to you, you seemed more than qualified. So yes, you do get the job. Just like that. Does tomorrow work for you as your first day?”
“Oh! um, yeah, tomorrow is fine.”
“Great! I’ll have someone email you your schedule. Be here at 8 am for training.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───
The drive home is a bit quiet, but your mind isn’t. There’s something off about Loomis. You just can’t put your finger in it. When he talked about Michael, there was something in his voice. There was no remorse. Even though his towers were guilty, there was nothing in his tone to back it up. Does he really not feel anything for Michael? He’s his doctor! How can he not feel remorse for the boy who went through such abuse mentally? Does he see him as a monster, just like the rest? You’ve seen comments on articles about what happened that night, about how they think Michael is such a terrible person, the embodiment of a demon. You shook your head at all of them. How could they say that about someone they didn’t know? You knew Michael back then, he was far from a demon. Sure, you don’t know exactly what went on inside his head but you do know that he was hurt. He went through hell in back with his home life and school.
God, do you wish you knew what was gonna happen that night. Maybe you could have been there to talk him out of it. Maybe he could have even got the help that he needed before it went too far. Maybe you would have stayed friends…
You pull up back to the house and park. You glance out the window and over to the beat down house across the street. You wonder what life could have been like if that Halloween night didn’t happen, if Michael just had spent the night at your house to trade candy. What would life have been like if Michael wasn’t in the sanctuary?
I was wondering if you had a separate masterlist for Those eyes?
i don’t yet, sadly! originally i was gonna make one but it never happened. i am planning on making one really soon, probably later this week when i plan out my other series, so keep an eye out!!
I had a request (don’t mind me being awkward this is my first time requesting anything…)
Could you do a Bo x reader? But like could you do one where reader has a cat and it’s like her fur baby? I have two cats and I would kill for them like genuinely Stab someone for my children.
thank you thank you!! and ofc! hope you enjoy
Bo Sinclair x reader
cat owner reader Masterlist
I feel like he’d be like one of those dads who ‘don’t want a dog’ but then you find them asleep together after a week. Yeah, that’s him.
“I ain’t petting that damn thing, look at it.”
A few days later, he’s bought more toys than it can play with, too many treats and a whole new cat tower. He acts like he hates them, but we both know the truth.
“You’re spoiling the cat, Bo”
“The fuck i ain’t! I'm just giving ‘em options. You wouldn’t wanna eat the same food for the rest of your life now would ya?”
Definitely gives those hard pats to the side or the butt like all men do to animals. The cat loves it.
I could also 1000% see him laughing his ass off while playing with the cat with a laser. Probably has it almost break the tv or some stupid shit.
And could see him giving it cat nip for the first time too.
He doesn’t say it, but he gets jealous of the cat when it’s all up on you. Say you’re watching a movie and the cats laying on your chest. He’ll glare at it for a good few minutes before picking it up off you and putting it in the floor or to the sided
“Bo!”
“What? The stupid thing was in my spot…” He says as he tucks himself right where the cat originally was.
Has well known beef with the cat.
“God damn it! The fuckin’ thing ripped up the damn couch!”
could i perhaps request how Bo would act towards a chubby fem! reader.. and i kindly request a bit of NSFW too, please :)
of course!! hope you enjoy!
NSWF MDNI
Bo Sinclair x reader
Chubby fem reader Masterlist
I feel like he would just automatically be attracted to your soft body and curves, he would enjoy squeezing your hips and love handles FREQUENTLY (like a LOT).
Speaking of, this man cannot keep his hands off you. They’re everywhere, all the time, no matter when, where, or what is happening. They’re there. It could even be in front of a few victims. He doesn’t care.
Keeps you well fed. He already loves a good southern feast, what more is it for you to eat alongside him and his brothers?
This guy lovesss sweet treats. He has a major sweet tooth, bake him anything and he’ll fall even more in love with you.
If anyone happens to make a rude or crude comment towards you or your body, he gets pissed. You’re his, how dare anyone make such a comment on what belongs to him? it’s very safe to say that you don’t see them again after that.
Loves to rest his head on your thighs. It’s literally heaven to him. You could literally be doing anything, but if it requires you sitting down, best believe his head WILL be in your lap.
He’s drop dead obsessed with you.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻
This man WILL slap that ass. He loves it.
When he’s eating you out, PLEASE wrap your thighs around his head, he will happily die being suffocated by you. Literally groans when you do it.
Loves, loves, loves to manhandle you. Making you arch your back further, switching positions, squeezing you, literally doing anything.
Doggy is his go to. It’s not his fault you look so pretty that way! He just gets a very nice view.
Also loves it when you ride him. It just does something to him as he watches you struggle to take him
Best believe that man his giving you tummy kisses. He worships every part of your body.
(just more cushion for the pushin’! house of 1000s corpses ref… No? okay… 🥹)
my brain is buzzing after reading ur sinclair brothers hc’s bc imagine an affectionate partner with vinny :(( “breakfast?? for me?? thank you baby, i love you sm” said between kisses nd things like that 😭 I think it might just melt his mask right off 💔💔
i think it definitely would! we love vincent here 🥹 this one is short but i do hope you enjoy!!
Vincent Sinclair x reader
affectionate reader Masterlist
Vincent being with you means that he had to get use to the amount of attention you give him.
It’s not like he minds it! Not at all! He wouldn’t trade it for the world! But it is definitely different from what he’s used to.
The basement is warm as Vincent melts wax for his newest project. As he waits, he sits at his desk, sketching new ideas out of paper.
He’s so focused that he doesn’t hear the footsteps coming down and into the basement, let alone when they come up behind him. He only realizes when he feels a pair of arms drape across his neck and he jumps.
“Whatcha working on?”
The sound of your voice immediately makes him relax. He moves his hand so you can see the paper. It’s you. Ever since you came around, you’ve seemed to be his muse for almost everything.
“Me? It looks so good, love! ”
you say, moving to sit in his lap. Vincent welcomes you with open arms and lets you get comfortable on his lap. He wraps an arm around you while the other one keeps drawing. You rest your head under his chin as you watch him continue to sketch you.
When you first came around, he was hesitant to relax into your touch. Not to say he didn’t like it, he did! But he’s never had someone show him genuine love and interest like you do.
He sets his pencil down and closes the notebook, turning his masked face slightly to look at you. You look up to meet his eyes, lifting your head slightly.
“What is it, Vinny”
“I have something for you.” He signs
You perk up at that. He smiles under his mask at the sight. You move out of his lap so he can get whatever it is. He moves across the room over to a little shelf in the corner. You stay where you are by the desk, trying to peek over to see what he picks up.
He closes whatever it is in his hand, hiding it from you before walking back over, stopping in front of you.
He gently takes your wrist with his free hand and hold out your own, palm up. He takes his closed hand and places the object on your hand.
Your fingers curl around the object, bringing it closer to your face so you can see it.
It’s your favorite animal! obviously made of wax but carved and painted with such great detail and care. You run your fingers over it, feeling all the different textures.
“You made this for me?”
He nods.
A smile is quick to spread across your face as you practically jump into his arms. He catches you.
“This is so sweet, Vinny!! Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!” You say in between pressing kisses you his masked face.
He puts you down after a few seconds so he can sign, “You like it?”
“Of course I like it! I love it! I love anything you make me, baby.”
I don't know, but sometimes when I watch the movie House of Wax💞
I see Vincent as looking a lot like me. Is it possible for you to write a story for a female reader who resembles Vincent, with long hair, loose clothing, and other things, like she loves to draw like Vincent, and also Opinions Bo and Lester when they first see her, because she looks like Vincent, like a female version of him?🙏🏻🙏🏻🥺
of course!! i’m also very sorry for the wait! these are pretty short hc but i still hope you enjoy!!
Vincent Sinclair x reader
reader just like him Masterlist
🕯️I personally feel like Vincent would be much more attracted or interested in you if you were more like him.
🕯️I don’t think that Vincent would be shocked, probably just more fascinated than anything.
🕯️You both would bond mostly over art. No matter what style or form of art you take on, Vincent will be interested. If you’d let him, he’d look through your art for hours, studying it and having you explain to him what you were thinking while making it and the process of it.
🕯️He would also definitely love to teach you everything there is about wax figures. He’d show you all his works, hoping for praise and approval from a fellow artist.
🕯️The best part about you both having the same style is that you can share clothes. (mostly you taking Vincent’s sweaters, he doesn’t mind.)
🕯️Lester and Bo would often joke that you’re more of a twin to Vincent than Bo is to him. “I mean, damn, you two are practically the fuckin’ same!” or something like that.
🕯️I feel like Vincent probably feels like nobody gets him or his work after his mother died. So when you come around, i’d like to imagine he’s very thankful for someone like him.
