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RZ Michael Myers x reader

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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.

Along with a familiar sense of dread.

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