#michaelmyers

[darkpagesworld]

[rabbittwist]

📁𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑴𝒀𝑬𝑹𝑺

☞SUSCEPTIBLE TO CHANGE☜

𝖭𝖾𝗐𝖾𝗌𝗍-𝗍𝗈-𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

📌/📂 𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖲𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 . . . ᴸᴼᴬᴰᴵᴺᴳ . . .

📂 𝖥𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 Sᴛʀᴀɪɢʜᴛ sᴀᴜᴄᴇ sᴘᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴘɪɴᴋ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪᴇ. ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

📂 𝙏.𝘽.𝘿.

📌 - 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧. • - 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 / 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳-𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 / 𝘚𝘍𝘞

Post usages Fᴏɴᴛs ᴜsᴇᴅ; Mᴀᴛʜ Iᴛᴀʟɪᴄ • Mᴀᴛʜ Sᴀɴs • Mᴀᴛʜ Sᴀɴs Bᴏʟᴅ Iᴛᴀʟɪᴄ • Mᴏɴᴏ Uᴘᴘᴇʀ • Sᴍᴀʟʟ Cᴀᴘs.

[horrorlandthings]

Michael Myers Mishap: The ever-changing Halloween H20 mask. Four looks, one killer, and a load of continuity chaos that still stings fans. Read More -> http://rp.horl.uk/ff3df1e1 🩸 Horror Highlights: 💀 Halloween H20 used at least four Michael Myers masks across production. 💀 The first mask came from a Halloween 6 mould. 💀 KNB FX made a new version with oversized eye holes. 💀 Stan Winston later built a skinnier reshoot mask. 💀 One Charlie laundry-room shot was fixed with CGI. 💀 The changing mask hurt Myers’ spooky silhouette and mystique.

[hitshirtsus]

Green Bay Packers Halloween Michael Myers Freddy Jason Horror Shirt

Bring horror vibes to football season with the Green Bay Packers Halloween Michael Myers Freddy Jason Horror Shirt. Featuring legendary slasher-inspired artwork mixed with bold Packers spirit, this design is perfect for Halloween parties, spooky game nights, tailgates, and horror movie fans who love football. Whether you're celebrating the season or cheering on Green Bay under the lights, this shirt delivers the perfect blend of creepy style, fan pride, and vintage horror energy.

[beanincarnate]

God I think about this scene alot. The ironic parallel to 1978 ending his and Laurie's places swapping. But she coward in fear, crying as her trauma span out in her brain and he just looks at her, reveling in taking her down a peg. Because he remembers, he knows who she is and how she fought back, took his eye and now his fingers. He could have just ended her shit easily atp, but he didnt. He just stared, I think he knew he hadnt killed her but was willing to risk extending it, I dont think he betted on her completely vanishing when he got distracted though. It showcases how much he loves playing games too

[beanincarnate]

The sun set at 7:40pm, it made sense of that time of year, taking the summer day heat with it. Bean rose from their half slumped position on the couch, their platforms pressing with a heavy step across the threshold, gripping the cuetains in hand. The house was silent and another day of waiting passed, they swallowed the bitter grief in their chest and began to close them when a heavy familiar preassure wrapped around them, pulling them close in a less than politely way to say hello.

My beanstalk lore sketch comm from Gremesis ♡

[thefandomanxiety]

Halloween: The One - Chapter 2

September 20th, 1978

Half-asleep, he reached blindly across the bedside table, his hand fumbling until his fingers closed around the receiver of his telephone. It was bright red, though it was shrouded at the moment. He snatched it up and pressed it to his ear.

"What—hello?"

"Sam?" Terence Wynn's voice came through the line, edged with caution. Loomis shut his eyes tightly and rubbed at his forehead.

"Yes, what? I was sleeping. What is it?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Wynn said, sounding almost apologetic. "I just wanted to check in. Maybe figure out why the hell you stormed off earlier."

Loomis squinted into the darkness and leaned sideways over the edge of the bed, peering at the alarm clock sitting between the lamp and the telephone cradle. The red digits glowed 2:37 a.m. A low growl escaped him.

"This couldn't wait until morning, Terence? It's two thirty in the goddamn morning."

"Yeah... alright, fair enough. Sorry. I was just heading to bed myself. Long night."

Loomis rubbed his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. "I left because I was exhausted. And because I'm done playing games. You refuse to listen to me about Michael—"

"He's just a man, Sam."

Loomis's expression darkened immediately. "He isn't."

A brief silence followed, then Wynn sighed. "Whatever. When are you coming back? Your new charge is eager to learn from you."

Loomis snorted bitterly. "Yes, I noticed. The boy's far too green, Terence."

"Oh, come on, Sam. He'll be alright."

"I won't be held responsible for the nightmares that place will give him."

Wynn let out a short laugh. "Well, you'll be glad to know we cleaned out Michael's room."

Loomis paused, taking in the abrupt change of subject, and narrowed his eyes in the darkness.

"What?"

"Cleaned out," Wynn repeated casually. "The paint, the paper, and everything else, including the masks. I know you didn't like them being in there, so we removed them."

Loomis swung his legs out from under the covers and over his bed, planting his feet on the carpet. His grip tightened on the phone. "What the fuck did you just say, Terence?"

"Sam, you heard me. What exactly is the issue now?"

Loomis stood from the bed entirely now, pacing across the dark room. He fought to keep his voice from shaking with rage.

"Tell me something, Terence. Do you leave your brain at home before leaving, or were you simply born a complete moron?"

"Alright, what the fuck is your problem?" Wynn snapped. "You didn't like the masks, so we removed them. And now you're pissed off about it?"

Loomis opened his mouth, then stopped. He was too angry to properly form the words he wanted to say.

"I—Christ, I can't even—"

"I'm not a mind reader, Sam!" Wynn shouted. "What the fuck is it that you actually want?"

Loomis's words came out clipped and furious, but he exploded. "You don't give a lion a steak and then rip it away once it's had a taste!"

There was silence for the next half a minute, then Wynn snapped back. "A lion?" He said incredulously. "For fuck's sake Sam, I can't do this anymore. Michael Myers is not a wild animal. He's a fucking man!"

Loomis's voice dropped to a low, dangerous register.

"You'd better hope this little blunder of yours doesn't come back to bite you in the ass, Terence." And before Wynn could respond, Loomis slammed the receiver back onto its cradle with enough force that it rattled the entire bedside table.

The room fell silent once more, but Loomis remained sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the shadows. Sleep would not be returning anytime soon.

Sam Loomis reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. A dim, yellow glow spilled across the nightstand and the wrinkled sheets. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the telephone as if it might ring again and drag him back into another pointless argument with Wynn. His thoughts drifted aimlessly.

They wandered from Michael, to Cynthia, to Sophia, and finally to the strange young man he was apparently expected to mentor moving forward.

Ranbir Sartain. That boy's smile unsettled him, though he was unsure of the reason.

He rubbed a hand slowly down his face, trying to pull his thoughts back to the present. With a sigh, he reached for the newspaper that had been lying beneath the phone.

He hadn't gotten around to reading it earlier. By the time he'd returned home that evening, he'd been too mentally drained to do much of anything besides collapse into bed. Now, unable to sleep, he unfolded the paper across his lap. The front-page headline of The New York Times failed to hold his attention for more than a few seconds.

Something about a tight pennant race between the Yankees and the Red Sox, clawing for position late in the season. Loomis cared little for baseball these days. He flipped through a few pages until three articles caught his eye.

__________

HOAGIE YOUTH REVIVE "PIZZA LADY" TALES

By Martin H. Feldman

Staff Writer

HOAGIE, IND. — Rumors surrounding the long-whispered local legend known as the "Pizza Lady" have once again resurfaced among Hoagie's younger residents, prompting concern from some parents and frustration from town officials.

The story, which has circulated through Hoagie schoolyards and neighborhood gatherings for years, centers around a supposedly disfigured woman said to wander the outskirts of town carrying a pizza box and appearing to those who speak her name aloud near mirrors after dark.

Though no credible evidence has ever supported the existence of such an individual, recent reports from local teenagers claim sightings near County Road 8 and the abandoned Bellview property south of town.

Police Chief Harold Givens dismissed the reports Tuesday morning, attributing the stories to "kids trying to scare each other now that Halloween season is creeping up."

Mayor Walter Kingston, who has repeatedly spoken against public discussion of the legend, issued a brief statement during Tuesday night's town council meeting.

"There is no Pizza Lady," Kingston said firmly. "There never has been. Folks in this town need to stop frightening themselves and their children with ghost stories and nonsense."

Despite official denials, the rumors continue spreading among Hoagie High School students, with several local businesses reporting prank phone calls and disturbances connected to the tale over the past week.

Town officials have urged residents to remain calm and avoid trespassing on private property while investigating the rumors for themselves.

Loomis stared at the article for a moment longer than he intended, before turning his attention to the second article that had piqued his interest.

__________

CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE TO REOPEN FOLLOWING YEARS OF DECLINE

By Eleanor Vance

Staff Reporter

CRYSTAL LAKE, N.J. — After nearly two decades of closures, financial setbacks, and persistent local rumors, Camp Crystal Lake may soon once again welcome summer campers to its wooded grounds along the shores of Crystal Lake.

The camp, shuttered for years following the unsolved murders of two teenage counselors during the summer of 1958, has long carried a grim reputation among area residents, many of whom still refer to the property by its unofficial nickname: "Camp Blood."

Despite repeated attempts over the years to revive the once-popular retreat, a series of accidents, fires, and financial troubles have continued to plague the property, discouraging both investors and former campers from returning.

Now, local businessman Steve Christy says he intends to change that.

Christy, who recently acquired operational control over the camp grounds, has begun organizing renovation efforts in preparation for a possible reopening within the next several years.

"We're trying to give this place a second chance," Christy told reporters Wednesday afternoon while overseeing repairs to several deteriorated cabins. "People around here have held onto these stories for twenty years. It's time somebody finally put all that behind us."

The original killings in 1958 shocked the small community of Crystal Lake and drew brief statewide attention at the time. Though authorities conducted a lengthy investigation, no arrests were ever publicly announced, and details surrounding the deaths remain the subject of speculation among longtime residents.

In the years since, rumors surrounding the camp have only intensified. Local teenagers frequently circulate stories claiming the grounds are cursed, while some residents insist strange sightings and unexplained noises have been reported near the lake after dark.

Officials with the Crystal Lake Township Police Department dismissed such claims this week, describing them as "small-town folklore exaggerated over time."

Even so, many residents remain uneasy about the camp's proposed reopening.

"I wouldn't step foot near that place after sunset," one local shop owner admitted anonymously. "You grow up around here long enough, you hear the stories."

Local resident Ralph Manfredini, a longtime Crystal Lake figure known among residents for repeatedly warning visitors away from the campgrounds, voiced strong opposition to the reopening efforts Wednesday evening.

"That place has got a death curse," Ralph claimed outside a nearby convenience store. "People got no business goin' back there. Camp Blood don't want reopening."

Authorities declined to comment directly on Ralph's remarks. Residents familiar with the area, however, describe him as a harmless but persistent local eccentric who has spent years warning outsiders to avoid the property. Police have reportedly responded to multiple complaints involving Ralph approaching travelers near the camp road after dark.

Nevertheless, construction crews are expected to continue work on the property throughout the fall.

__________

GRANGER HILL CAMPUS SHAKEN BY DEADLY SORORITY HOUSE ATTACK

By Robert T. Kessler

Staff Writer

GRANGER HILL, TEXAS — Authorities continued their investigation Monday following what officials are describing as one of the deadliest criminal incidents in Granger Hill's history after a weekend attack at a local sorority house left six young women dead and another hospitalized in critical condition.

The violence occurred shortly after midnight Saturday at the Omega Sigma Theta sorority house located near the campus of Granger Hill State University.

According to investigators, officers responded to multiple emergency calls reporting screams, sounds of a struggle, and what witnesses described as a man attempting to force entry into the residence.

Upon arrival, officers discovered a scene one veteran deputy characterized as "something out of a nightmare."

The victims were identified Sunday evening as:

- Rebecca "Becky" Palmer, 19, of Deberry

- Melissa Turner, 20, of Carthage

- Cynthia Warren, 19, of Harker Heights

- Janice Holloway, 21, of Bryan

- Diane Mercer, 20, of Longview

- Laura Whitaker, 18, of Elysian Fields

A seventh student, identified as 19-year-old Patricia Langley of Arlington, survived the attack after reportedly barricading herself inside an upstairs bathroom and later escaping through a second-floor window.

Miss Langley remains hospitalized under police protection. Officials have not disclosed the extent of her injuries but confirmed she is expected to survive.

Investigators believe the assailant acted alone.

Authorities have not released the suspect's identity publicly, though multiple law enforcement sources describe him as a local man with a history of violent behavior and previous contact with area residents.

Police Chief Walter Finch addressed reporters Sunday afternoon.

"At this time we believe the suspect specifically targeted the residence," Finch stated. "The evidence presently suggests this was not a random burglary or robbery."

The motive remains unclear.

Students living in nearby residences reported seeing an unidentified man watching the sorority house on multiple occasions during the week leading up to the attack.

Several witnesses recalled observing a pickup truck parked across the street during evening hours, though investigators have declined to comment on whether the vehicle is connected to the case.

The attack has sent shockwaves through the university community.

Classes resumed Monday morning under increased security, while counselors and clergy were made available to students throughout campus.

University President Dr. Harold McMillan issued a statement expressing condolences to the victims' families.

"These young women came to Granger Hill seeking an education and a future," McMillan said. "The entire university mourns this terrible loss."

Residents gathered Sunday evening outside the sorority house, placing flowers and candles along the sidewalk as church bells rang across portions of the city.

For many longtime residents, the incident has revived fears of violent crime previously thought unimaginable in the quiet college town.

"This is the sort of thing you hear about somewhere else," said local resident Evelyn Brooks, who has lived in Granger Hill for more than thirty years. "Not here. Not in a place where people leave their doors unlocked."

Authorities have urged residents to remain vigilant while the investigation continues.

Funeral arrangements for the victims are expected to be announced later this week.

Anyone with information related to the attack is urged to contact the Granger Hill Police Department immediately.

__________

Loomis slowly lowered the newspaper. For a while he simply sat there, the lamp glowing weakly beside him. Then he tossed the paper aside onto the bed and leaned backward against the blankets, staring absently at the ceiling overhead with a weary expression.

"This world is crazy," he muttered quietly. Then, after a pause: "Crazy."

When Sam Loomis arrived at Smith's Grove later that morning, he carried with him two things: An enclosed cup of strong black coffee and an aura of thoroughly earned irritation.

Ranbir Sartain was already waiting in his office, leaning over the desk and working through an impressive stack of paperwork with intense concentration. Loomis suspected most of it had already been completed long before now. The display was likely meant for his benefit.

Still, paper could only tell a man so much.

Loomis made his presence known by closing the door with a firm click and clearing his throat. Sartain's head snapped upward immediately. A bright, eager smile spread across his face. Something about it unsettled Loomis deeply. It was too eager. Too warm for a place like this.

Loomis kept his usual frown firmly intact as he brushed past the younger man and settled into the leather-backed chair behind his desk.

"Before we begin—" Loomis started in a low, gravelly voice. The exhaustion in it was unmistakable. Truthfully, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept properly.

Eight uninterrupted hours of rest felt less like a reality and more like something that had belonged to another man entirely. Loomis was fairly certain the last truly restful night he'd experienced had been the night of October 31, 1963.

"Actually," Ranbir interjected, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "I was hoping I could ask about you first."

Loomis raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

The young man suddenly seemed nervous now, which somehow only made Sam more uneasy. He was accustomed to people looking at him with pity or irritation, and even with distrust or outright dislike.

Give it time... Loomis thought.

"Yes. I mean... everyone knows about that night. Judith Myers." Ranbir hesitated. "Dr. Wynn mentioned you worked primarily with children before... before Michael, I mean."

Loomis slowly lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a long sip before placing it carefully onto the coaster behind his nameplate.

"Yes." Loomis said flatly. "What's your point?"

"I just... I want to know more about you," Ranbir repeated carefully. "I was told you're the only one who understands him. That the state won't trust anyone else with his care."

He paused. "I guess what I'm asking is—"

"What's wrong with him," Loomis finished.

It wasn't a question. It hung in the air for a long moment, while Loomis studied the young man intently as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"If I knew the answer to that question," he said quietly. "I wouldn't be sitting in this office."

He took another drink of his coffee while Ranbir slumped back slightly, looking visibly disappointed at Loomis's response.

Loomis watched him more silently still, then exhaled through his nose. "I could tell you about any number of the patients I monitor here. Easy Pauly. Ashley McKinnon. But that's not what you want."

"Well, I—"

"No," Loomis cut him off. "You want to know about Michael."

Sartain said nothing.

"If you're going to work with me, I suppose that makes sense." Loomis said. "He's my Moby Dick, as it were." Loomis tilted his head slightly. "Have you read that?"

Ranbir's face brightened. He sat up straighter. "Yes. I wrote a report on it in university."

"Very good," Loomis murmured. "Very good." But his attention had already drifted elsewhere; past Sartain and beyond his office and beyond this hospital.

"I'm not sure I'll ever truly understand Michael Myers." He said after a moment, after silence had stretched between them yet again, then he blinked, forcing himself back into the present. His eyes locked onto Sartain again, hard and focused now. He straightened in his chair and clasped his hands together atop the desk.

"If we're going to discuss our white whale," he said, "then I suppose I should begin with his adolescence."

He paused. "And with Jennifer Hill."

Sartain frowned slightly. "Who's—"

"She was..." Loomis stopped. For several seconds he stared longer still into empty space, the office around him fading away. When he finally spoke again, his voice had softened. "A colleague of mine, years ago. Someone who nearly became my wife."

Sartain inhaled sharply at that revelation but said nothing.

"I, uh..." Loomis waved a finger vaguely and sighed. "I admit I'm finding it difficult to focus." He took another sip of coffee before wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Didn't sleep much," he muttered. Then he gestured loosely around the office. "And... well. You know."

Sartain nodded politely, though Loomis doubted he truly understood. Sartain stood abruptly from his chair just then and crossed the office toward a water dispenser positioned between two file cabinets. He filled a small Styrofoam cup, then quietly returned to his seat, seemingly oblivious to the skeptical look Loomis was now giving him.

Sure, Loomis thought bitterly. Help yourself to my water.

He took a steadying breath and continued, his expression growing somber. "I was married once, and I'll admit... I wasn't always a particularly faithful husband. We had our share of problems, but after I took Michael on as a patient, the strain on my marriage just..." He raised both hands in front of him, fingers curled as if strangling something invisible. "...Like a balloon getting ready to pop." He lowered his hands again and stared at the stained lid of his coffee. Then, unexpectedly, a faint, melancholy smile touched his face.

"And then I met Jennifer." His voice softened slightly when he said her name. "Jennifer Hill. She worked with me in the juvenile ward. In truth, she may have been the only person in this building who has ever genuinely understood me."

Sartain remained perfectly silent, listening intently.

"She believed me," Loomis continued. She supported my feelings and my decisions, not just about Michael, but with all the children. She encouraged me when everyone else believed me to be a mad fool who would jump at his own shadow."

Sartain found himself completely absorbed in his superior's story. He felt would've been lying to himself if he said this wasn't interesting.

"Wynn was lower on the hierarchy back then," Loomis said after another sip of coffee. He motioned vaguely toward the office door. "Jennifer and I answered directly to Dr. Carpenter, the chief psychiatrist at the time."

Loomis's mouth twisted slightly with lingering irritation.

"He was not a patient man. We clashed constantly, over little things, big things, everything, and not the least of it being Michael."

His expression darkened further. "Though to be fair," he added bitterly, "Wynn isn't much better."

He fixed a stern gaze on Ranbir. "Don't tell him I said that."

Ranbir shook his head quickly, remaining silent. Loomis watched him carefully.

"At least Wynn listens," Loomis continued. "He may not fully believe my warnings about Michael, but he's the reason we were finally able to isolate Michael from the others completely." His eyes dropped to Ranbir, who seemed to be putting a pen to a yellow legal pad on the desk.

"What are you doing?" Loomis snapped.

"N-Nothing, sir," Sartain stammered quickly. "I was only taking notes. I just thought it might be important to remember all of this."

The audacity...

Sam stared at the notepad for another moment before finally giving a reluctant nod. "Yes, that's fine, I suppose." He settled back into his chair and took another sip of coffee. "Just ask first. That's all I ask."

Sartain's shoulders visibly relaxed. "I, uh... I will. Sorry, sir."

Loomis grunted in acknowledgment. For a moment, silence settled over the office once again. The ticking of the clock on the far wall seemed unusually loud to both of them.

"Now, where was I?" Loomis muttered, almost to himself. "Right. Jennifer." His breath caught for a moment as the memories pulled him deeper. His expression grew heavier as he stared down into his coffee as though the dark liquid might somehow contain the past looking back at him from its reflection.

"We were to be married the following summer, even though... as I said, I hadn't always been a faithful husband." A humorless smile crossed his face.

"Were to be?" Ranbir repeated, tilting his head.

Loomis gave a single, somber nod. "Yes. She was taken from me. Several others died around that time as well," Loomis continued. "All roughly Michael's age. Give or take a year or two."

"How old was he then?" Ranbir asked, still transcribing their conversation, his eyes flicking up occasionally.

"Fourteen, I believe." Loomis's jaw tightened. He gestured toward the door with a sharp flick of his hand. "Though Wynn would have you believe they were accidents. Or suicides. He shook his head. "Michael did it. I may not know exactly how, I may not know every detail, but I know Michael Myers was at the center of it, at the center of all of it."

Ranbir hesitated, then, "What happened, if I can ask?"

For several seconds, Loomis didn't answer. When he finally did, his voice was little more than a whisper.

"She was thrown."

Sartain stared.

"Thrown from the roof. Jennifer had begun connecting the dots, linking the deaths of Michael's peers. That couldn't be allowed to continue."

Ranbir stared at him, wondering if this was the first time Loomis had spoken of any of this since it had happened.

"Who else had died?" Sartain asked carefully.

"Four others," Loomis continued, exhaling slowly.

"Adrian Wade, Roger, a religious boy—he shared Michael's room at the time, Tony O'Malley, and Gilden Matthews—an orderly."

"How—" Ranbir began.

But Loomis cut him off immediately with a raised hand.

"I'm not even sure I should be discussing this," he said quietly. "I fear I've said too much already."

Ranbir glanced down at his notes, then back up at Loomis. "I'm just curious, that's all. I know it can't be easy, dredging all this up."

Loomis fixed him with a long, piercing stare. After a moment, he pushed himself up, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he pushed it back, and moved around the desk, leaning against its front edge and facing Sartain. He clasped his hands at his waist and let out a deep sigh.

"Tony O'Malley. He was a bit older than Michael. Seventeen or so I believe." He exhaled slowly. "He didn't like Michael's quiet nature, didn't appreciate that he wouldn't react to his taunts and his jeers."

Loomis paused, gauging Ranbir's reaction. There was none.

"One night there was a physical altercation between the two, and the next morning, Tony was found in a corridor with a red crayon driven deep into his eye socket."

Still no visible reaction from Sartain, he noticed. How peculiar, Loomis thought.

"Adrian Wade was one of our bigger patients. He liked to eat, liked to indulge himself in sweets whenever possible. It was Michael's birthday, and Adrian had nearly half the cake in his hands and around his mouth before one of our guards had hauled him away. Adrian died the following day in the emergency room. He suffered from second-degree burns during a shower. Michael had tampered with the temperature gauges, I know it, but without proof..." He threw up a hand and shook his head.

Ranbir remained silent, listening intently, again showing no emotional reaction to this bit of horrifying recollection.

"Then there was Roger McKay," Loomis continued. "Our resident prophet. Always giving sermons, always praying. I'm not sure exactly of the why of his death, it's a bit of guesswork where he's concerned. Perhaps Michael killed him because like the rest of us, the constant preaching had gotten to be too much. That's not my belief, however. No, I believe he was killed because like me, he came to the conclusion that Michael was too dangerous, that evil was lurking deep inside him. Either way, when Roger was discovered by the orderlies, his tongue was halfway down his throat. He'd choked on it and his own blood."

At this, Sartain did react. The corners of Ranbir's mouth twitched, an almost imperceptible smile that never fully committed. Loomis frowned, and wondered if he had imagined it, but carried on nonetheless.

"Jennifer was the final straw," he said, his voice quieter now. "Her death finally convinced Dr. Carpenter that Michael needed to be isolated, that Michael was a danger to everyone in this place. Wynn was the final ear that pushed Carpenter to make the change."

He nodded glumly, before continuing. "But before her death, Gilden Matthews had died too. He was an orderly, and he was good with the children. He was kind and even he and I were friendly to each other." Loomis's face drooped slightly. "But he liked his fun. He enjoyed a practical joke now and then, and it became a sort of initiation process for new patients brought into the juvenile ward. The problem was, Michael should have been the exception. A salt shaker Michael had grabbed during dinner one night, the cap was loosened and well, Michael didn't exactly see the humor in it. Gilden died a few days after that, heavy amounts of drain cleaner discovered in his blood stream."

Sartain hadn't given the sought after reaction to this induction either. If anything, he looked fascinated.

Loomis studied him for a long moment, unease settling in his chest. Something about his perception was off, and it certainly gave Loomis caution to relent any further of Michael's accolades in the future. He looked away from Ranbir and straightened up.

"That's enough storytelling for one morning," Loomis said firmly, returning to his chair. "We have actual work to do."

[designsbycourtney92xox]

Silence speaks volumes. When actions are the only language, words become meaningless. We let the shadows speak for us, every move a deliberate mark. 🩸 There's a power in the quiet force that can’t be measured in spoken sentences. ⛓️🖤🕸