Warnings: therapy, obsessive behaviour. References to past murder.
Contents: Rob Zombie's Michael Myers in Smith's Grove meets a new therapist with unconventional ideas. Over 3k words. Michael x you/ Michael x ofc. 'You' have a name, since i find y/n somewhat awkward for longer fics.
I am also proud to say that this fic is heavily inspired by Michel Foucault's ideas on power difference and how this comes into play in the anti-psychiatry theories. Also: 80s fashion. I'd love to have feedback on this, since i choose a very particular, somewhat fragmented writing style (it is what i immensly enjoy).
Routine. That was what defined his life at Smith’s Grove. And Loomis’ voice, somehow. The waiting was long, but Michael was patient. One day, a Tuesday no less, something new happened.
Loomis had brought someone else with him on his daily visit. You, a young woman, with supple step and a relaxed posture. Behind his mask, his eyes followed you with apt curiosity.
“Michael, hello, today our session will be different. As you can see, there is someone new to help you. I have asked her to take over for me once a week.”
“Hello, how wonderful to meet you, my name is Marion van Doorn.” You made no move to shake his hand, not expecting him to even accept.
Loomis continued. “She is specialised in some, well, unconventional forms of therapy that have proved very helpful for several other patients that have been treated here. I will leave you to it, y/n.” And briskly, Loomis left the cell.
“Bye, doctor, meet you at lunch.” You called after him, then turned your attention to Michael. His gaze was unsettling in its unseen intensity. “Alright, I will explain my methods.”
You crossed your legs and leaned forward, not keeping your posture open as the other professionals did. “I am not a doctor like Dr. Loomis or any of the nurses who may have treated you. I’ve heard bits about you from Dr. Loomis, but was frankly unsatisfied with the data in his reports on you.” Your voice showed obvious displeasure. “All of it was focused on getting you to speak, to communicate, in order to treat you. It’s just data, things they can write down, right? Words. But I think, that if we listen, really listen, then we can go past ‘words’ and towards understanding. And if I look around me,” you gestured to the room, plastered in masks, and then returning your eyes to his with a genuine smile, “it seems like you are already communicating plenty.”
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
And so it started. Loomis seemed impressed with you and the way you were able to connect with your patient. And when you were gone, there was gossip in the hallways.
“And she’s so young, too. Do you think she can handle him?”
“You heard what he did to the other nurse all those years ago – it’s only a matter of time with those methods of her.”
“Calling them methods is rather generous, don’t you think?”
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
Next Tuesday, second session. You sat down in front of him, the door to his cell partly opened as a safety measure. Guards outside.
Michael once again noted the absence of a clipboard, you did not carry anything but a tweed blazer over your arm. The weather must be getting colder again.
“Hello again Michael.” You started, gentle smile, making eye contact, relaxed, informal posture. “Last time we met I explained some things, but from today onwards I would like to put some things into practice if you’d like.”
Silence, but you didn’t seem to mind. His eyes never left yours, sharp behind the mask. He chose a funny one today, white with black, crude lines.
“I’m not looking for results, see it more as exercise. Dr. Loomis values routine as a cornerstone of therapy, of building a stable life and that makes a stable individual. You’ve probably noticed; lunch is at the same time each day and lasts exactly forty-five minutes, two hours a day in the recreation room at two, and so on… I’m not saying he is wrong, but he is. For me, agency is what makes the difference. If you cannot choose what to do when, not able to do as you feel like doing things, you cannot build a trust in yourself to stand on your own feet. People who are here, can rarely choose things for themselves. So, I’ve taken the liberty to bully Dr. Loomis until he gave in and let you choose a part of your daily activities. Your sessions with Dr. Loomis will still happen at the same time every day, and there is a limit to how much time you can spend on some activities, but I hope having the choice will make things a little lighter. Please let me know if any guards or nurses give you trouble and I’ll make sure your wishes are honoured.”
Michael never answered, just looked at you with intelligent eyes. Somehow it reminded you of the raptors in the Jurassic Park films. The kind of attention that would be incredible from any other patient, but from him it made your skin prickle.
“Alright, that is all. Then have a great week!”
He watched as you closed the door softly behind you.
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
You did not show up that next week on Tuesday. Dr. Loomis was unable to take over the session on such short notice – Michael overheard staff: called in sick with barely half an hour notice. It left him with time to fill, to think and think some more while working on another mask.
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
Wednesday. With little notice, guards pulled Michael from his cell. He had walked these depressing corridors so often, but the longer they kept him walking, the less he knew where they were headed. Past the recreation room, past the courtyard, past the lunchroom. Eventually they passed another locked gate that brought them to the front of the building, just near the entrance. This was not part of the sanitorium that he visited often. The visiting area was the destination.
“There ya go, someone’s here to see you, you bastard,” said one of the guards, giving him a shove that barely moved the large man.
He stepped in quietly. A few visitors sat by the windows, a few by the door, causing a soft chatter to echo throughout the room. And for him, in the corner, sat you. You waved him over, standing to make him notice you.
With mean smirks, the guards moved to fasten his chains to the table.
“No, no thank you, that won’t be necessary,” you interrupted, holding up your ID. And in a kinder tone, to him: “Good afternoon, Michael.”
He sat down, not being able to help the tiniest twinge of a smile underneath his mask. The absurdity of having a visitor, after not seeing anyone he knew outside of this place was… something. And how you seemed to trust him, with a body and a humanity so fragile.
“I hope you don’t mind my little stunt – but that is the thing with spontaneity, isn’t it?” you grinned. “How have you been this past week? Have you had fun with the new freedom?”
Then you propped your bag on the table, reaching inside. “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to give you this.” You got out a journal, with bulky pages. Michael’s massive hands took it from you as you slid it over the table to him.
“This is my art journal. Frankly it’s just something that I do to for fun, it has whatever I feel like; some drawings, collage, my failed attempts at learning water colour… If it’s of no interest to you, please give it back next week.” You leaned forward on the table, your gaze penetrating his, as if his mask was not even there. “Be careful with it too, and please don’t tell Dr. Loomis. He would not approve.”
You stood up and while you passed him, you halted, mischievous smile. “I marked the pages with nudes on them by folding the corners. It was very nice to see you again, have a lovely week.”
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
Back in his cell, it took Michael a few moments to realise what had just happened – what was still happening. The A5 journal was clasped tightly in his hands. He had not wanted to the guards to catch sight of it, had hid it as best he could in his robe.
He left it untouched for several days, debating to look in it or not. It seemed so personal. Seemed to break too many patient-therapist boundaries. He kept it inside his pillowcase, since there were not many hiding spots in the cell.
Saturday was the day he found his curiosity outweighed his complicated thoughts. He skipped recreation hour to leaf through the journal instead. Indeed, its contents varied wildly. Some pages were clearly unfinished, a few torn out, others scratched or painted over. Some entries were dated. Next to the botanical studies were the foreign names of the plants, must be your native language. True to your word, the pages with nude figures, mostly ink drawings, were dog-eared. A few of those even showed a pair together, of varying genders. The chaotic ink lines suggested movement and passion.
With a snap, he closed the journal. Why had you given him this?
It was after a night’s sleep, that he looked through it once more. You were right, this was unprofessional and Loomis would probably terminate the sessions if he knew. Having looked through most pages now, Michael found about a dozen empty pages at the end of the journal. Were you still using this? Then why would you part with it?
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
“Michael, nice to see you so busy this early in the morning. The guards said you were drawing. Is that going to be a new hobby for you?” Loomis was back for his daily meeting. He bent over Michael’s desk, looking at the papers scattered over it. Drawings. The remainders of a mask he had not yet finished. Underneath the papers; paint stains. As always, Michael did not respond, not even to look at the doctor.
“Ah, I see, you’ve drawn…” Loomis’ voice caught in his throat as he picked up one of the sheets. “You’ve drawn Marion.”
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
You were called in and came the next morning, early, which happened to be Tuesday regardless. Loomis accompanied you to Michael’s cell to speak with you. The doctor had not explained much, only that you had to come and see what had happened. The excitement in his voice somewhat unsettled you, and at the same time you were glad, even proud, to hear your methods had had some effect on the patient.
“He has taken up a new hobby,” said Loomis during the speed-walk through the bland corridors. The door to the cell was already opened by the guards who saw the two of you approaching hastily.
“Good morning, Michael,” Loomis continued. “I hope it is okay, but I thought Marion might like to see your new drawings.”
Michael’s eyes were on you from the moment you entered. You went over to the desk, gestured there by Loomis.
“Ah, drawings, I see. They’re very good,” you said, clearly impressed. Then you spotted it, a portrait of you. And another. Different angles, different expressions. Is this what you look like to him? They were not perfectly realistic, but it was certainly you; you recognize all your distinct features. Beneath those there were more, most were not finished. You could only stare, surprised.
“Is that me?” and you point to yourself with a small finger.
His eyes meet yours and he nods once. That moment of eye contact stretches on, as scribbles from Loomis’ pencil on his clipboard were heard. Feeling flustered, you gather the papers and stack them in piles, unable to look away from the large man for long. With a pull at the collar of your blouse, you sit down next to Dr. Loomis in front of Michael again.
“I must say this is a very interesting development,” starts the doctor again. “Michael, is there a reason you have drawn your new therapist? Do you perhaps… like her?”
Your eyes shot to the doctor, disbelief. “I can imagine it being nice to have some more freedom and more informal interactions.”
“Informal? What are you referring to?”
You gesture to yourself. “No uniform, no clipboard, no questions. I’ve not even read his file.”
Michael watched the two of you bicker.
Dr. Loomis holds up a finger at your words. “You have not- you haven’t read his file?”
“Nor your book. The blurb was enlightening enough.”
Confusion fills the doctors features. “But you said- Your methods of…”
You shrug, turning your gaze to Michael instead. “Should we continue the session?”
He continues, temper rising. “So when you said that you disagreed with my methods, you did not even know my methods?”
“Oh, I do, Samuel. I fail to understand how looking a child in his eyes and declaring him evil incarnate would help any situation. How old was he again?” your tone was sharper, eyebrows raised. Michael saw the glint in your eyes, the weight of your words.
“You do not know how things went down all those years ago. You do not know what I have seen.” Loomis hissed. Inwardly you cursed yourself. There was no way saying something so accusatory would lead anywhere.
You sigh. “I’m sorry, that was harsh. If you want to discuss this, let’s do so later.”
It was almost as if you and Loomis were his parents; fighting about him as if he wouldn’t hear you from the other room.
There was also something calculating in Loomis’ stare. “As you wish.”
Then silence, during which you looked at Michael’s hulking form opposite of you. It seemed nothing affected him. Yet he was following every word, noticing every change in expression and tone.
The doctor cleared his throat. “So, Michael, how are you today? Is there anything you wish for us to know?”
Silence.
Since you decided the awkwardness was too much, you stood up, putting on your blazer. “Thank you for letting me see your drawings, Michael. You are very skilled, excellent eye for detail. I will be back again next Tuesday. Have a nice day, the both of you.”
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
The Tuesday after that, you came for your agreed upon session. Something felt different. The guards seemed to tense at the sight of you, rather than greet you as warmly as before. Loomis had dragged his feet over your methods, wanting to keep to his original schedule for Michael’s day, but you told him it could never hurt to try it out for a while. For long enough to notice changes. He relented in the end. The damage control you had to do did not sit well with you, but you kept your eyes on your goal: to help patients.
“Morning, Michael,” you stepped in the cell, keeping the door halfway open as was agreed. Immediately your eyes were drawn to the walls of the cell. They used to be covered in paper mache masks, but were now a part was replaced with drawings. Of you. The artist of the drawings was standing instead of his normal hulking position on the bed. You had not seen him standing often before, and the immense size of him was almost enough to drop your confident tone. He was looking at you, head raised. He wore an orange mask that looked vaguely like a pumpkin, with a wide jagged grin.
“How have you been doing? I know I’ve said it before, but let me know if anything interferes with your afternoons.”
The man remained silent, as usual. What was not as usual, was that he moved. Towards you, to be precise. Caught of guard, you instinctively took a step back. Then stopped yourself, even though he had taken a second step, covering more ground than you had.
To fill the awkwardness, you resumed talking. “I’m sorry about last week. It was unnecessary and I have apologized to Dr. Loomis.”
You thought that Michael was heading to his cot to sit down, so you intended to let him pas. Yet that didn’t happen, and now he was much too close for comfort. He smelled of soap and something manly, and of glue.
Looking up at him was intimidating. The need to put space between you was overbearing, so you stepped back, and stepped back until your hands felt the door behind your back. Do you need to act? Leave? Notify the guards?
That choice was taken from you not even a second after you had registered the thoughts, as Michael pressed the door firmly closed, almost soundlessly, with a hand next to your upper arm. Your breath hitched. Then that same hand touched your arm, as you lifted it to press against his chest – to stop him from coming ever closer.
“What is it?” you asked, mouth dry. You licked your lips. “You are… very tall.”
The feel of him against your hand: warm, you could feel his heart beat steady, and it pressed your elbow against the door. The fabric he wore was thin, soft.
Then the guards noticed. A quick rapping on the door. “Ms. Van Doorn, are you in there? Are you alright?”
“Yes! Yes, everything is fine,” you called out, turning your head to the side. Breathing seemed difficult so close to him. His hand covered the one on his chest, warm, large. When you looked back at him, his other hand was at your cheek. His eyes were something fierce, searching your face. How far could he push you? Thumb brushed your lip. Moved down to your neck, pressing lightly, then the thumb returned to rest against your bottom lip. Unsure of what to do, lips fell open just slightly, which was enough. The finger moved in between your teeth, and you let it in, too late now, just to stop its advance by pressing your teeth to his nail.
“We need to open the door,” called one of the guards. The knob jiggled. The hand on your arm quickly returned to press above it, stopping it from opening. “That is procedure, ma’am, or we will have to call for back up and assume the worst.”
A light squeeze against your throat made your eyes flutter shut, before regaining your senses. “Yes, of course,” keeping your tone as neutral as you could. Then, as if nothing happened, Michael stepped away. The door opened, bumping you in the back, and the guards escorted you out. You were unable to answer their questions.
.・*・.・*・.・*・.・*・.
When you returned to your car, shaky legs, your hands found not only your keys in the pocket of your blazer, but also a folded drawing. Its edges were torn and it was barely A5 size. You sat down behind the wheel, glad to be no longer standing, before looking at it. It depicted you, but not just you. It was you, held by the throat, eyes closed, head fallen back (some mistakes in perspective here), and a much larger figure pushing one of your legs up around his waist, cut off by the end of the scrap of paper. The large figure was undoubtedly Michael, with his long hair. Your hand was on his shoulder. Was this your death? Is this what was going to happen back there? His hand had not been rough, but it had left a ghost in its wake that you could still feel. You drove home with your own hand pressed below your adam’s apple.
It was at home you realised he was probably not hungry for murder.
‘It Started With a Mask’ !SFW! Michael Myers x Male Reader
Old One-Shot
Smith's Grove Sanitarium, a place for the strange and insane. The mental institution held many dangerous individuals but one of the most would have to be young Michael Myers, a child who was sent to the hospital after brutally murdering his older sister. He was a silent individual who isolated himself, refusing to speak to anyone.
Nothing anyone did seemed to reach the boy, that was until a new boy arrived at the facility. That new boy, was you.
You were taken to the institute after pushing your father down a flight of stairs one night leading to his untimely demise. After that you were admitted to the institute and your mother gladly let it happen.
The nurses were appalled when they did a check up, you were extremely malnourished and your arms and torso were covered in bruises along with old scars that expressed the extent of the abuse you were subjected to. Despite the obvious pity and compassion the staff felt they were still weary of you, after all they knew firsthand what kind of monsters trauma could create.
You and Michael were a lot alike, the both of you refused to talk and spent your time alone in whatever world you both had created. At first Michael paid no mind to you, quickly you became another face in the back of his mind.
Overall you were quiet and extremely timid, you would flinch and shy away from any form of physical contact. This made you a target for the more violent inmates as they knew you wouldn't dare utter a word to any staff members. Michael watched how on numerous occasions you would disappear for a few hours with someone who claimed to be your friend only to return with bruises or open wounds. You were unfazed by the unfair treatment, after all that's what you deemed normal.
One day the staff members were hosting an arts and crafts day where you and Michael were both forced to attend along with a few others, the two of you were sitting at the same table. He paid you no mind as he started working on the project, they were teaching everyone how to make paper mache masks. You kept glancing beside you and you noticed Michael was struggling to get the mix the right consistency, hesitantly you offered some of yours and he accepted the offer not showing his surprise.
Going back to work you felt more at ease since it seemed like Michael wasn't going to hurt you, not yet at least.
The project was going smoothly and you both were almost done when another boy you recognized approached your table, he wasn't a nice person. The boy, Adam, snuck behind Michael and grabbed the near finished mask from his grip laughing as he tore it apart in front of the deranged child. Michael gripped the safety scissors in his hand as he felt rage flare up.
Before he could act on his anger you tapped on his shoulder with shaky hands, the touch was barely there it was so light however he felt it. He turned to face you quickly making you flinch as you held out your mask. The anger he displayed shook you to your core but you still offered your mask to him feeling bad for him. He worked so hard on his mask after all.
After that night Michael started to hover around you keeping you company. He was extremely curious and you were always happy to indulge his curiosities.
"M-michael" he turned to you, at first he would struggle to hear you due to your quiet voice but overtime he became accustomed to it, your voice was almost comforting but he would never admit it. "Did y-you hear about Adam, t-they f-found him dead." you moved next to him and grabbed one of his fingers in your smaller hand as you looked up to him. Michael nodded in response before patting your head.
"I-im kind of g-glad he's go-gone."
With that the discussion ended and Michael wasn't sure how to feel, of course he was the one to end his life. It was expected after he insulted him and ruined his property. Michael felt strange however, even if it was indirect the praise for the killing stirred something inside of him. He struggled to identify the feeling but he decided on something between happiness and pride.
The next day you ended up in the clinic with 3rd degree burns, a small group of people jumped you when you were looking for Michael and dragged you to the bathroom before pouring boiling water on you. When you were discharged you returned with bandages covering your damaged skin. Michael was worried when you disappeared for a few days but now that he looked at you he was enraged.
Michael became more possessive of you after that incident, he would constantly try to stay near you never letting you out of his view for more than a few minutes. He never learned who it was who hurt you but he was determined to find out. You however refused to tell him, feeling shame bubble up at the mention of the event.
Dr. Loomis caught on to the strange relationship you shared with Michael and he was overjoyed as he watched the boy approach you one day before he patted you on the head in your usual greeting. Quickly Loomis jumped at the chance to use you to get Michael to open up and you were soon joining in on their sessions.
As the time progressed and Loomis lost hope for the boy his worry for you grew. This fear of Michael led to one of your most painful memories, you were being transferred to another institution at Dr. Loomis' request.
The new institute was more lax but the damage from the previous institute was done. Over time you further isolated yourself but since you seemed to not be a danger to anyone you were released on your 18th birthday. The first few years of freedom were a struggle, you decided to settle down in Haddonfield. You started working at the local grocery store and soon got your own little home hidden in the surrounding forests.
Your life became a boring loop of the same activities, wake up, work, sleep.
As time passed you became bored however that all shortly changed when a Doctor Loomis knocked on your door with important news.
"He's escaped." your eyes widened as you hid behind the door looking at him through the small crack, quickly you opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
The doctor made himself at home quickly and sat on your old sofa as you sat on a recliner in the corner looking at him expectantly.
"[Y/n] I'm sure you remember Michael Myers, well I'm sad to inform you that he's escaped and the only thing he took with him from his room was the mask you gave him years ago." the doctor searched your face for any reaction and after getting none he continued.
"I fear he's coming back to Haddonfield and I think it would be best if you left town."
Quickly you shook your head displaying your displeasure at the idea "I-i can't." you whispered as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.
"And why is that?" he asked as he studied you, the doctor didn't fully trust you after all you weren't Michael's friend for no reason. Over the years the man convinced himself that you and Michael must have held the same evil despite you never showing any signs of aggression towards others. "I j-just can't."
He sighed before standing up and walking in front of you. You felt intimidated and pulled your legs towards yourself, something about the doctor was different. He wasn't kind anymore and his eyes lacked the sympathy they used to hold.
"You will leave Haddonfield or I will make sure you and Michael are locked up for the rest of your days." With that he left slamming the door on his way out as he continued his search for Michael, he had to get you out of town he couldn't risk having you around.
You were shaken up and on the verge of tears as you sat in the now quiet home. "You were r-right h-he is m-mean n-now."
A tear slipped from your eyes and rolled down your cheek, quickly it was wiped away by a calloused thumb, Michael's thumb.
The masked man crouched beside you before patting your head in an attempt to calm you as rage stirred within him. After all, you were his and he would never let anyone take you from him again, especially not the doctor.
Mentions of: Mental disorders, PTSD/Trauma, Nightmares, Death, Murder, etc.
Tags: @liquidgeodes @froegis @gloomyladyy
You were really beginning to regret choosing Michael as your patient. In preparation for meeting him, you studied what you could about him. His case, his background, everything. And It was a lot.
There was so much to deal with. So much brutality, so much blood, and gore, but you can handle it. You have to if you want to succeed. You’re the first female doctor in Smith’s Grove, and you’re working in an extremely competitive field, so you know you have to do this if you want to prove yourself.
You haven’t been able to sleep, and when you do, you get nightmares. Ones where you see the things Michael did, ones where you’re next. You always wake up screaming in a cold sweat, unable to fall back asleep after.
You have spent hours upon hours researching, studying Doctor Loomis’ writing about him, listening to his tapes. It was very useful, but there was one point where it all stopped. Where Loomis gave up hope. And it broke him.
He was crazy and obsessed with Michael. He said Michael was pure evil and treated him like he wasn’t a human. Like Michael was a monster. That’s why he was forced to retire after everything happened, banned from working as a psychiatrist ever again.
You’re going to prove to everyone that there’s still a light in Michael Myers. That there’s good. That he’s just a troubled man. He’s human, like everyone else. And you’re going to help him.
Today you’re going to meet with Laurie Strode, to hear her part of the story, and to hopefully help her. She’s been in the Sanitarium for about nine months now, and will hopefully be leaving very soon.
She was just an average teenage girl, good grades, well-liked by everyone in the community, you struggled to understand why Michael would go after someone like her. He killed all of her friends and terrorized her. You can’t imagine the trauma she’s experienced from it.
Knocking on the door, you watched as one of the doctors who was talking with Laurie looked over at you and got up from his seat, exiting the room. “She’s ready for you.”
Taking a small breath, you walked inside, sitting beside the blonde girl. She was biting at her nails, looking away from you. She was so young, it hurt you to see what she had to go through and how badly it affected her.
“Laurie? My name’s Doctor (l/n).” You began, before getting interrupted by her. “Enough with the doctors. I just want to go home. When can I go home?”
“Soon, I promise. I’m just going to ask you a few questions and I’ll give you some alone time.” You told her, flashing her a compassionate smile.
She let out a long sigh, before finally meeting your gaze. “What do you want?”
“You don’t have to answer any of these questions, I know it was a horrible thing that you went through, and I’d hate for you to have to relive it, but what was it like, with Michael Myers?” You asked.
“God, that’s what everyone asks about. All the news reporters, all the doctors, all the journalists. That’s all they want to know about. The boogie man.” She ranted, gritting her teeth together.
Clearly, this was a sensitive topic. One she had to talk about and live through again and again. And you were asking her to relive this yet again.
Feeling a mix of guilt, shame, and sympathy, you bit at your lip, thinking of a different approach. “You’re right. It’s not fair of me to ask you about something like this and make you experience it all over again. So why don’t you tell me about how you’re doing?”
“I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep well in months. Every time I close my eyes, I just see his mask, his face, his eyes, staring at me. And I-I can’t do it.” She began, and you started scribbling things down in your notebook.
“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this. Just let me know when you want to stop.” You told her, patting her hand gently, and she nodded, taking a shaky breath.
If you were her doctor, you would try and prescribe her with something to help her sleep. But you weren’t here to help her. You were here to learn about Michael Myers.
She was starting to trust you, at least, which was all you wanted. It must be so difficult in here, with people telling her she’s crazy, making her talk about things like this, but from what you could tell, she was sane. Just terrified and traumatized.
“No, I want to keep going. That night. He stalked me. He killed my friends and tried to kill me. He terrorized me. I was so scared, and sometimes, it feels like he’s still watching me. I just know I won’t be able to rest until that- that monster is burning in hell.” She seethed, her body trembling.
“Do you think-” You started, your voice small. “Do you think there’s a chance for him? That he could be saved and become…a functioning member of society?”
That made Laurie laugh. She laughed and laughed, and laughed and laughed. She was hysterical, even starting to cry at some point she laughed so hard.
“Why don’t you go look him in the eyes and see what he truly is? You can’t save that thing, Doctor. It’s evil incarnate. You’ll see. Loomis was right, it needs to die.” She hissed.
There was a knock at the door, signaling that your time with Laurie is up. You finished taking your notes, getting to your feet. “Take care of yourself, Laurie. I hope you feel better.”
She just stared at you in response, pulling her knees to her chest and rocking herself slightly. “Be careful, Doctor (l/n), you’re playing with fire. Don’t get burnt.”
--
“How did it go?” Doctor Hernandez, who was waiting at the other side of the door, asked. You sighed, giving him a small smile. “I didn’t learn anything new, just got to see how Michael traumatized the poor girl.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? If it’s too much, I can ask for someone else to-”
“No, I got this.” You interrupted him, unwilling to give up, when you haven’t even started yet.
The older doctor patted your shoulder, before walking off. “Alright. I wish you the best of luck then.”
And for what you were going to do next, you were definitely going to need it.
No, that was a lie. You knew, but you didn't think it was necessary.
You knew what you did was wrong, but you didn't feel bad about it, and that made people nervous. They made you talk to people who asked questions and sometimes they forced you take medication. You hated medication, even cold syrup, but you would have rather had cold syrup that those big pills. You weren't sick, and momma had always said to never take medication when you weren't sick.
The doctors didn't listen though, they thought you were sick, but doctors were stupid.
You hadn't meant to hurt those boys. They were bullies, they liked to push you down and call you names, so you made sure they wouldn't do that anymore. You guessed that maybe you should've stopped before they were really gone, but at that point, they'd be better off. You didn't regret a thing, and that's what the doctors focused on, rather then the actual boys.
The hospital was big and white. The hallways were so long and either were empty or full of shuffling zombies. You didn't want to be a zombie.
You weren't allowed to know why other patients were there unless they told you, but you heard things. One patient, a pathologist liar or something, liked to tell stories about why everyone was here. You didn't like her, she said you came from a family of assassins.
There was one boy who interested you. His name was Michael, and he looked angry at the world. He spoke in short sentences and growls, and beat a kid's face in once. You had been there, it was cool.
According to rumors, he had killed his family, or maybe just his sister? The stories varied, and nobody dared to ask.
Micheal was a year or so older than you, but you were around the same size, so you didn't feel too small around him. He acted bigger than he was, so you made an effort to do the same. He snapped at you sometimes, but mostly he ignored you. You took that as a good sign.
You weren't too surprised when you heard that Micheal stabbed a nurse. She stopped coming to work, but you didn't care if she was alive or dead. She was a, what was the word? A bitch.
The bad part was Michael got shut away for a while, and his mom stopped visiting him. You were pretty sure they upped his dosage as well, which made Michael worse. He stopped talking, even to you, and became like a zombie. You were mad at the doctors for that, they took away your friend! You bit a doctor in retaliation, but it didn't do much except get you punished.
Life in Smiths Grove was boring, and got more so with every passing day. By the time you were a teenager, you had been there for nearly seven years. Every time you did something wrong, they would tell you that you had been so close to being discharged. Bullshit, you knew they'd never let you out. They probably got off on the power.
Plus, they made you do schoolwork, and refusal meant losing the few rights you had. You weren't people to the doctors and nurses, you were a mix of dumb sheep and ticking time bombs.
Michael still didn't talk, and you had forgotten his voice. He had grown a lot, and towered over you. He was still young, and you had few doubts he'd be a scary ass adult. He still let you tag along, but he rarely acknowledged you.
You were thirteen when you ripped a kids throats out with your teeth. He had been too annoying and clingy, and wouldn't fucking shut up, so you made him. The doctors and guards had pulled you off while the kid struggled and aborted screams bubbled up through the blood in his throat, it reminded you of blowing bubbles in milk with a straw when you were a kid.
They had informed you that you were essentially fucked, if in nicer words, and would remain at Smiths Grove for a long time. You politely told them to fuck off and went to go blow bubbles in a milk carton with a plastic bendy straw, laughing to yourself.
You knew you'd be there for a long time, and even though you hated Smiths Grove, you didn't like the idea of facing the world. Even as a kid, you never wanted to grow up and get a crappy job and have crappy kids and a crappy spouse. Well, you got your wish.
You had Michael, at least. You didn't need a normal life, you'd be happy with whatever came. You'd get out some day, on your own time.
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(I will probably add a bit more to this someday, this is mostly world building rather than real content.)
michael myers x short fem s/o reader head canon or scenario
( I am so sorry I didn’t get to this any quicker but I was having computer troubles!)
I shall get to thy request riiiiiiiiiiiight …. Now ⇨
▰ Michael always towered over you and he secretly found it amusing. When you would get mad, he thought it was adorable.
▰ Although you hated it when he teased you, you secretly missed his teasing and towering form when you were shopping in public, some items being too high to reach and almost having to climb the shelf before a kind stranger came along to help.
▰ He actually loved to hug you because of how small you were to him. He knew when to stop but he just wanted to squeeze you because you were so cute.
▰ He was able to touch the top of the door frame just by lifting his hand up but you had to jump and you knew he was laughing on the inside because this was always an issue.
▰ When you noticed things going missing from where you put them, the bottom or middle shelf, you would later find out that Michael was teasing you by putting them on the top shelf, the place you never looked because you couldn’t really reach.
▰ You aren’t as short as it seems but from Michael point of view, there was at least a mile between the two of you.
▰ It was a struggle to at least kiss him on the cheek whenever the time came.
▰ Micheal liked to pick you up just to prove how small you were to him and you would whack at him for him to put you down.
