Hearts and Daggers

Chapter Twenty-Five

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Halloween series in any way =(. But I DO own Katarzyna “Kat”, Emelyn “Emmy” and my other OCs.

AN: So I’m beginning the chapter with a little bit of a “What-if?” scenario between Kat and Michael on Kat’s 17th birthday (September 5th) also remember Michael’s birthday is October 19th so in the “What-if” beginning Michael is 19 going on 20 and Kat is 17. Also that would make Laurie/Angel/Boo around 11-12 I believe.  

Onwards with the story!!!!

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

//oo//

(Katarzyna “Kat”)

I knew I was dreaming the minute I woke up and found myself in my old room in my childhood home. However, gone was the little girl’s room and in its place was a room with deep violet walls and black furniture. Clothes seemed to spill out of the closet and schoolwork littered the nearby desk. I had yet to look at the pictures on my nightstand when I rolled over and a piece of paper that had been resting on my stomach fell to the floor. Leaning down to pick it up, my heart skipped a beat at the familiar handwriting:

                                                                Kat,

                Sorry I have to leave, it’s late (unless you consider 2am early) and I don’t want to wake you up. I have to babysit Boo later in the morning while my mom is at work.

                Come by and the three of us will celebrate your 17th birthday properly.

                                                                -M

In the back of my mind, I briefly thought of how people weren’t supposed to be able to read in their dreams, but I quickly shook the thought away and placed the note down. The handwriting was a dead giveaway that it was Michael who wrote it. Michael, who was writing in complete sentences and apparently had spent the night at my house; in my room. And in this dream, if I was seventeen, that meant he would be nineteen, going on twenty. Years before he was even Michael Myers: The Boogeyman.

Sliding out of my bed, I walked over to my dresser where a large mirror rested and took in my appearance. My hair was longer than it was in reality, reaching the bottom of my tailbone and curling at the ends; though at the moment it was a knotted mess. My face was skinnier but still held a few traces of baby fat and my limbs looked almost too long for my body. I looked exactly as I had when I really was seventeen.

I opened the first dresser drawer and threw off the large, black T-shirt I was wearing and changed into jeans and a simple gray tank top. I walked down the stairs and saw my father’s large figure in the kitchen, in his old spot, looking out the window with a beer bottle in his hand. For a moment my chest clenched at the sight of him before the usual numbness returned.

Suddenly the dream blurred and the scene shifted until I was walking down the street, following the familiar path to the house I now called home. There was a rose garden in the front yard on either side of the porch steps; Deborah’s rose garden. Gardening was Deborah’s way to relieve stress and escape her troubled home, just like Michael’s escape was his masks. After Deborah’s death, I tried to go to the house as often as I could to make sure the roses were watered and taken care of. I wasn’t surprised when I returned and saw that the garden had withered away and I never had the chance to create a new one.