Halloween [✓] (Michael Myers X F!Reader)

Prologue

Two headlights appeared in the pitch darkness of the night, backlighting the rain that was pouring down on a lonely strip of highway.

One single station wagon hissed along the wet road surface with two people sitting inside of it. The woman, no older than 30, was driving with a man sitting in the passanger's seat next to her.

He was rather tough looking, dressed in a long, worn out trench coat as he was flipping through the pages in a manila folder. "... Then he gets another physical by the state, and he makes his appearance before the judge. That should take four hours if we're lucky, then we're on our way."

Meet Doctor Samuel Loomis, a clinical psychiatrist in his mid 40s.

"What did you use before?" The woman asked, keeping her eyes on the road as she drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Thorazine."

This surprised her. "He'll barely be able to sit up."

"That's the idea," Loomis hummed. "Here we are."

Through the rain and darkness of the night, a sign reading 'SMITH'S GROVE, WARREN COUNTY SANITARIUM' came into view.

Behind the sign was the sanitarium itself, a massive and cold-looking white building surrounded by a fence, almost resembling a jail of sorts.

And in a way, it was. A place where the mentally ill were locked up.

After a moment's hesitation, the woman cleared her throat, sounding a little bit anxious. "Are there any special instructions?"

"Just try to understand what we're dealing with here," Loomis told her with a slight frown etched on his aged face. "Don't underestimate it."

"I think you should refer to 'it' as 'him'."

"If you say so, Marion." Loomis sideglanced at his companion who pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, before shoving the matches into the pack and tossing it on the dashboard without much care.

Both of them stared out the windshield in silence, watching the rain-slicked street move under them as the car rolled forward.

Yes, Dr. Samuel Loomis referred to his latest patient as 'it' because it was no person.

Unreadable and impossible to comprehend were just two of an endless list of conclusions Loomis had come to when describing Michael Myers, who he had been seeing for fifteen years now.

Even when he was still a child, Michael was a blank and emotionless slate, never speaking and barely ever moving. It had been that way ever since murdering its older sister, Judith Myers all the way back on October 31st, 1963.

The doctor had recognized the deep rooted trauma in the boy's psyche early on and knew that special treatment would be required if he were to ever help it.

But that help never came.

There was nothing left inside the now 21 year old male. No reason, no conscience, no understanding in even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong.

The psychiatrist vividly recalls the day he met Michael. His blank, pale, emotionless face, and... The blackest eyes...

The Devil's eyes.

For eight years Samuel had tried to reach Michael, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because it was at that point that he realized what ever was living behind the boy's eyes was purely and simply evil.