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

Chapter 9

A blurry, vague surrounding.

An indistinct floor.

A man in coveralls stood someplace you couldn't process- you couldn't see anything.

There was someone in front of you, but you couldn't make out who. You stepped toward the person in hopes of being able to see who it was, but it all faded away as you woke up.

What a headache.

What a fucking utter headache.

A sting of pain punched at your temples, causing you to bring your palms up to abate it. It surprised you that you managed to sleep at all, though only when the sun was already up.

You had locked yourself up inside your room for three days now, having skipped school for two, but not giving one shit about it.

You hated the pounding pressure in your head when you cried uncontrollably, mixed with trying to push the crying away- it was a recipe for an unavoidable migraine.

The awfully fresh memory of Michael having his hand clasped around your throat and putting more pressure on it fraction by fraction was burned into your mind like a vivid slow motion movie.

You couldn't tell if it was all the unspoken tension of having his unfeeling eyes on you 24/7 that made you feel open and exposed, but it felt like a balloon that had been slowly inflated to its breaking point, and your encounter with him was the pin to pop it.

Your parents had been nothing but sweet and concerned, every now and then checking up on you, doting and understanding and urging you to talk about it.

They had also contacted the town's police who took your, Lynda's and Bob's statements and combed through the Myers residence, only finding it as vacant as it always was.

There was nothing they could do and the thought of Michael roaming free somewhere had your insides braid together, and preparing for the worst.

No one believing you that it was really him got on your nerves, though. Even Annie's dad, the Sheriff, assured you that it was just some guy wanting to scare you.

Glaring into the mirror in front of you, you tilted your chin upwards, wincing at the pain shooting up the tender skin of neck where very clear purple blue-ish bruises shaped in the form of long fingers stained it, a chilling reminder that it had actually happened.

You could practically still feel the hard calluses on his hand squeezing around your airway while you wound a scarf around your neck as means of covering the bruises up as well as providing warmth, refusing to sit around doing nothing any longer.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

You let your feet hit the road hard as you walked with a zig-zagging pattern, following an invisible pathway through the fallen leaves that blotted out the asphalt.

The crisp morning air was filling your lungs and you kept your hands shoved into the pockets of your (F/C) jacket as you walked.

Why didn't he kill you?

There could have been a lot of reasons for it. Either you made it too easy for him, or he liked playing with his food.

There was no doubt in your mind that Michael easily could have finished the job by not taking his time. It's almost like he was testing you.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Shoes to the pavement, clear your mind. Think.