The Devil Walks Among Us; Book l - Completed 4/21/22

The Shape Returns

October 31, 2018

Hallow's Eve had been put into the back of Michael's mind as he drove the stolen vehicle in his direction of choice - Haddonfield. He had thought constantly on how he would pull everything off, how he could blend in broad daylight without being detected. But first, he needed to find a change of clothing. Glancing to his right as he began to pass a gas station, he saw the two reporters that had crossed his boundary the first time they had talked to him. Slowing the Bronco to a stop, he looked over to see a mechanic working on a Ford truck, wearing a pair of coveralls that sparked his interest.

They would belong to him.

Quietly and quickly, Michael made his way towards the garage, following the mechanic as he also kept tabs on the journalists in his peripheral vision, seeing the female make her way inside of the gas station, purse in hand.

"Where's the Lou?" She asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Bathroom?"

"It's out that way, around the back." The clerk pointed, unaware that Michael had been killing the mechanic in the shop.

She grimaced as she entered the bathroom, pieces of toilet paper littering the grime-stained floor, reeking of unflushed feces and soap scum. "Jesus." She grumbled, using a fresh paper towel to grip the handle of each stall, opening them slowly until she approached the last one, seeing that it was suitable enough for her needs.

The bathroom remained silent for a few minutes, leaving her to do her business quietly as she was still unfamiliar with the small town. Startled, she nearly jumped out of her skin as the heavy entry door was slung open, disrupting the silence, followed by the sound of this rubber soles sticking to the uncleaned tiles of the bathroom floor as the individual walked.

With the steps getting louder, she held her breath nervously as she heard a stall door open, slamming against the stall itself before the individual moved along to the next, doing the same. Catching her attention, she looked towards the bottom of the door, seeing a pair of heavy work boots - a man. With her eyes widening, she caught a glimpse of an older man seeming to peek into the stall at her.

Reacting like prey, she was unaware that she was only fueling Michael's drive to hunt, persuading him even more, although killing her and her partner was already on his list as his killing spree was long overdue thanks to forty years. "Excuse me! Someone's in here!" She said as he attempted to open the door by the latch. He paused, continuing to stay where he was, letting her suspicion and nervousness creep into her bones like a sickness. Slow, anxious, and deadly.

After pausing for a few moments, he put his left hand over the top of the door, his fist closed. Knowing she was looking at his gesture, he slowly uncurled his fingers, dropping teeth from his palm, a sadistic smirk plastered on his face as he heard her mumble silently, "What the?" Gripping the top of the door, he shook it violently, triggering the woman's flight instinct, hearing her make haste in pulling up her pants and to make an escape attempt by crawling along the floor under the stalls.

He shook his head briefly at her silly attempt, but he enjoyed the thrill of the chase anyway. Mentally, he had always compared his hunts to a game of cat and mouse. Vividly, he could picture the scenario of a cat going after an injured mouse, wanting and waiting for it to give up, but enjoying the adrenaline rush of the hunt, wanting it to drag out.

He grabbed her ankles, his grip tightening as she thrashed her legs and screamed. He was sure there would be marks there, but he was also sure that she wouldn't live to tell the story. She turned onto her back, seeing his face very clearly, unaware that she had made a more terrible mistake - one, for running; two, for seeing his face.

There was no hope for her.

She kicked violently, using the side panel of the stall for leverage to continue her escape attempt, hitting her head at the base of the toilet in the process, causing her ears to ring. She cried in pain, calling for her partner to rescue her. "Get off of me!" She yelled, kicking at him again, the heel of her boot catching his knuckles, prying them off of her. She rushed into the next stall, bracing her body against the door as she locked it, hoping it was enough to stop him. He pushed on it violently, shaking the entire stall and knocking her off balance with every hard thrust of his shoulder.

The entrance of the bathroom opened, revealing Aaron in the doorway, crowbar in hand. "Michael." He hesitated, looking the killer in the eyes, seeing his face clearly. If he had seen him in a regular setting, the word killer would've never came to his mind.

He looked normal, aside from the horrid scar over his left eye, but it could be overlooked.

Pursing his lips, he gripped the crowbar firmly, bringing it over his head to deliver a hard blow to Michael's shoulder, shocked at how Michael didn't seem to react in pain, only anger.

Michael saw nothing but red, his anger overtaking whatever ounce of feeling he had left, gripping Aaron harshly by the collar of his jacket, slinging him into the wall, pleased at the blood that had come from his head. Using his left arm to pin Aaron to the wall, his right hand grabbed a fist full of his hair, shoving his face into the concrete wall with blunt force. Oh, how happy Michael was to be killing again and oh, how he couldn't wait for the goblins and ghouls of Halloween to come out, dressed in their costumes begging for candy, skipping along the sidewalk, humming tunes of Mr. Sandman or Monster Mash while bragging to their friends how late they would be up, all of them not knowing that The Shape of Haddonfield would return tonight.

The Boogeyman.

He drug a stunned Aaron to the stall his partner had been cornered in, repeating the same process of slamming his head against the lock of the door, ignoring his cries for him to stop. With every new drop of blood exiting Aaron's head, with every scream, with every plea, Michael's red veil became darker, black, even. There was no stopping it. His drive of pure evil was not a force to be reckoned with, nor questioned or even investigated.

With one more hard shove, Aaron's head had loosened the lock of the door, the force behind stumbling briefly at the sudden action. He pleaded to be let go, but yet again, it was ignored. He shoved Aaron to the corner of the bathroom, watching him hit his head against the wall, sliding down onto his rear to take his agonizing last breaths. The image looked as if he were a sheep after being stunned before slaughter - what a cruel sight, but Michael didn't care. In his mind, Aaron's death wasn't as brutal as Michael could have made it, but he was still pleased with it. He wanted him to suffer just like Aaron had made him suffer through the grueling few minutes of him agitating him by shouting at him to say something. But better yet, Michael said all Aaron needed to know with a hopeful reminder - stay out of his way.

Turning to face her, he grinned slightly as he towered over her, watching her face wring with fear as she clutched onto the crowbar that Aaron had dropped, failing to attempt to use it as a weapon against him. He gripped her by her neck, effortlessly pinning her against the stall wall, lifting her up harshly where the nape of her skull rested against the top of the stall as he pushed her against it, squeezing her throat, feeling her life drain from her body, watching her veins protrude from her temples. He was having fun. She tried to grip his wrists or even towards him in an attempt to stop him, but she was too weak. After a moment, he got bored and squeezed harder, crushing her trachea in his leathered grip, letting her fall to the floor as his job was done.

Ensuring that the area was clear, he walked to their car, walking to the driver's side to unlatch the trunk, hearing a slight whistle as it opened, catching his attention. Pleased at his sight, he slowly reached out to his mask, the worn latex feeling as if it would crumble under his touch. Luckily, it had been weathered, but not bad enough that it wasn't salvageable. With the familiar smell invading his nostrils, he slowly slid the mask over his head, taking his first breath back into his alter-ego, letting himself fall into the missed dark place that he could only live in his head for the past forty years.

The Shape had returned.

And this time, he was coming for blood... And her.