Michael Myers: Final Girl

It Ain't Me Babe

She leaned against the doorframe and watched as the sun rose over the trees that surrounded the house. The curtain was wrapped tightly around her to keep her bare skin safe from the cold morning air. The sound of birds chirping and wind provided the soundtrack as she recalled the night she had just spent with him. Her body ached in the most satisfying way as she stood there thinking of all the things they had done. It had never felt so right before. Not once had he made her feel dirty, she remembered that with a smile. The way he had looked at her lying underneath him made her stomach fill with butterflies. The way his rough hands felt against her skin. She could even feel herself blushing now. She couldn't believe she hadn't understood his feelings sooner, or her own. Perhaps it was because until Michael, she had never really known what it was like to love or be loved. It was such a strange mix of emotions, so serious and yet a childlike happiness filled her when she thought of him. It was such a shame they never had a chance at a normal life. They never would. She knew that. It was the only thing that brought her sadness in such a happy moment. It was cruel, she thought, that the world had brought them together just so it could ultimately tear them apart. Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe each of them in their own way was to blame. If that was the case, maybe they would find their chance. There was no use worrying about that, for now they were here, together and that gave her a reason to smile.

The wind picked up and the cold air made her wrap the curtain tighter around herself. She was just about to turn to go back in and start a fire when something caught her eye. Amidst the blowing red and orange leaves she saw a glimpse of white. It was a piece of newspaper by the looks of it riding the breeze towards her. It landed beneath her and her foot stopped it from flying further. She reached down to pick it up. As her eyes wandered over the tattered page, her smile began to fall.

Man Found Dead, Presumably Murdered By Jealous, Missing Wife
"He was a wonderful man, hard working, loving. He never left the house without a smile, though his life at home was falling apart. He was in the process of leaving her, we were going to get married. I know without a doubt she's to blame. He had told me they had had countless arguments, most of which she became violent over their soon to be divorce. It's just a shame what jealousy can do. The world is short a truly good man because of her lack of self control. She must be found and we must bring her to justice."

"Scarlett," she practically growled.

As she stared at the picture of the red headed woman she had indeed seen once maybe twice before, her blood began to boil. It didn't anger her to learn she had been right all along, he was screwing her. It was her description of him. How could anyone have ever described him in such a way? Wonderful, good, loving? Her jaw clenched so tightly she thought it would break. They were painting her out to be the monster, no, she was. And the whole town was falling for it. Even in death, he was winning. He was fooling everyone with the help of one of his other toys. Hatred was steadily building in her as she reread the words over. How could she have been the only one who had seen who he truly was. Why had he treated her so unkind but left this woman with such a pretty picture of himself. She knew nothing of what he was and yet she had the audacity to rewrite the story as her own and make (Y/n) the villain. If she was so hell bent on finding her then so be it. She would willingly play the villain. Only this was her story to write, and this woman with her attention seeking tears wouldn't live to see the end of it. She would make sure of that.

She turned to see his knife lying on the table. She gazed at its eerie gleam in the sunlight. It was an extension of Michael's power, she could almost feel the heavy weight of it's many victims as she inched closer. Her hand brushed over the handle as she recalled that night she had almost used it to her desire. She wondered what it felt like to allow it to simply take over, if it would guide her as it seemed to guide him. It was the embodiment of death forever hungry for the next soul it would drain. She would be the reaper, she would be the one to offer it it's next drink to the fullest. Her grip tightened as she replayed those words and thought of Scarlett's face. It wasn't jealousy that was driving her. This woman was just a vessel for the hate that was slowly consuming (y/n). She was somehow protecting him in death or at least his reputation and therefore she was protecting lies, pain, grief. She was hiding all of what (y/n) had lived through, erasing it. For her it would never be erased. What he had done to her was worse than death. It was something more damning, she could no longer trust herself. All those years she allowed herself to be lied to, beaten, cheated, she would never fully believe it was over. Because she had after all allowed it, she had stayed. How could she trust that she wouldn't fall right back into it, how could she allow herself to fully trust someone else again? She loved Michael, she did, but she would be selling him short. He didn't deserve someone who was trapped mentally and emotionally by her past. He deserved so much more than she could give. That first cut had truly been the deepest. In a way she had never left that tiny room he had kept her in. The idea that he had power from the grave to take the one thing she knew was real and make her second guess it only made her rage spread further. If no one else knew about what he had done, fine. But this woman would know. She would know in every way. A sacrificial lamb to end the agony in (Y/n)'s mind.