Reunited (Michael Myers x Reader)

Loomis

October 29th, 1993
You were 21 years old. You were much taller and older. Pretty much the same but you had numerous tattoos. You even had Michael's name tattooed on your arm. You've never had a boyfriend, but you didn't want one. You only wanted Michael, and if you couldn't have him then you didn't want anyone else. Your mother had passed away due to an undiagnosed illness that happened to be pancreatic cancer according to her autopsy, so you inherited the house. You would always think about how Michael should be there with you, but instead he's in a mental hospital called Smith's Grove. He's been in there for 10 or 11 years, but it seems like only yesterday that you watched him get taken away from you forever. You've tried countless times to arrange a visit with him, but he's in maximum security, so visits were prohibited. You were worried that he had forgotten all about you. That bracelet with Michael's name on it was old and worn, but you still wore it with pride even with the nasty looks you were given. You would often wonder if he still had his too. The clown mask that he wore the night he killed his first victim hung on the wall of your bedroom. Your life revolved around him.

You worked at a taxidermy shop on Main Street in Haddonfield. You were a desk clerk that arranged stuffings and paperwork. Your day at work was sad. You were sad, because today marks 11 years since you met your best friend. You thought about how your first kiss was with him, the night before you never saw him again. You thought about how the last words he said to you was "I'm sorry" and "I love you". You were horrified by the thought that you were just a forgotten memory to him. You were deep in thought and on the verge of crying until you heard the bells on the door of your workplace jingle. It was a tall bald man with a white beard. "Hi! Can I help you?" you said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you could. The man looked serious. "Hello, I'm Dr. Samuel Loomis. Are you (Y/N)(L/N)?" he asked. You were confused, for you have never seen this man your whole life. "Uhm- yes?" you replied, obviously confused. The man sighed. "I'm assuming you're familiar with the man known as Michael Myers?" He then glanced at your bracelet and the tattoo on your arm. "YES! Um.. yes sir I am. He was my best friend when I was a kid. How is he?" you replied. "He hasn't said a single word since he brutally murdered one of our guards and his nurse... which was 10 years ago. He likes to make masks though. He has tons of them lined up on the walls of his cell." That made you think of his mask you had hung up in your bedroom. The man leaned closer to the counter. "Miss (L/N), you could possibly be in grave danger." You paused. "...How?" you questioned. The man then pulled out a piece of paper folded small enough to fit in a pocket. He unfolded it to reveal the picture you drew of you and Michael eleven years ago. You had written your first and last name on the back of the paper, which is how he found you. "This was found on the floor of Michael's cell.... the cell of which he escaped from last night." Your jaw dropped to the floor. You were in pure shock that Michael still had that innocent picture you drew in art class, but felt so much relief that he could possibly still remember you. And he's escaped? Maybe you'll see him again. "May I please have this?" you asked. "Why yes, but I'm also going to give you my telephone number. Call this number if you happen to see him or if you feel endangered. Thank you for your time." Dr. Loomis handed you the drawing, along with a card with his number on it, and casually left the shop. You didn't feel endangered. You felt relieved that Michael is still alive, and apparently remembers you. Others may see you as a complete psychopath for caring about him, but you knew the real Michael that you loved so deeply. Instead of being scared and sad, you were excited because you may have a chance of seeing him at last.

Your shift ended at 6:00. You clocked out and locked up the store. You got in your 1987 Chevy Camaro and crunk it, only to hear "I Was Made For Lovin' You" by KISS playing on the radio, which happened to be the song you heard the morning you met Michael. You happily jammed to it on your drive home. Once you arrived, you decided to walk to the abandoned Myers house. You were curious about what the inside looked like after so many years. You walked to the back. You checked to see if the window was unlocked, and alas it was. You opened it and slowly climbed in. The window was to the kitchen. You walked in to see the wallpaper soggy and falling apart. Everything was dusty and rotting. In the living room was a chair with blood and duct tape on it, the blood being from who you assumed was Michael's bastard of a stepfather. You shuddered at the thought of him. You carefully walked up the stairs praying that they wouldn't fall through. You went into Michael's old room to see everything still in tact, only aged. The Pink Floyd Poster that matched the shirt you once wore was now faded to almost white, sun bleached from the window that was directly in front of it. You looked at his old bed, fighting the urge to see if it smelt like him, but you didn't want to risk any spiders crawling up your face. You took in the view one last time before exiting the room. Down the hallway was a blood trail that stopped feet away from his sister Judith's room. You walked downstairs and hopped out of the window and headed home. You were filled with anxiety, wondering when and if you would see your long lost friend again.

When you got home, you decided to take a shower to ease your mind. You put a Mötorhead cassette into your cassette player in the bathroom and hopped in. After singing Ace of Spades and Hellraiser at the top of your lungs, you stepped out and stared at yourself in the mirror. You were in a daze thinking about where Michael could be and where he's going. Is he coming to your house? His old house? You just stood there staring at yourself until your telephone rang, scaring the shit out of you. You exhaled, then screamed in frustration before coming to the phone. "(Y/N) speaking" you said in an annoyed tone. Nothing came from the other side. Only muffled breathing. "Hello?" you asked again. You heard a low grunt, and then all that was heard was buzzing, indicating that the call was dropped. You assumed it was someone who called the wrong number, so you shrugged it off. You went back to your room and changed into a Pink Floyd themed pajama set that made you think of your childhood with Michael. You went back downstairs and plopped onto the couch to watch a horror movie.