The Scorpion

The Voyeur

Michael took a deep breath to steady himself, and then stood still. That's all it was and all it took. He stood for hours and hours in one spot, invisible to everything and everyone. The world around him faded. The rustling of autumn leaves died down to a whisper, the distant noises of traffic became a hum, and the world grew quiet under his blanket of hyperfixation. There was nothing that mattered to him, except for the hunt. And his prey.

A prey, alone at home in the dim light of its home. The hunter was observing, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Michael had been watching them for hours. He did not move, he did not eat, in fact, he barely even breathed. He just stood there, watching, only ever changing positions when his prey moved around their hovel.

The prey was young, strong, and capable of defending itself from most intruders. But not Michael. No, of course not. Not the Shape that hunted and hunted his prey until he could empty them.

He was waiting to empty this one. It was so full now. It watched tv, ate its dinner, watched more tv, did laundry, watched even more tv. Michael was getting used to its cycles of habits. It seemed to be most vulnerable in its living room, its body growing stagnant on the couch as it focused on the screen.

It would be an understatement to say that Michael felt something...unique...when watching his prey. Like a key turning into a lock, it opened up something inside of him. Longing, maybe? Or was it malice? Curiosity? Or hatred? Maybe it was none of those things. Maybe it was all of them. No one would ever know, for not even Michael knew. He was both present and absent. He had become the Shape, or maybe he was the Shape all along.

For years, doctors tried to understand him. They tried to open him up by crafting their own key to his makeshift door. Key after key failed until they finally realized that there was no lock, there was not even a door at all. Only a wall. A wall surrounding something no one could understand. Michael was a fortress with no entrance and no exit. His moat housed man-eating crocodiles that tore apart any intruders. Even those crocodiles didn't eat the trespassers; instead they only ripped and shredded the bleeding meat into unidentifiable bits that would float in the water. Michael was impenetrable...for the most part.

Finally, like the air being let out of a balloon or a great wave crashing to shore, Michael began to move once more. His body creaked slightly in its stiffness, but that did not slow his pace. He was focused on the hunt, and nothing and no one would be able to stop him once he began to move. Not bullets, not begging, not crying. Nothing. The Shape continued.

Michael found that despite his occasional hunts, the town of Haddonfield, Illinois did not worry about The Boogeyman stalking the night. They didn't lock their doors for the most part. It wouldn't have mattered if they did. He flowed through the shadows of a back yard until he arrived at the back door. Light was shining through the glass panes installed into it. If the prey had turned its head and looked through the window, it would have been able to see the white rubber of a mask staring back at it.

But of course it did not turn, and it did not see.

Michael opened the door and entered the prey's shelter without a sound. He crept through the house with only his goal in mind. He didn't care about the photos or evidence of life that decorated the walls. Michael only needed to complete the hunt.

He was behind it now. It was resting its body on the couch, its mind and eyes focused on the tv screen in front of it. Michael stood there and watched along with it for a moment. He hardly took the time to watch tv anymore. Things were so different now, and he didn't understand it, but he wanted to know why the prey was so entranced by it. He stood there longer than he meant to. The screen turned black in order to transition to a commercial, revealing Michael in its reflection for only half a second. But that's all that it took.