Hearts and Daggers

Chapter Nine

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Halloween series in anyway =(. But I DO own Katarzyna and my other OCs.

Chapter Nine

 Recap:

I felt pain slice across my collarbone, I shoved myself away and he let me as I stared down at my shirt, seeing blood seep through the fabric from the cut that slashed from right above my right breast to the middle of my collarbone. My gaze shot up to Michael and I was met with his hardened gaze and the knife in his hand, dripping blood. My blood.

Was his response to my kiss just a diversion? I wasn’t sure, I was only sure about one thing: For the first time in my life, I was afraid of Michael Myers.

Not even bothering to pick up my dagger, I ran out of the diner, and began to cross the street. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Michael still in the diner, staring at me.

I never saw the car coming until my body collided with it…

//oo// //oo// //oo// //oo// //oo// //oo// //oo//

Sneaking out of my house wasn’t hard to do once my father had passed out on the couch. I would leave through the front door and walk to the Myers’ backyard. There used to be a large tree that would lead to Michael’s window. I had done it enough times that it was a piece of cake to climb up within seconds. My gangly arms and legs were an advantage too.

When I climbed up the tree limbs, I looked through the glass and into Michael’s messy bedroom. He was sprawled out on his bed, completely knocked out. On his desk, I saw his pet rat, Elvis, climb all over its cage. I rapped on the glass loud enough to jerk him out of his sleep and he glared over at the window, looking as though he were going to throttle me.

I hit the glass again and Michael climbed from bed and slumped over to the window, opening it and letting me climb in. I kicked away a few articles of clothing and other items strewn about; notebook, textbooks, a few baby toys that I knew were Boo’s whenever she chose to wander into Michael’s room and play while he was in there doing homework or listening to his music.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. I looked over at the alarm clock by his bed, the red numbers reading 2:45am.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, “I had another nightmare,”

“That’s the third one this week,” he said, “Are you ever going to tell me what they’re about?”

“No, they’re stupid,” I sniffled and sat down on his bed. I reached behind me and pulled the stuffed dog on the pillow into my arms. I gave it to him last year on his ninth birthday and even though I knew he thought of it as babyish, he always kept it on his bed so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

“Not stupid enough if you are willing to sneak out of your house, in those pink bunny pajamas, break into my room and end up sleeping over,” he said sitting beside me and pulling his scalpel from his pocket, playing with it.

“I don’t break in if you open the window and let me in,” I said, inching away from Michael and his beloved scalpel. He noticed.

“It has something to do with me, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“I started dreaming that a killer was after me and that he got me,”

“Was it me?” he asked quietly.