Fateful Legends Book One (Michael Myers x Reader)

Housewarming

You sat up in bed, blinking annoyingly up at the dimming sunlight that streamed in from the window. With a groan, you rubbed at your tired eyes, barely ready to face the day. You glanced at the clock and was unsurprised to see that it was already about 4 in the afternoon. Since you managed to stay up so late every night without sleep, you spent the daytime making up for that while being passed out on your pillow.

Briefly, you thought about last night, almost wondering if it had just been a dream. Yes, it was true that Michael wasn't just a character from a series of movies, he did exist, but you had never expected that he would ever come after you. Granted, you were not surprised that he had refused to kill you. After all, that was what you wanted, and you never got what you wanted.

It wasn't your idea to be sent off to school two states over by your parents. It wasn't in your plans to be yanked away from the one person that had ever given a damn about you. Two years later, here you were in this apartment, alone with no friends with that same person having forgotten you while somehow passing your classes as you hardly ever left. You ate once a week on average, slowly growing sadder and thinner. Whenever you managed to rack up the strength, you spent time tearing your arms apart. Considering no one came to visit you and you rarely stepped outside, it didn't matter much.

Once you cut too deep and ended up being found by the weekly maintenance person. Another time you took too many pills and ended up getting ill instead of being killed. It seemed that no matter how miserable you were, life would still just not let you die. Your parents hadn't even come when you were in the hospital. Last night had also been more proof of that, the man that was known for killing everything that crossed his path had let you go.

Slugging out of the room, you crossed over to the couch and once again flipped the TV on. You flopped onto the cushions and began to chew on a nail absentmindedly, going through the channels, trying to find something to watch and put your mind off things. Finally, you found an older slasher flick, part of a marathon the channel was having. You smirked in amusement, the irony of this situation making you feel something again.

It seemed only a few minutes had passed before you looked over at the clock. 5 p.m. You stood up slowly and opened the blinds to the back door. Darkness. The sun set so early in the winter and you were always surprised by that. You stared out into the night as your cat purred and rubbed at your legs.

A solid bang sounded at your front door. It didn't exactly sound like a knock, it sounded more like someone trying to break through. Unamused, you grabbed your kendo sword from beside the TV and approached the disturbance. Bang. It sounded again, shaking the whole small apartment. Doubtlessly the neighbors should be starting to wonder what was happening. There, now you were in front of the door. Bang. It happened a third time, and you swore you could see the cheap metal door starting to buckle from the sheer force of it.

You reached forward and undid the lock, turning the handle and opening it in. Whoosh. Stopping a mere inch from your face was a solid fist practically the size of your head. It was reddened and covered in scars. Swallowing, you looked up from the fist and saw Michael standing there, slowly tilting his head as he looked at you.

Sighing, you set down the kendo sword. "It's just you. I thought it was a useless burglar." You glanced at the door, which now had a solid dent in the middle of it. "I didn't know the famous Myers knocked on doors, although maybe you were trying to break it down." You flicked your eyes back to him. "I see that you are still here, I would have thought you moved on. Here to finish the job you started?"

The towering man merely continued to look down at you, breathing being his only response. You sighed once again. "Very well, if you're going to be that way, you might as well come in." Turning away from the door, you swiveled on your foot and went into the kitchen, snatching the kettle from the burner and starting to fill it with water. Your own studious gaze watched the doorway as Michael finally made his way into the apartment. It was almost comedic to watch as his head practically touched the ceiling.