Fateful Legends Book One (Michael Myers x Reader)

Obsession

You stared ahead at the screen in front of Michael, feeling your heart drop. It had almost been a year now since he had come trying to bust down your front door, and yet you could still hardly believe what you saw in front of you. The image was blurry, but could just be made out, from some news story in California. He had been looking so relentlessly for her that he was bound to find something sooner or later. Laurie Strode's blurry face looked out from a crowd as she tried to press through it, some sort of horrific auto accident that was reported on just the other day. You could tell it was definitely her, having seen enough documentaries and narratives about the Haddonfield murders. She was shockingly not as old as you expected her to be, but it was unmistakably her.

Reaching up, you gripped at the front of your shirt, starting to shake your head at it. You knew exactly what this meant, as Michael fixated on the picture in front of him with that obsession that was characteristically his. He would go after her, whatever means necessary. That meant he would be done with you for good, either taking your life now, or when he had finished with Laurie, leaving you alone for months. You didn't think you could even survive that loneliness, having become dependent upon him in almost every way over the time you had been with him. Your arms were now practically completely healed, your natural slim yet curvy figure having become well-defined; the only decent feelings you ever experienced was when he was around. He physically abused you and yet you enjoyed it, thinking you might actually love him despite still never having seen his face, heard him speak. You never showed those thoughts however, never would dare speak them as he roughhoused you over the countertop or snuck up on you in the shower. But these feelings would all soon be gone, ceased as Michael began the hunt once again.

You were startled as he finally moved, sitting back in the chair and slowly spinning it back towards you. Thinking for a moment he might come at you, you held the gaze of his dark eyes, unwavering but still scared of what he might do. He did not rise, but his hand moved, pointing to himself and then to the picture on the screen. You nodded, this much you understood already. Tears stung in your eyes and you took a step backwards, dreading your thoughts. His pointer finger then shifted to you, and then to himself, before going back to the image. Your eyes narrowed a bit, now you were confused.

He huffed, rising from the chair and moving over to the kitchen. You didn't follow him, still unsure what was going on. There was the sound of metal scraping against something and he returned, holding a knife. You thought it was his own for a moment before you realized it was the much smaller fillet knife, compared to his chef's knife. Michael grabbed your hand roughly and drew it out, shoving the wooden handle into your palm before wrapping your fingers around it. You looked up at him, loosely holding the instrument while he drew out his own. Tilting his head, he gestured at his eyes, and then down at yours, and back to his. You were not getting him, you couldn't understand what he wanted with all these confused and anxiety-ridden feelings filling up your mind. He growled a bit and went through the same movements, you typically understood him so well, he didn't know why you were being difficult.

Finally, he closed his eyelids for a few moments, before opening them again, waiting patiently for you to understand his meaning. You blinked and tilted your own head back at him. "S....same? You are saying we are the same?" You looked down at the knife in your hands. "I don't think that is true, I haven't killed anyone..."

Michael shook his head, you were almost there. "Just, same eyes?" There, he nodded. So your eyes held the same expression that his did, it was never something you really paid attention to. A cold, dead, hardened feeling that chilled you to your core. That is what shone in your eyes, for that is what shone in his. Maybe there was something that you could do in order to alleviate these feelings, like he did. The thought if it made you scared and sick.

Shaking your head, you took a step back from him. "N-no, I can't do that... I can't, I don't think I could take someone's life, let alone enjoy it..." You could almost see him raising his eyebrow under his mask. You said these words and yet you were infatuated with a killer, reveled in him drenching you in the blood of others, and were okay with all of it at the end of the day. Maybe you were capable of more than you thought. You swallowed nervously. "But I will do what you want me to... you know that."

He nodded and grabbed your arm roughly, reminding you of your place. Once again, he pointed to you, then to him, and then to the computer screen. You blanched. "To California? But what about my school? My cat? The apartment?" Michael gripped your other arm and then your waist, staring angrily. The fact that you had been so ready to die before he met you made your words mute, and he was pointing that out. Then his hands went to your hair, grabbing handfuls and yanking you towards him. You didn't have a choice, you would either go with him like a good pet or die in your protests. The fact that he hadn't killed you yet was in itself a miracle.

You wound your fingers in with his in your hair, the blades dangerously close to your scalp. "Yes, yes, Michael... of course I'm coming with you." This was probably the closest you would ever see him be happy. Though it wasn't for you, of course it couldn't be, it would never be.

To California... that would be quite a trip from Illinois, but Michael had to follow his prey, and his property had to come with him, continue to be used as he wanted. In part, this made you glad, a bit of a smile broke across your face just before he released you. You were not like Michael in which you could leave carrying nothing but a weapon. Zipping away from him, you began to gather things you would need for the travel such as clothes, toiletries, some food, your wallet... You looked over at your cat laying on the bed, seemingly uninterested. Could you really leave them behind? Cussing to yourself, you decided just to leave your door open and hopefully one of your neighbors or the maintenance man would find them. He would be too much of a burden to take with you.

Shaking a bit, you looked at the knife that Michael had handed you, sitting seemingly harmlessly next to your bag. You swallowed and lifted it, sliding it into a side pouch and zipping it up tightly. You wondered what he would have you do, what you might do in the times to come, if you would even survive this journey. One thing was certain, you would never be coming back to this apartment again.

Slinging the backpack over your shoulder, you strolled out into the living room, Michael not having moved from his spot. He blinked once and strolled to the door, his knife safely tucked away inside his mechanics suit. The door opened to the sounds of the midnight town, and he went through without hesitation. You were not quite so fast, looking back at your cat and place one last time. It was time to start this new segment of your life with this lunatic you loved, although it was probably the beginning of the end. You were fine with this, and you closed your eyes momentarily in peace before turning around and following the Shape into the night.

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The End.