Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the wonderfulness that is Halloween.
Summary: Ah, so they meet again. He knew he wouldn't spare her this time, though - somehow - he wanted to. MichaelAnnie, set during H2: 2009, oneshot
I really don't know where this came from. I just saw Halloween II this weekend and I adored it, so I guess it could come from there. Plus - don't ask why - but I saw these two having some kinda…something ever since I saw the Rob Zombie's first remake. Yes, this may be twisted, but hey! It's Michael Myers. Twisted is pretty much his middle name. Lol. But we love him for it.
Enjoy!
Pretty Little Thing
Her name was Annie.
At least, that was what he thought. The Shape didn't know many things about his sister, but he knew her friends were at least named Annie and Linda, and they referred to her as Laurie. He had heard them talking just last year, when the tall, rash one referred to the pretty brunette as "Annie."
The name stuck, as well as the memory.
Surprisingly, the killing machine didn't choose to end Annie's life that night - the first night of his return. He had simply stabbed her boyfriend, hung him from his neck and smashed a pumpkin over his head while she screamed and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her and dragged her to where he would brutalize her, though not to the point of killing her. He had maimed her pretty good, however.
He didn't know what in him made him stop his assault and just leave her there. Maybe he was thinking of using her as bait to lure his little sister Boo to the house. Maybe he had just gotten bored with the killing - fuck no, that wasn't it. Maybe he was just captivated by her shouts, her short, choppy, chestnut brown locks and those wide brown eyes that were screaming along with her.
Laurie came in a few minutes later, screaming as she saw the topless, bloodied version of her best friend. She was beside herself with grief and sadness as well as terror. Michael could practically taste it in the air.
But that was last time, and he didn't particularly feel like reliving what had happened last Halloween, which had been a somewhat failed attempt on his part. He killed many people, of course, but not the one he wanted.
That's what brought him to tonight's festivities.
He had made the journey across that wretched field, leaving the one place where he found his sanctuary throughout all the other days of the year after his baby sister had shot him point blank. That hadn't killed him. Nothing could, of course.
He had killed many people along the way, as was per usual for Michael Myers. He was a killing machine. He could use almost anything to take a life, but his preferred weapon was the knife. That was his first choice, his only choice. It was oddly intimate, the stabbings that would take place. Then again, strangling was an intimate cause of death as well. He wondered what made him choose those…
But, again, this wasn't the time or the place for such thoughts.
He walked up the steps to Officer Brackett's dilapidated looking house and quickly and easily disposed of the cop on the porch who was obviously - in a vain attempt - trying to protect the person inside. It wasn't hard. Anything done by Michael Myers was never hard, especially murdering.
His boots made a soft thud against the wooden floor of the house. Not heavy, no. He purposefully made his footsteps light and almost unnoticeable. He wanted to catch this one off guard, not that he ever had a problem with that. Most of his victims were caught off guard, anyway, he supposed.
His sensitive ears could hear her moving about upstairs, so he turned and made his way up the steps that led to the second floor. They creaked slightly beneath his bulk, but he knew she didn't hear. She was humming some tune to herself. Her slight footsteps were delicate and a part of him almost smiled at the complete and obvious contrast between them.
He arrived at the room where she was. She was at the sink, dressed in a blue bathrobe. Funny how he had seen her twice, both when she was scantily clothed.
She had gotten something out of the cabinet above the sink and was looking down at the porcelain below. She hadn't yet noticed that he was behind her, though she could see him if she would just look in the mirror of the cabinet. He was right there.
He was so close that he could faintly smell her hair. Though she was getting ready to take a shower, she still smelled of that same watermelon shampoo she used. He had recognized it on her just the year before.
It was something like Judith would wear.
He felt his hand tighten around the hilt of his knife, though he still didn't move. He wanted her to see him before he struck. Some kind of sick, utterly depraved thing he wanted. She wasn't like the others. What else would've stopped him from murdering her? He still didn't know, even a year later.
He studied her features, looking at the damage he had done last time. The scars adorned her face, but didn't ruin it. She was still just as beautiful, just as radiant as the last time he had seen her, but he could sense the familiar air of jadedness that interrupted the sunny exterior she wore just a year ago. Her hair had grown longer, and he found that he preferred it this way - long and to her mid-back. It was still chocolate brown and shiny and the smell of watermelons penetrated his subconscious.
She looked up, her bored, disinterested gaze turning frightened and doe-like in a matter of milliseconds as her chocolate brown eyes connected with the lifeless face of his mask. They glittered with emotion and she looked ready to cry, though he knew why. She had seen him kill her boyfriend just a year earlier, been tortured by him until Laurie came… She had every right to be scared.
Ah, so they meet again.
She screamed.
The shriek that tore from her throat was one of the loudest he had ever heard since he started this… She ran from the bathroom, tearing around the corner, all of it seeming as if it were in slow motion. Michael cocked his head to the side and followed rather easily. His strong hand grasped the terry cloth of her bathrobe and pulled.
The fabric of her robe slid from her body, revealing the soft and still beautiful skin of her shoulder. His other hand intentionally stroked across the smooth flesh, though she didn't realize it.
She was still screaming, shrieking, begging for mercy, calling out for God to help her…anything to save her from this monster.
He dragged her back into the bathroom and slammed the door.
He toyed with her for a while, and she cowered against the porcelain of the tub, her bathrobe falling even more down her shoulders to reveal the curve of her breasts. He eyed her hungrily, ready for the kill. She screamed again, the sound of it seeming to shake the foundation they stood on.
The knife gleamed in the dim light of the bathroom and she scurried back against the bathtub, eyeing the door behind him, a slight gleam of determination settling in her chocolate gaze.
He knew her escape wouldn't work.
He thought maybe she knew that too, but she was too scared and hopped up on adrenaline to notice.
She sprung up from her position and raced to the door, her bare feet sliding across the slick surface of the bathroom floor. Her arms flailed about as she tried to get past him. She was still screaming, though this time it sounded more primal, as if she were fighting back rather than running from her would-be murderer.
He knew she wouldn't get away. Not this time.
A part of him wanted to let her go. Something twisted deep within his stomach as he watched her struggle her way around his mammoth frame. Her nails gripped into the fabric of his clothes, trying to tear whatever she could. It didn't work. It never does.
She should know this.
His strong arm wrapped itself around her thin waist. He felt her chest heaving beneath his restraint. Her breasts pressed against his chest for the slightest of moments before he threw her back down to the tub. She conked her head on the side of the bathtub and it left a patch of blood on the side. Her hair was matted with the flowing substance, caking it in an array of gore that he found strangely beautiful.
She whimpered as she moved her hand back to grasp at her head. She brought it in front of her face and groaned as she saw the crimson liquid that stained her palm and fingers. It ran down the center of her palm and trickled slowly along her forearm.
"Fuck…" She murmured, rising to her feet in a desperate attempt to move past him once again. Her voice held a tone of desperation and defeat. She wobbled on her unsteady legs that suddenly felt like jelly beneath her.
He moved swiftly, graceful even for a big monolithic creature, and grabbed her by the hair and slung her across the room, where she collided with the door. A yelp escaped her lips as her back smashed against the hard wood.
He was silent - always silent - as he approached her. She backed up against the door, eyes locked onto his, hand groping ceaselessly for the doorknob that she couldn't quite get a hold of. Her bloodied fingers searched, but couldn't find it. She was too scared to turn around to let herself out and his eyes held hers in a captivatingly deadly dance.
The killer was silent as he approached her.
Her eyes widened and tears poured down her cheeks, hot and fast. She screamed with terror as his giant, calloused hand reached out toward her face. "No! No! Dammit, no!"
She tried to struggle away from his touch, but to no avail.
She expected to be punched, slapped across the face, or some other sort of pain to come. Hell, she even expected to be strangled, like he had done to Linda just last year. Her chest heaved with sobs as more salty liquid poured from her chocolate depths. She clenched her eyes shut and the tears sped down her cheeks.
She expected the worst…
But it never came.
The Shape put his hand on her cheek. Softly, gently, as if he were toying with something as fragile as a newborn bird. Which, in a way, was the case. He was like a giant predator, able to kill anything in his path. And she was a small baby chick, breakable and pathetic.
He cocked his head to the side in an eerily innocent gesture as his fingers gently pressed against her face. It was as if he was hesitant, though she couldn't imagine why. He had been far from hesitant last time…
She was quiet, staring into the black abyss that was his eyes.
His breathing was heavy, and she could hear it throughout the silence of the house. It was strangely quiet, considering what she knew was about to happen to her. Tension was palpable in the air, almost suffocating her right then and there. His eyes bored into hers, unseeing, unfeeling, she thought, but inside him there was a well of emotions threatening to come forth.
Her eyes…those eyes that were so different from his own. Full of life, emotion, and the prettiest shade of brown… They invaded his subconscious, through the rage and anger and desperation to have his family back together as soon as possible. He almost thought he saw the white horse behind her…
His brushed lower to her throat, feeling the blood pumping through her jugular. Oh, she was scared…
His hand tightened around her neck.
Her scream was cut off by his large fingers, clenching tightly and painfully around her windpipe. But still, she mouthed, "No, no…"
He felt the rage to consume him. Could hear his mother's voice in the back of his head chanting in a perfectly feminine lilt, although it was devoid of emotion. Much like he had become.
Michael slung across the room; she collided with the wall and fell down, slumping in a broken manner to the tiled floor. She groaned, reaching for her neck. Hot tears made their way down her cheeks and slid down her throat, where a bruise was already beginning to form on her delicate skin.
She whimpered as he stalked toward her, not even bothering to be stealthy. He had her where he wanted her. No need for that now.
A scream passed her lips but it was cut off at the source. Her throat was hoarse now, but it was even more painful now that his hand was once again wrapped around her throat. "No! No! Please, no!"
She struggled against his grasp, her small, scarred fists beating weakly against the length of his shoulder. He didn't budge so much as a hair. His hand tightened around her throat and she found herself unable to breathe.
This is really happening.
She struggled, but his hold only tightened over her. She could see black spots in her vision, feel the life slowly slip away from her. Her hands grew limp by her sides and she felt consciousness start to fade…
He let go.
Just like that.
He fucking let go.
She collapsed to the floor, a tangle of limbs, heaving and panting and choking on her own saliva. She felt dizzy and disoriented. Her eyes focused, then unfocused…
The knife gleamed in the dingy light of the bathroom.
If she had it left in her, she would've screamed. But instead, she managed a weak little squeak, the only thing her mangled throat would allow her to emit. He walked forward brusquely, all businesslike.
Cold-blooded.
Mechanical.
Poised to kill.
He wanted to kill her, he knew that. But a part of him, the innocent, childlike part that still resided somewhere within him, wanted to let her go. Like he did last time. He could feel his childish instincts kick in, trying to override the urge to kill.
Stop, stop!
No, he wouldn't stop.
Not this time.
No matter what his current feelings were.
Heh, feelings. As if Michael Myers could have feelings.
She had regained her voice during his argument within himself. She was now screaming, begging him to stop. Her hands thrust out in front of her, trying to prevent the blow, although she was completely exposed. The tie of her robe had loosened in her struggle, and now it was completely open, her nude body visible to him once again. She was crying, sobbing openly, scared out of her mind. She was saying something about her dad. She wanted her father to come help her. So save her. She wanted Laurie, too.
Boo… The childish voice in his head caressed the name.
He remembered what he had to do.
Sauntering forward, like a leopard coiling his muscles before he pounced, he arms swayed slightly as he walked forward, and the light gleamed off of the cold blade of deadly steel and flickered on the walls. She flinched, now noticing that it was covered in blood. Sticky crimson liquid splashed itself across the blade.
"No…" She pleaded, though in her voice was a feel of resignation. She knew what was about to come. And all too quickly, it seemed.
He charged, wrapping his hand around her throat once again and pinning her against the wall as the first stab penetrated her stomach cavity. It was surprisingly intimate, even for one of his kills.
"Ah!" She exclaimed, and her voice was a slight gurgle after that.
He dug the knife deeper into her as she squirmed, the energy slowly draining from her eyes, the same eyes that had captivated him all this time.
He then started to torment her, dragging the knife all over her body, cutting her up and slinging her all around the room. Blood splattered against the walls. She was weak, but she still tried to fight back, even as she was being attacked. This caused her blood to slosh against the walls and all over the floor in some sick kind of way.
This went on for a while, and then he finally had her on the floor. Her robe was lying away from her, covered in her own gore. She was nude before him, and, like last time, she felt the sting of impending doom come over her.
He was atop her, looking down at her with that same innocently evil look that seemed plastered to his mask ever since he first donned it. The knife was caked with blood - hers and his other victims'.
Her breathing had slowed significantly, and there was a registering emotion in her eyes.
She knew she was almost done for.
Last time it hadn't nearly been this bad. She had only escaped with a few injuries, though they were severe with time, they ended up healing well enough. But now…now she knew she was going to…
Her eyes gained some fire to them in her dying moments. She looked at him with indignation and tried to spit into his face, though it fell short.
He blinked and sank the knife into her stomach one final time. She gasped at that and twitched slightly, feeling the life drain from her slowly but surely.
Seeing that he had done his job, he rose from her, leaving her breathing. He knew that Laurie would probably find her sooner or later. Maybe she would be there in time, or perhaps she would be too late.
An emotion in Michael made him realize that he hoped it was the former.
He turned, his mammoth form leaving the room which was now splattered with blood. There was some of it on his clothes as well, though he didn't care. He never did. He wore it like a badge of honor. Like something that any normal person would be proud to display.
Her breathing was labored - he could hear it, as faint as it was.
He opened the door, a rather strange thing for him considering he could just break the damn thing down with a movement of his large frame.
He gazed back at the young woman, dying in a pool of her own blood and silently - and regrettably - hoped that someone would find her before she expired.
One last thought crossed his mind before he left the room for good.
Pretty.
End.
Well, there you go! Slightly morbid and…well, yeah. Gory. But not really. I didn't get too descriptive, I don't think. But I'm still rating it an M for content and everything, just to be safe.
Anyway, I hope I did a pretty good job on this. I tried my best! It was my first time writing something like this. Ever since I saw Halloween II this past weekend, I had the urge to write something - particularly a MichaelAnnie, or what could be construed as a MichaelAnnie - for this fandom.
I hope y'all enjoyed it. Feedback would be very much appreciated for this first attempt of mine! Haha.
Thanks!