Michael Audrey Myers, the man that made Haddonfield what it was, the soul inhabitant of 45 Lampkin Lane, the serial killer who succeeded in killing the majority of his family. He was the reason behind my psychology major, the filler of my day, my full obsession. I needed to know how his mind worked.
I flipped through the pages in an old newspaper, fingering the yellowing pages lovingly. It dated back to the first days of Michael's incarceration, back when he was just a child. A child that, in my opinion, didn't know any better; he didn't know that killing someone was wrong, and the man in black hadn't been much of a help.
Today I was nervous and excited, terrified and collected. Today was the day I would be spending the night in the Myers' house. I was required for my psych class to do one hands on activity, one thing that was sure to make or break me in the eyes of Psychology. This was my chance to prove my theory on Michael, my chance to see what really went on at the Myers' house all those years ago.
I closed the newspaper and stood, looking around the empty library before turning out the lights and leaving the room. I locked the door behind me and headed down the front steps into the quiet afternoon. I loved the peace of working at the library, I could stay for however long and nobody would mind, as long as the door was locked the next morning when the head librarian opened the doors.
My cell phone rang a series of haunting cords that told me that someone was calling. I picked it up and greeted the person on the other end cheerfully, "Hey Izzy, are you sill coming tonight?" Isabella Landon was my best friend; the two of us were inseparable; basically joined at the hip.
"I can only stay a couple of hours," she replied. I could hear rustling of paper in the background and figured that she was still working on her English thesis. "I hate this homework thing, how am I going to spend Christmas Eve with my best friend when I have so much work to do?" She continued on grumbling as I walked down the street.
I let myself into my apartment and sat my book bag on the kitchen table, still listening to Izzy going on and on about her English Thesis. A small whimper came from the area around my feet and I could feel the pressure of something rubbing up against my legs. I chuckled lightly and bent down to pick up Confetti, my small tabby cat. I gently petted her and smiled, saying goodbye to Izzy and telling her I would meet her later at the Myers' house.
Me grabbed my Psychology notebook and flipped through it to my initial thoughts on Michael and information I have collected from his Psychologist, Dr. Samuel Loomis. Loomis' files, his thoughts, his collection of newspaper clippings, all photocopied and organized in a large three ringed binder. Loomis, a man that I don't agree with ninety-five percent of the time, but respect above all others.
Michael Audrey Myers is a misunderstood, cursed soul. The curse of thorn and the influence of the Man in Black has caused him to murder these people. Michael does what he thinks is good for mankind, even if it does take away all the people he loves. Michael is known to show emotions to his family members, crying over having to kill his niece, Jamie Lloyd, when she was about 8 or 9.
Michael is a survivor, he has been known to eat whatever is available, this includes: dogs, rats, and the possibility of human flesh. He has some sort of superhuman strength, able to pick up a human body without effort. He is also able to take multiple flesh wounds without causing his death.
Michael is very sentimental; returning to and protecting his childhood home multiple times. He even went as far as to live in the sewers under the house to stay close by. He also kept Sam Loomis around, having the chance to kill the old man many times.
Michael doesn't want us to "know" who he is, hence the mask. He covers up his face, hiding who he is inside so we can't see. The mask marks the killer, underneath there is more to him. He (not IT, as much as Loomis says otherwise) is human, and very likely has human emotions under the façade of his mask.
I read through my brief summery quickly and sighed, wondering if I could prove any of this by a visit to his house. A house that had been tampered with about two years ago by the people hosting "Dangertainment", nothing left could be the real Michael, could it?
I stuffed my papers in my backpack and grabbed my overnight bag; it was time to head out for the legendary house. Time to go exploring, time to delve into Michael's mind. I grabbed my jacket and locked my door behind me before setting off down the street toward my goal.
The house loomed in front of me, overwhelming. I moved my hair out of my face and stepped up the front steps. The door creaked open and I entered the dusty front room. I dropped my bag on the ground and pulled out my flashlight, leaving the rest of the contents where they were. I set off into the next room, taking everything I saw with a grain of salt.
There had been some smoke damage from the burning garden building. It smelled strange, but the main house was intact. I uncovered a couch and sat down waiting for Izzy, idly fidgeting with the flashlight and my hair.
I kind of lost track of time for awhile as I sat and stared at the dusty floor, I was lost in thought and didn't even hear the floorboards creak when Izzy snuck up behind me. She tapped me on the shoulder and I whirled around with a squeak. It took a moment to figure out that it was just her; another second for the anger to sink in, then I smacked her hard on the arm.
Izzy laughed at me and rolled her eyes, "Come on Andi let's go explore this place!" She grabbed my hand, switched on her flashlight, and pulled me out of the living room. For this being my night, she was sure being the pushy one on this expedition.
We chatted quietly, not wanting to disturb the quiet in the house as we looked around. There wasn't much left after the last group of people had messed it all up. Not to mention that there had been others living in the house before Freddy and his sick joke he tried to pull on the world. It seemed like we were just playing, there wasn't much evidence left to go on.
Izzy had plopped down on a bed in what had to have been Judith's room and looked up at me, "Are you really going to sleep here? It's dusty, gross, and boring. What if he comes back?" She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, "It's amazing how many people he's killed in this building over the years."
I rolled my eyes at her and sat down in a chair, "Yes, I'm going to stay here, I don't think it's boring at all. If he comes back, it was nice knowing you. And everyone will know I died doing what I love."
"Yeah, your obsession with Michael Myers will be your downfall, fantastic!" She said and looked down at her watch. "This is where I leave you, my friend. Good night and good luck." She crawled off of the bed and stretched, before we walked down to the front door.
I said my goodbyes and turned back into the empty house, "So, it's just you and me. Where should we start?"
I started my more thorough search in the living room, going through everything I could find in every room in the house until about two o'clock in the morning. By that time I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Refusing to lie down until I made my way back to the living room and the only piece of furniture in the house I trusted, I stood and dusted myself off. Coughing as the dust floated up into my face.
When I was safely back in the living room and laying down on the less than comfortable old couch, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to everything that had happened in this old house. The family Michael had, why he did it, and him coming back for more. It didn't take long until I had entered a fitful sleep.
I hit the floor with a loud thud, snapping awake almost instantly. I managed to convince myself that the only reason that I had woken up was because I had fallen off my small makeshift bed. I sighed and crawled back up, looking out the window to the sun rising in the distance, it was beautiful. The pinks and oranges blended together, leaving a soft smile on my face. My eyelids felt heavy so I rolled back onto the couch, head rested on the arm.
My eyes snapped open, and in desperate attempt to get away I landed once again on the ground, this time not as graceful as before. I was twisted in a very uncomfortable position as I scrambled to get away. I screamed out as metal dug into my skin, the pain taking me by surprise. The masked figure turned his head to examine me. He hadn't moved from his position behind the couch, so he was probably wondering why I was whimpering and clutching at my side.
A loose nail in the floorboards had cut me as I was trying to get away, not being a person with a high tolerance for pain the small, bloody cut left me feeling very vulnerable.
After a few seconds my focus shifted back to the bigger threat in the room, how long had he been standing behind that couch watching me? It could have been hours, but something inside me told me I wouldn't have been alive if that were the case.
I managed to stand, still watching the man in front of me, this was my Michael, the reason I was here. I let out a breath, saying the only thing that came to my mind, "It's you!" I regretted saying anything after watching his eyes go from a look of curiosity to one of anger. His hand visibly tightened around the kitchen knife held in it.
I took a step toward him, watching for a reaction. It took another step for his eyes to widen in surprise. "Michael, I think I understand," I whispered, stopping in my tracks, not wanting to get any closer in case it was a ruse to make me come nearer. "You're just trying to save everyone, aren't you? Didn't the Man in Black tell you that you could make the world better if only you killed off your family?"
I reached out with my hand, wanting to touch him but not having the guts to actually do it. "Isn't that why you've been doing this Michael? You're killing everyone that loved you, everyone that tried to stop you, just so you could restore balance in our imperfect world."
No response. But that had to be it, after all that I'd read, child-like innocence mixed with the menacing influence of a deranged mind had to be what caused all of this. I had gathered enough courage at this time to reach out and tentatively touch his arm, the couch still between us, giving me a small shield.
He reacted immediately; going from the docile, curious creature that had hung on my every word, to grabbing me and pulling me toward him, his knife poised and ready. He was on high alert, ready to kill me if I so much as breathed funny.
"Michael please, I'm not trying to stop you," I said, panic evident in my voice, "I'm not trying to hurt you like the rest of them." He loosened his grip on me; I could see his internal struggle in his eyes, to kill the girl or not?
He pushed me away from him, and I stumbled with the force of it. He took a few steps back to watch me. I was sure he wanted me to turn and run, but I was getting through to him. In our own weird way, we were communicating. I wasn't going to leave now, knowing I had screwed up my one chance.
I laced my fingers in front of me, watching him watching me. "I need to sit down," I said moving slowly toward the couch, "do you want to sit with me?" I gradually sank down to the overstuffed cushions on the couch, turning my head to look at him. To my great surprise, he sat down next to me, far enough away that I'd have to lean over if I wanted to touch him. Far enough away that if he wanted to hurt me, I could have time to get up and run.
"I'm Andi, I want to be your friend," I said with a soft smile, "do you know what 'friends' is Michael? Know what friends do together?"
He reached out so quick that I didn't see what was coming; I let out a startled shriek and jumped back, his fingers trailing along with my face. I relaxed when it clicked in my mind that he wasn't trying to hurt me. I pulled myself closer to him, showing him that he wasn't scaring me anymore.
His fingers traced down my cheekbone and across my lips with hardly enough pressure to even tell that they were there. I sucked in a sharp breath and I closed my eyes as his fingers traveled down my throat.
I didn't want to stop him, didn't what to tell him this was, in fact, not the way friends acted. I didn't want to break it to him that this behavior was more like that of a boyfriend or a lover. I didn't want him to stop, even if it was just the caress of his fingers.
I let out a small sigh as his fingers met the fabric of my shirt; I realized he was watching my face looking for a sign that he hadn't crossed any boundaries, that I wanted him to keep going. I looked into his black eyes and nodded in encouragement, "You can touch me. I won't stop you."
I was rewarded with his other hand reaching out to pull at the bottom of my shirt. I leaned back slowly and grabbed the fabric, pulling it off over my head so he would have more skin to touch.
His eyes visibly widened as my skin and bra came into view, his fingers giving up their previous search to trace over the black, lacy fabric on my chest. I sucked in my breath as warm fingers met cool skin, tracing over the tops of my breasts.
"Michael," I said with a low groan reaching up to stop his hand, "we should stop; this isn't how friends act together." I had forced myself to say it; taking advantage of his ignorance would weigh heavily on my conscious for a long time if I let him go through with this.
He gave me a look, a look that shot daggers at me, and pressed harder at my skin. His fingers dipped down inside my bra to run along the taut flesh of my nipple. I let out a moan and closed my eyes, letting him continue his search of my skin.
I reached up behind me and unclasped my bra, slowly letting the fabric slide down my arms to expose my breasts. As soon as the fabric was pulled away and discarded on the dusty floor, his hand made its way up to cup my breast, his thumb rubbing carefully across the nipple. I let out an encouraging whimper and pulled myself closer to him, wanting to be able to feel his skin on mine.
I reached up watchfully and grasped the zipper to his outfit between my fingers. His body was tense, but he let me lower it down to his hips and push the fabric off of his shoulders to fall on the couch behind him.
My fingers traced his skin just as gently as his was on mine. He had scars littered across his chest and stomach; I took great care in running my fingers over each of them, marveling at how he had survived something like that.
His hands were at my waist, trying to pull me up against him. He was unsuccessfully trying to satisfy the need that was so visibly straining against his pants. I pulled away, watching him watch me as I made quick work of my pants and underwear. I pressed myself against him seconds later, completely naked.
He pushed me back on the couch, clearly taking control of the situation once again. His uniform had vanished in the minute it took his body to lay on top of mine, and I could feel his warmth pressed against my skin.
He slowly slid inside of me, letting out a noise from the back of his throat that sounded like a mix between a groan and a grunt. I let out a whimper, digging my fingers into his back, holding on for dear life.
He pulled out and thrust back in quickly, an experiment that made my whole body shake. His body started a rhythm that I matched thrust for thrust. Each thrust was powerful, an emptiness filled seconds later by a fullness that was enough to force a moan from my lips. I watched him, his head was thrown back with the pleasure of it all, eyes closed, just feeling.
I reached down between us and ran a finger slowly over my clit, causing me to climax around him. He came soon after, and we collapsed on the sofa, breathing hard against each other. I ran a hand gently down his back, a sleepy smile on my face.
It took about five minutes for me to find my voice, "Next time Michael, we do it in my room." I laughed and kissed him lightly on his rubber cheek. Not wanting him to get up and leave just yet, knowing I would have to leave soon to type up my report, leaving out all the good parts that's for sure.
He moved minutes later, scrambling around to find his jumpsuit. I took that as a sign to get dressed as well. We watched each other for a few minutes before my cell phone went off in the front room, startling both of us out of our afterglow.
I moved quickly, answering it before it could switch over to voicemail. "Hey girl, what's up? You still alive?" Izzy asked on the other end of the phone with a laugh.
"Yeah, It was one hell of a night," I said with a sigh and a pleased smile, "I fucked Michael Myers."
AN: My Christmas present to all my favorite Horror movie readers! Especially to 8yume who asked for more Michael and made me motivated to finish this. What do you think? Want to know more?
Disclaimer: I don't own Michael, or Halloween.