Michael straightened up, and glanced around for something to write with and on. After finding a cobweb encased pen and a dost tombed notepad he quickly cleaned them off and scrawled out, "Michael".
Luckily, Izzy did know how to read. She smiled sweetly to the masked murderer, then noticing the massive amount of blood on his somewhat janitorial uniform, his knife tucked safely in one of the many pockets out of sight.
She frowned in curiousity as her eyes glazed over the deep liquid and ilnumeral number of scratches that had torn into the dark fabric, making Michael look down to his ragged clothing. He spotted the blood and mentally cursed himself for having the girl see it. She would think him a monster as everyone else now...
"Gosh, Mike, what happened? Did you get in a fight?" Izzy questioned, concern thick in her tone, causing Michael to snap his head up to look at her quizzically, obviously puzzled that she wasn't screaming and TRYING to run to freedom.
Though his face was hidden Izzy read his expression, even if she couldn't see it. Sitting upright he hugged her knees loosely to her chest, a smile on her face with half- lidded eyes.
"Mike, I've seen and been through worse," Izzy admitted. "You saved me from that creep that was after me, and I totally owe you for it." Her eyes then flickered to the ripped, bloody material, and she grimaced. "But... you look really bad." She looked up to Michael. "Did you get in a fight?"
Michael shook his head faintly, then softly pushed her shoulder. Izzy got the message, and layed back down, her head colliding with the stale pillow of the bed. An exhausted yawn escaped her lips as Michael pulled the covers over her, Izzy snuggling into them for warmth and almost instantly falling into subconsiousness. A light smile was place on her features.
Michael stood back up to his full height, turned on his heel, and left the room swiftly. He pulled out his dry blood caked kitchen knife, looking at his reflection as the moon shone through a smudged window, making it glimmer in the silver light.
And without a word he traveled down the creaking steps (each stair moaning pleas of the sudden weight embarked upon them) and right out the open front door, cocking his head side to side. He walked off the porchm down the pathm onto the sidewalk.
Spotting a lone trick- or- treater in a superhero costume complete with a cape digging greedily through his bag of sweets he began hunting his next unlucky, unfortunate victim.
After all, Halloween is his holiday.