1. Memories and Killer Morticians
It was somewhere near one in the morning at the Mental Institution. Located in Indiana, it was home to many people. The dangerous emotionally unstable people, and even had a few killers in it. Not well known, but hidden in this little institution there were about two or three murderers. Their victims were obviously helpless or it wasn't a large amount of people killed, or they would be in a much larger place.
Only one didn't fall into this category.
- -
"Rob, where are the keys? It's my turn now."
A guard looked up from the magazine he was reading to see his partner, Eric. Rob fished through a cabinet at his desk and pulled up the keys. "Remember the fourteenth cell has the creepy psycho that always tries to grab you."
Eric shuddered. "Of course."
He left the room and then came to a hallway. Cells were aligned full with people, and Eric began to walk down the halls checking inside each one. Coming to the fourteenth one, he kept his distance as some old man inside cackled insanely, knowing he was being feared. One of those murderers, Eric thought, eyeing the old man and approached the last of the cells.
Cell sixteen. Now he walked forward and peered inside, expecting for a fist to hit the small glass window. Nothing happened. Eric leaned forward. Where was the patient? Scanning the cell once again, he realized there was no one there and suddenly panic struck him. The patient must have escaped!
Eric grabbed the keys, unlocked the door and came in, looking around the darkness of the cell. Pulling out his radio, he said into the device, "Patient at cell sixteen is not in cell, must have escaped. Get backup and search the-"
Suddenly there was a burning pain in his back. Dropping the radio, a voice crackled over the other end but at the time it was useless. Eric slowly looked behind him and met the eyes of the patient. Dark and unemotional, they stared back. The guard dropped to the ground with a piece of bed railing stuck into his back, dead.
The patient stared at the body for a moment, blinked, and left the room, walking down the halls. The others in their own cells watched in the backs of the small confinements praying that the patient wouldn't decide to hurt them for any apparent reason.
The patient continued to walk down the halls, quietly and soon entered through the back office. The others watched as the patient opened the door, entered and slowly closed it. Only small amounts of shuffling reached their ears for a moment. Then the silence was broken by a painful scream.
-
"Who's at sixteen?" A guard asked, running down the halls of the institute searching for the hallway with cells one to sixteen.
The other guard next to him replied hurriedly, "That one murderer that's staying here until being relocated."
They finally reached the back entrance to their desired location and ran in. What met their eyes tempted them to throw up at first sight before they regained themselves. Blood was covering the floor in patches. One of the patient's head was stuck in one the bars of the cells wall. The patient was at cell fourteen. Someone's intestines were strung across the room and the other end was tied to a dead person's neck. Other vital organs were thrown about the small hallway.
"Holy shit. . ." One murmured as the other called for backup.
By now sirens were wailing to warn others of the escaped. The grounds were covered in people searching for the patient but there was no luck. Outside, a truck was leaving before getting caught up in the trouble. Silently, a dark figure opened the back and climbed in without a noise.
The truck pulled out and left to the sounds of guards, sirens and dogs barking, unaware of the fact that there was more weight on it than planned. Destination: Haddonfeild, Illinois.
---
John Strode walked to the couch, carrying a cup of coffee. He was apparently very tired from staying up all night. Memories of a certain killer always brought back painful memories, which would result in bad nightmares. Michael Myers had killed his mother Laurie Strode, his friends, haunted his mother and now is on his mind. He groggily blinked and looked at the clock. It was eleven-thirty. Normally, this would sound pretty early for some people, but when you didn't sleep for even five minutes the night before it was very late.
John grabbed the TV remote and turned on the TV. Images flashed by as he changed channels. Nothing to watch. Then he heard the word 'killer' on a station and changed it to that. It was obviously the news, where a broadcast woman told viewers of an event a few nights ago.
"At the Indiana Mental Institute for the criminally insane and unstable, last night there was a major tragedy that has investigators searching like bloodhounds. The institute's most dangerous resident had escaped, leaving behind a slaughtering trail. There were twelve deaths of the innocent, and the criminal was identified as 'Eliza Reeds,' a young killer that has a body count of thirty nine, excluding the nights victims."
John sighed. For a moment he thought they would be talking of Michael Myers by chance. Taking a sip of the coffee and resuming watching the news, the broadcaster continued, "Not being caught, investigators estimate that she had left by sneaking on a truck carrying items that the institute found valuable. The only transportation that night delivering was a company that has medicine provided for the institution. With only one truck, its next destination and stop was heading for the already town famous for its own killer, Haddonfeild, Illinois."
John almost choked on his coffee.
A second reporter said, "A dangerous situation, but we can't help but think if there will be a round between famous Michael Myers and this Eliza Reeds."
They laughed like it was a joke. It wasn't. John angrily stared at the screen. They can't just talk like that about Michael. He would have this girl's head in less than a second.
"Maybe, but that does bring up the subject on Michael. Still out on the loose or dead, we have yet to figure out the meaning to his shocking yet gruesome story. On to other stories, a wild fire is spreading through-"
John turned off the TV. For a while he stared at the blank screen. It wasn't funny. He knew this girl would be killed. Haddonfeild is the territory of Michael. Michael doesn't care what gender his victims are. He doesn't care how he kills. And he definitely doesn't hesitate.
A ringing noise broke the silence, and he snapped out of his trance. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hey, John."
John smiled. It was his girlfriend, Heather. "What's up?"
"The news. Did you just hear that?"
"Yes, sadly." John rubbed his eyes.
"Man, I locked my door as soon as I heard that there are now two killers here."
"I doubt it. She'll probably leave as soon as she realizes where she is."
"Hopefully." Heather said softly into the phone.
- - -
A truck pulled into the back parking lot of a local building messily. No one bothered to greet the truck and ask what they hell they were doing at a bank. The door opened without the driver even turning off the motor. A girl stepped out, who appeared to be in the ages between fifteen to the age of twenty. Young, pale and dark was a way to describe her. She had dark brown hair that was cut short so it looked like she had naturally spiked hair.
Dirty looking was another way to describe her. She had dark rings underneath her eyes that made her look unhealthy, and she had on a blue and partially ripped vest over a white shirt. Her pants were jeans that seemed very large on her and a belt that made everything fit. Stolen clothes. A typical 'trucker' outfit. Her gray eyes scanned the area.
Bright and happy. The town streets were decorated with pumpkins and happy Halloween signs. She watched as a lady and her child walked over to the store she had arrived at. The kid stuck a hand into her purse and tried to pull out a candy bar. "Georgie, no! You try to steal that, and remember that the Boogieman Michael Myers will come a and get you!"
It was said as a joke and warning, but the girl slowly thought. Michael Myers. Haddonfeild. She walked forward repeating the name in her head. Michael Myers.
- - -
"I can't believe how jinxed our town is. I want to move out of this killer breeding ground." Heather moaned as she and John walked through a bookstore.
Heather was your typical romance book obsessed girl. She was a blonde and a complainer but also nice. She searched through the aisles of sappy books and John looked around, ashamed, for being in this section. "I'm not leaving. My mom grew up here."
"You know, it was over three years ago. You'll get over it and feel bad that you didn't move away by then if the whole population hasn't been killed by Michael," Heather laughed as she read the summary of a book.
John was offended, but didn't show it. "I guess," he shrugged.
"Maybe I should come here tomorrow instead." She debated. "Halloween sale."
Oh, yes. Halloween is tomorrow. John sighed. The day his mother was attacked multiple times by Michael Myers. The day he comes and tries to kill his family members, and in the process killing just about everyone that has ever made contact with the victims. Heather got up and waved her hand annoyingly in front of his face. "Snap out of it!"
"My bad." He said as they left.
Exiting through the door, John looked to his left and froze. There was a car outside. But the driver wore a familiar white mask. "Oh, shit. . ." John mumbled and immediately began to sweat.
"What's wrong with you?" Heather asked, and John looked at her, and back to where the car was. Gone.
"Oh, nothing." He murmured, searching the parking lot for the same car. He was imagining things. Michael was dead from the time he killed all those teens going into his house for the game show. That 'Dangertainment' thing where he got burned to death at the end. That was a three years ago. They walked to their own car. Another one pulled up behind, and the driver only stared and shallowly breathed in his mask.
- - -
Michael Myers. Eliza Reeds walked into the embalming room of the morgue. The single thought was running through her head. Michael Myers, Michael Myers, Michael Myers. She approached a table where multiple people lay in body bags. She unzipped the first one. Some old, fat lady. Not Michael. She unzipped another. An old man. Not Michael.
No. Michael is alive. She walked over to a table to see tools. Little tiny and useless things to help with the embalmment. She looked through the cabinets and pulled something out. It was a big Coroner's knife. She held it for a moment and looked at her reflection on the blade. Michael Myers blood will be on this. Eliza turned and walked out.
- - -
Standing in front of a run down and ancient-looking house, Eliza stood staring unemotionally with the large blade still in her hand. This is where Michael lived. She walked up the creaky stairs. It was amazing that they didn't collapse under her one hundred and forty pound weight. She tried to open the doors. They didn't. Eliza blinked, raised the knife and plunged it forward. She broke through the rotten wood and fished around for the handle. Finding it, she twisted and nothing happened. The door was boarded up from the inside.
She stood still, slowly processing what to do. Her decision was made, so she once again used the knife and fist to break through the doors only this time using both arms, she quickly ripped the boards off. Clearly she was stronger than most people, but still looked fragile. Now Eliza pushed the door and it fell forward. The girl walked inside to see a musty dark place. Dust drifted on no current through the home and she started exploring. Michael. Come out.
Eliza walked into the living room area, unaware of the footsteps behind her.
TBC
It was somewhere near one in the morning at the Mental Institution. Located in Indiana, it was home to many people. The dangerous emotionally unstable people, and even had a few killers in it. Not well known, but hidden in this little institution there were about two or three murderers. Their victims were obviously helpless or it wasn't a large amount of people killed, or they would be in a much larger place.
Only one didn't fall into this category.
- -
"Rob, where are the keys? It's my turn now."
A guard looked up from the magazine he was reading to see his partner, Eric. Rob fished through a cabinet at his desk and pulled up the keys. "Remember the fourteenth cell has the creepy psycho that always tries to grab you."
Eric shuddered. "Of course."
He left the room and then came to a hallway. Cells were aligned full with people, and Eric began to walk down the halls checking inside each one. Coming to the fourteenth one, he kept his distance as some old man inside cackled insanely, knowing he was being feared. One of those murderers, Eric thought, eyeing the old man and approached the last of the cells.
Cell sixteen. Now he walked forward and peered inside, expecting for a fist to hit the small glass window. Nothing happened. Eric leaned forward. Where was the patient? Scanning the cell once again, he realized there was no one there and suddenly panic struck him. The patient must have escaped!
Eric grabbed the keys, unlocked the door and came in, looking around the darkness of the cell. Pulling out his radio, he said into the device, "Patient at cell sixteen is not in cell, must have escaped. Get backup and search the-"
Suddenly there was a burning pain in his back. Dropping the radio, a voice crackled over the other end but at the time it was useless. Eric slowly looked behind him and met the eyes of the patient. Dark and unemotional, they stared back. The guard dropped to the ground with a piece of bed railing stuck into his back, dead.
The patient stared at the body for a moment, blinked, and left the room, walking down the halls. The others in their own cells watched in the backs of the small confinements praying that the patient wouldn't decide to hurt them for any apparent reason.
The patient continued to walk down the halls, quietly and soon entered through the back office. The others watched as the patient opened the door, entered and slowly closed it. Only small amounts of shuffling reached their ears for a moment. Then the silence was broken by a painful scream.
-
"Who's at sixteen?" A guard asked, running down the halls of the institute searching for the hallway with cells one to sixteen.
The other guard next to him replied hurriedly, "That one murderer that's staying here until being relocated."
They finally reached the back entrance to their desired location and ran in. What met their eyes tempted them to throw up at first sight before they regained themselves. Blood was covering the floor in patches. One of the patient's head was stuck in one the bars of the cells wall. The patient was at cell fourteen. Someone's intestines were strung across the room and the other end was tied to a dead person's neck. Other vital organs were thrown about the small hallway.
"Holy shit. . ." One murmured as the other called for backup.
By now sirens were wailing to warn others of the escaped. The grounds were covered in people searching for the patient but there was no luck. Outside, a truck was leaving before getting caught up in the trouble. Silently, a dark figure opened the back and climbed in without a noise.
The truck pulled out and left to the sounds of guards, sirens and dogs barking, unaware of the fact that there was more weight on it than planned. Destination: Haddonfeild, Illinois.
---
John Strode walked to the couch, carrying a cup of coffee. He was apparently very tired from staying up all night. Memories of a certain killer always brought back painful memories, which would result in bad nightmares. Michael Myers had killed his mother Laurie Strode, his friends, haunted his mother and now is on his mind. He groggily blinked and looked at the clock. It was eleven-thirty. Normally, this would sound pretty early for some people, but when you didn't sleep for even five minutes the night before it was very late.
John grabbed the TV remote and turned on the TV. Images flashed by as he changed channels. Nothing to watch. Then he heard the word 'killer' on a station and changed it to that. It was obviously the news, where a broadcast woman told viewers of an event a few nights ago.
"At the Indiana Mental Institute for the criminally insane and unstable, last night there was a major tragedy that has investigators searching like bloodhounds. The institute's most dangerous resident had escaped, leaving behind a slaughtering trail. There were twelve deaths of the innocent, and the criminal was identified as 'Eliza Reeds,' a young killer that has a body count of thirty nine, excluding the nights victims."
John sighed. For a moment he thought they would be talking of Michael Myers by chance. Taking a sip of the coffee and resuming watching the news, the broadcaster continued, "Not being caught, investigators estimate that she had left by sneaking on a truck carrying items that the institute found valuable. The only transportation that night delivering was a company that has medicine provided for the institution. With only one truck, its next destination and stop was heading for the already town famous for its own killer, Haddonfeild, Illinois."
John almost choked on his coffee.
A second reporter said, "A dangerous situation, but we can't help but think if there will be a round between famous Michael Myers and this Eliza Reeds."
They laughed like it was a joke. It wasn't. John angrily stared at the screen. They can't just talk like that about Michael. He would have this girl's head in less than a second.
"Maybe, but that does bring up the subject on Michael. Still out on the loose or dead, we have yet to figure out the meaning to his shocking yet gruesome story. On to other stories, a wild fire is spreading through-"
John turned off the TV. For a while he stared at the blank screen. It wasn't funny. He knew this girl would be killed. Haddonfeild is the territory of Michael. Michael doesn't care what gender his victims are. He doesn't care how he kills. And he definitely doesn't hesitate.
A ringing noise broke the silence, and he snapped out of his trance. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hey, John."
John smiled. It was his girlfriend, Heather. "What's up?"
"The news. Did you just hear that?"
"Yes, sadly." John rubbed his eyes.
"Man, I locked my door as soon as I heard that there are now two killers here."
"I doubt it. She'll probably leave as soon as she realizes where she is."
"Hopefully." Heather said softly into the phone.
- - -
A truck pulled into the back parking lot of a local building messily. No one bothered to greet the truck and ask what they hell they were doing at a bank. The door opened without the driver even turning off the motor. A girl stepped out, who appeared to be in the ages between fifteen to the age of twenty. Young, pale and dark was a way to describe her. She had dark brown hair that was cut short so it looked like she had naturally spiked hair.
Dirty looking was another way to describe her. She had dark rings underneath her eyes that made her look unhealthy, and she had on a blue and partially ripped vest over a white shirt. Her pants were jeans that seemed very large on her and a belt that made everything fit. Stolen clothes. A typical 'trucker' outfit. Her gray eyes scanned the area.
Bright and happy. The town streets were decorated with pumpkins and happy Halloween signs. She watched as a lady and her child walked over to the store she had arrived at. The kid stuck a hand into her purse and tried to pull out a candy bar. "Georgie, no! You try to steal that, and remember that the Boogieman Michael Myers will come a and get you!"
It was said as a joke and warning, but the girl slowly thought. Michael Myers. Haddonfeild. She walked forward repeating the name in her head. Michael Myers.
- - -
"I can't believe how jinxed our town is. I want to move out of this killer breeding ground." Heather moaned as she and John walked through a bookstore.
Heather was your typical romance book obsessed girl. She was a blonde and a complainer but also nice. She searched through the aisles of sappy books and John looked around, ashamed, for being in this section. "I'm not leaving. My mom grew up here."
"You know, it was over three years ago. You'll get over it and feel bad that you didn't move away by then if the whole population hasn't been killed by Michael," Heather laughed as she read the summary of a book.
John was offended, but didn't show it. "I guess," he shrugged.
"Maybe I should come here tomorrow instead." She debated. "Halloween sale."
Oh, yes. Halloween is tomorrow. John sighed. The day his mother was attacked multiple times by Michael Myers. The day he comes and tries to kill his family members, and in the process killing just about everyone that has ever made contact with the victims. Heather got up and waved her hand annoyingly in front of his face. "Snap out of it!"
"My bad." He said as they left.
Exiting through the door, John looked to his left and froze. There was a car outside. But the driver wore a familiar white mask. "Oh, shit. . ." John mumbled and immediately began to sweat.
"What's wrong with you?" Heather asked, and John looked at her, and back to where the car was. Gone.
"Oh, nothing." He murmured, searching the parking lot for the same car. He was imagining things. Michael was dead from the time he killed all those teens going into his house for the game show. That 'Dangertainment' thing where he got burned to death at the end. That was a three years ago. They walked to their own car. Another one pulled up behind, and the driver only stared and shallowly breathed in his mask.
- - -
Michael Myers. Eliza Reeds walked into the embalming room of the morgue. The single thought was running through her head. Michael Myers, Michael Myers, Michael Myers. She approached a table where multiple people lay in body bags. She unzipped the first one. Some old, fat lady. Not Michael. She unzipped another. An old man. Not Michael.
No. Michael is alive. She walked over to a table to see tools. Little tiny and useless things to help with the embalmment. She looked through the cabinets and pulled something out. It was a big Coroner's knife. She held it for a moment and looked at her reflection on the blade. Michael Myers blood will be on this. Eliza turned and walked out.
- - -
Standing in front of a run down and ancient-looking house, Eliza stood staring unemotionally with the large blade still in her hand. This is where Michael lived. She walked up the creaky stairs. It was amazing that they didn't collapse under her one hundred and forty pound weight. She tried to open the doors. They didn't. Eliza blinked, raised the knife and plunged it forward. She broke through the rotten wood and fished around for the handle. Finding it, she twisted and nothing happened. The door was boarded up from the inside.
She stood still, slowly processing what to do. Her decision was made, so she once again used the knife and fist to break through the doors only this time using both arms, she quickly ripped the boards off. Clearly she was stronger than most people, but still looked fragile. Now Eliza pushed the door and it fell forward. The girl walked inside to see a musty dark place. Dust drifted on no current through the home and she started exploring. Michael. Come out.
Eliza walked into the living room area, unaware of the footsteps behind her.
TBC