A/N: This is a slow chapter, I promise it will get better in the future. This is my first Halloween Fanfic, so I hope it isn't too cringy.
Side note: This is based on the Rob Zombie Halloween, and Micheal didn't escape yet.
Even if you haven't watched the remakes, you will still get the main gist of the story. Just a few minor details will be different.
So far it was a quiet day, Micheal didn't get transferred anywhere, and he wasn't going to see his social worker today. It had been fifteen years since he was out free in the world. He honestly missed hanging out with people.
The only two people who even talked to him were the social worker, and a janitor. There were a few times he almost broke his record, and said a word. But he decided not to, or that it was weird to just start now.
He kept his picture of him and his baby sister, it was the only part of the outside world he was allowed to see, other than the tiniest window he's ever seen.
Even though he seemed tough, sometimes he felt like he was a paper man, getting stepped on. He wasn't in control of anything, and that always bugged him. He hated not being in control, which was why he started killing in the first place, that was one thing he could be in control of, and he took that chance.
It used to give him a thrill, but when he killed the nurse, he didn't feel it. Now he wondered if he would feel that again, he hasn't killed anyone since, but he also never really felt anything, not anger, happiness, resentment, nothing. Sometimes he wondered if he was even alive.
A crash brought his attention back to reality. Then two security guards opened a girl's cell, and Micheal could hear them from the end of the hall. He was painting a mask that was white, with blood pouring down the face, and out of the mouth.
He could tell they were drunk off their asses. He heard his cell door unlock, and he closed his eyes, but never stopped painting the mouth red. He could hear the girl struggling. And he opened his eyes. They smelled like they had been smoking pot.
"Have fun, bitch!" They yelled, and threw her in. He looked behind him. She had a little white dress on, and blonde hair. She started pounding on the door, and screaming.
"Please! Get me out of here! Please!" She begged. He stood up, and she started pounding harder, and screaming louder. "Please, someone! Help, get me out of here!" She started crying, and fell down on her knees, in sobs. "No, please don't hurt me," She pleaded. He moved towards her, and she started crying harder. "Please!" She screamed. He tilted his head, and she looked up at him. He had an orange mask on, with black mouth and eyes.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and got closer to her. She looked like she had been crying for a while. She started to block her face with her hands. He turned around, and continued to paint the mask.
…
The girl was clearly not used to being here, but then again she was probably scared of him, which he understood. He had thought of killing her, just to see if he would get that satisfaction of being in control. But something inside of him screamed at him not to. He was confused why, because he hasn't had that feeling since he was ten, and he wanted to kill someone at school, but he did anyway. But this feeling inside of him was strong, and overbearing.
His hand was shaking, while he painted, and it was making him mad. He messed up the blood, so he had to paint a section of the mask red. He gave up, and decided to write inside of his blue mask he made the day before, the paint was dry, so it would be easier, and give him a break.
He liked to write inside of the masks, because it felt like he was writing to his mom, and sometimes it was very therapeutic. He would write in pen, and talk about his frustrations, and how much he missed her.
He would sometimes write how he thought his baby sister turned out after all these years, and how much he still loved her. He would write on his mother's birthday, and make one dedicated to her, he had his masks he made for his mother by his bed.
He looked over to the girl, and saw her looking at all the masks, he continued writing. He knew how it felt to first come here, so he was giving her a break. He wasn't mad that she was checking them out. Actually it made him feel something about her.
Everyone squirmed, when they looked at his masks. But she looked impressed, she looked like she liked them. And it was a weird feeling to Micheal. She saw him looking at her.
"Sorry," She said quietly, he continued writing.