A New Kind of Curse
Chapter Five
The girl laid there, crying and whining quietly on the floor of the basement, which was dirtied with so much blood, wet and dried, old and new. She looked up to Meg who dangled helplessly from the hook; she willed herself to get up and save her, but her body was so injured that she could not muster the strength to get herself off of the floor.
Meg stared down at her with a mixture of pain and anger. "Why..." she groaned, struggling to form her words. "Why didn't he hook you?" she finally spat.
The guilt came crashing down on the girl, who somehow felt as if this could really be her fault, although she had no say in the actions of the brutal murderer. "I don't know," she half whined, half sobbed. "I don't know Meg, Michael has acted crazy toward me the last few times I've seen him in the trials... I'm scared, I don't know what he's going to do to me!"
Meg's expression changed as she could see the true desperation on the girl's face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her body shook profusely, and she was sitting in a pool of her own blood.
Meg herself cried out as the Entity's claws appeared from thin air, coming down and nearly impaling her. She struggled with her arms clutching at the Entity's spidery limbs, and prayed to anything above that someone would come and save them.
But her fears were only deepened as the sound of Jake's terrorized scream rang out from the floor above them, and only about a minute later, the same sound rang out from what sounded like Claudette a few meters away. Curse these survivors who huddle together and make it so easy for the killer to kill. Within moments, a heartbeat rang out within the two girls' ears, and Michael came down the stairs, baring an angry Jake whose arms flailed and punched at the bloodthirsty man, but it was no use. Within moments he joined Meg on the hook, who was unable to focus on anything except her struggle against the Entity. Then Michael left again, presumably to retrieve the other downed survivor, and returned moments later with the woman also attempting to wiggle her way from his grasp. But, instead of being thrown on the other bloodied hook, he tossed her body to the ground right in front of the girl who still sat against the wall of the basement.
The girl cried and whimpered in terror, as she could see this situation was taking a turn for the worse. In this life, anything out of the ordinary was always bad news; like when the ground suddenly began to rumble, bells tolling every few seconds after an exit gate was opened, for example. That took some time getting used to.
And now, the girl wondered once again, what sort of fate she was destined for with Michael Myers.
She stared up at his emotionless body, which stared back down at her. She wondered for a moment what he was thinking, if anything. But she didn't have much time to consider, as he crouched down next to her slowly. She drew in a terrified breath, shying away from the stalker and leaning as far away from him as she could without falling over, but his face drew nearer and nearer.
Hhhhh, hhhhh. That sound of Michael breathing through his mask. The thought of him so closely resembling a human beneath that mask and bodysuit somehow terrified her even more.
"What are you doing?" she sobbed aloud.
As a response, Michael's hand came forward, knife in hand.
She stared down at it, eyes wide, mouth gaping. She didn't understand at first. But then she did.
Offering. He was offering her the blade.
She had no inital reaction except to stare at the knife and back at him, a tear cascading smoothly down her cheek.
"What the fuck?!" Jake choked from the hook, having seen what was happening, and beginning to understand the gesture himself. At this point, the girl noticed that Meg had already been taken by the Entity, as she was nowhere to be found.
Michael pushed the blade even closer to the girl now, growing impatient. Still she backed away as far as she could.
"What?! No! Why? No!" she cried desperately. What does he want me to do?
Claudette still lay there, silently. Quiet, as was her nature. Still, both the girl and Michael noticed the way she shivered in distress, her eyes conveying every emotion that her mouth didn't speak. The girl sobbed loudly as she began to realize what Michael wanted her to do.
She looked at the masked man once again, her face twisted and contorted, wholly disturbed. "Why Michael?"
That masked face just stared back at her.
"Why?" she cried again.
Tired of waiting, Michael shuffled forward, and the girl screamed in fright. She attempted to move away, and squirmed as much as her injured body would allow her, but she was too weak to jump up and run. Before she knew it, a heavy hand had wrapped around her shoulder, and she was being forcefully pulled closer to Michael. She shivered as he grabbed her, positioning himself behind her, both of his arms wrapped around her with her back nestled in between his long, crouched legs. As if he was about to teach her how to swing a bat, or a golf club.
Except that he was about to teach her how to swing a knife.
Finally a pained, sorrowed noise escaped from Claudette; the girl stared down at her comrade in horror as tremendous guilt flowed through her veins.
"Mara," she spoke the girl's name with what energy she had left. "I think... I think Michael is initiating you."
Mara shook her head wildly in denial. If it were anyone else's warm, muscular arms wrapped around her, she would feel entirely safe, happy, and comfortable. But this was Michael Myers standing behind her, his hand snaking down her arm, his fingers tracing her skin all the way, sending shivers through her spine. The palm of his hand settled on her skin at her wrist, and he wrapped his hand around the outside of hers. Hhhhh, hhhhh. Now his breath was tickling at her hair, her neck, her ear. She could lightly feel the latex of his mask brushing against the side of her face, hovering just above her shoulder.
She nearly vomited all over the poor woman beneath her. Instinctively she pulled away to the opposite side of him, her shoulder coming up to her neck, like a child who was being tickled. This only caused Michael to force her back the other way, squeezing her more tightly within his arms.
With his hand still resting on the outside of her own, his palm to the back of her hand, the murderer's thumb began to snake throught the crook of the girl's thumb and forefinger, applying pressure and forcing her hand to open. His left arm snaked around her side, pressing the handle of the blade tightly into her hand, and used his fingers once again to force her to grip the blade.
Mara was too weak to even attempt to fight back. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks in a stream, her lips tightening in a childlike sob as she stared down at one of her favorite teammates. "Claudette," she stammered in a voice full of anguish. "Claudette, I'm so-I'm so sorry." She tried to release her grip from the kitchen knife, but Michael's grip was too strong.
"No," she whispered as her arm was slowly lifted by the killer's. She hadn't noticed that his other arm continued to rest comfortably wrapped around her waist, his hand gently grasping her hip in an unnoticed and uncharacteristic sign of intimacy.
Once the killer's arm was raised high in the air, and the girl's along with it, it remained for a moment, unmoving. The red light of the basement gleamed off of the face of the knife, shining down on Claudette's eyes which tremored slightly with genuine terror.
Mara wondered why these seconds continued to pass, her arm suspended in the air, the other hand resting unconsciously on Michael's thigh, his legs bent and wrapping around her sides. Her fingers were digging into the navy jumpsuit, but he didn't notice.
He was too busy savouring this delicious moment. The moment he brought an innocent woman into the maddening world of sin. The world he had resided in since childhood. His eyes drank in Claudette's palpable fear. He was nearly aroused by the two womens' dramatic show of human emotion: the terror, the sadness, hopelessness, and defeat. He so thoroughly enjoyed the way Mara cried and shook between his arms, that his left arm clenched her body very tightly against his own. But then he shifted, his arm moving upward and now cinching around her waist, her back pressing against his chest. This is why he decided to savour this moment.
But the moment was not to be savoured for very long. Just as is with anything, in any physical realm, no moment can be savoured forever.
And so, Michael sucked in his breath, his left arm finally leaving the girl's waist and flying up to join its hold on the handle of his favorite blade. Both of his hands now held hers suspended in the air, and within a moment, the blade came flying down, and together, Michael and Mara plunged the blade into Claudette's chest. Claudette heaved, her body unable to withstand the tremendous pressure, her knees flying up to nearly meet her stomach as she let out an antagonized wail of pain.
It was impossible to discern the difference between the exclamations of both women. The basement was filled with a noisy cacaphony of screaming.
If Michael could laugh, he would have laughed uncontrollably as he pulled the knife from Claudette's chest, Mara's hand still wrapped beneath his, before plunging it down once again.
Their victim screamed, cried, and thrashed about with every entrance of his knife into her body. Mara's mind was being stained and traumatized by the scene and the feeling of this weapon clasped within her hand as it so smoothly entered the flesh of her teammate, her friend-her victim.
Michael kept going until Claudette could scream no longer. Puncture wounds covered her torso, her chest, her neck, and one had even broken into her face, leaving a gorgeous bloody hole right in the side of her cheek.
Once the woman stopped moving, the fun was over, and Michael released his grip upon Mara's hand, his arms now falling to wrap themselves around her waist once again. Before she could understand what was happening, or even respond, the terrified girl was hoisted upward, spun around on her feet, and subsequently slammed hard against the wall of the basement. She thought she could hear the sound of the wooden boards giving way beneath the force of her back colliding with it.
Michael forced her against the wall with both of his hands wrapped around her biceps. He looked down into her beautiful, pale, blood-stained and tormented face. She continued to sob, her eyes closed, wrinkled in an expression of intense grief and agony. He continued to watch her shriek and sob and cry for quite a few moments until finally she calmed down enough to open her eyes and look back up at him, as he stared back down at her.
Her breaths came out as shudders, and she gasped through an intense show of emotion. She looked up into the eyeholes of his mask, wondering how such a creature could ever be brought into the world.
She drew a quick breath in as she felt the palm of his hand press ever so gently against the side of her face... caressing her.
What the fuck is going on here? she wondered to herself.
His hand continued to move smoothly across her skin, his fingertips softly drifting up and down the side of her face ever so slowly. Feeling her. Tracing her features. Until his palm rested against her face once again, and fell gradually, his fingertips now resting below her jawline. She hadn't noticed as his left hand had now left her bicep and was snaking its way up her shoulder to caress her in the same way the other hand did.
Her eyes closed, no longer staring up into the killer's mask. Somehow he felt as if he missed the feeling of her eyes staring fearfully up at him, and his head tilted ever so slightly in response to her gaze being averted. But still, he enjoyed to study her face with her eyes closed nearly all the same.
Within moments, his hands came together, thumb to thumb and finger to finger, wrapped around the entirety of her neck. Then, quite gently, he began to squeeze. She gasped while she could, startled and surprised, her hands flying up to clasp at his forearms in an attempt to pull them away, as his thumbs began to press harder and harder at the front of her neck. What felt like ages passed as the air within her body was slowly squeezed out of her, her eyes and lips began to lose feeling, and she gurgled and choked by the hands of the man she had once fucked in a desperate attempt for some feeling of romance and closeness. How betrayed she felt.
I could have loved you, she thought to herself.
You do love me.
But she could not hear these foreign thoughts that had traversed into her mind from one that was not her own, as her consciousness was so quickly being snuffed out at the hands of this ruthless murderer. Her legs trembled, kicked and thrased as they now hung suspended in the air.
Michael's arms flexed as he began to squeeze with all his might, and he watched with pleasure as her eyes began to roll to the back of her head, mouth falling agape, body going limp as a wilted flower. When he let go, her body collapsed to the floor with an empty, satisfying thump.
She was dead now.
But their story doesn't end here.