Chapter Four: The Boogeyman
The Shape stood alone in the attic, feeling the mask on his head. It fit perfectly, just as he remembered it fitting perfectly that night so long ago. He felt a rush of confidence, a rush of power in him as his grip tightened on the knife.
He could feel it now. His purpose. His destiny. He was made to hunt, made to kill. The voices were quiet now, and all he could hear was his own heart beating fast. The time had come.
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The Shape left the house as night fell over Haddonfield. His breathing was calm, almost serene, as he silently walked with the knife in his hand. No longer, Michael, he was a new entity altogether, a killer, a hunter, and a predator.
As he walked the streets, he watched his prey scurry around him, like fish in a tank. They were so vulnerable, so naive and ignorant as to what was coming for them. He would make them pay for their apathy and callousness, he would make them suffer as they had made Michael suffer.
He moved swiftly through the shadows. His movements were fluid, like water, like a ghost in the night.
He was a predator on the hunt, and he was enjoying the thrill of the chase.
The Shape watched the people of Haddonfield with cold, soulless lenses. He was not one of them-- not anymore. The people were so different. They were soft, weak, and stupid. They were easy prey.
He walked around for a few hours, stalking his prey, and observing their patterns and habits. The Shape was getting hungry.
But there was something, something deep inside Michael behind the voices behind the mask, just a little whisper, telling him to stop, to just go home and try to find and meet Cynthia, and then they would be friends again and then they would be like siblings again. But the voice was too quiet, he could barely hear it.
No matter how hard Michael tried he couldn't find it long enough to understand it. He wanted to but he couldn't and that scared the little boy Michael inside him.
But the voice didn't speak again.
The voices in his head were quiet, but his thoughts started filling him with confusion and doubt. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Cynthia. Michael wanted things to be the way they were before. He was afraid.
Suddenly, a new thought crept into his mind: Maybe Michael Myers was gone. Maybe There was only the Shape now. A cold, lifeless, and soulless vessel. And the Shape did not have fears like a weak human boy. The Shape feared nothing.
The Shape overtook the little boy's voice and told him to do it! Do what you have to do!
The Shape shook its head and moved, closing in on a shop owner. A young man alone in his sad little mechanic shop. Easy prey.
The Shape closed in on the mechanic, his eyes flashing with evil intent. His breathing became deeper and faster as the prey drew closer.
His hands clenched around the knife handle. This would be quick. This had to be quick. He could not hesitate. It was him or the mechanic.
He stepped forward, the mechanic noticing him out of the corner of his eye. He turned suddenly, only to see a tall, imposing figure standing before him in a worn-out white mask.
The mechanic froze, too afraid to react. It was too late for him. The Shape closed in fast, too fast. The man couldn't even react before a rusty knife was chiseled into his chest, searching for his heart. The knife twisted violently as blood flowed out of his body and spilled onto the floor making a small poodle of blood.
The man was slammed into his tool chest with such force that it toppled over. The man grasped a tranche from the fallen tool chest in a desperate attempt to escape.
Pathetic, The Shape was more amused by the man's futile attempt.
Holding the knife steady in the man's chest, The Shape used its free hand to grab the man's wrist with the wrench before pushing with enough force to drive it into his eye socket and then pull it back out along with his eye. It made a sickening noise as the eyeball was harshly ripped from its nerve.
The man screamed in utter agony as his eyeball rolled out and hit the ground. The Shape let the man hit the ground with a thick thud as it stood over him, tilting its head, inspecting its work. The Shape watched the life leave the man's body in sheer contentment.
As The Shape watched the life leave the mechanic's body, he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins. The power of taking a life was intoxicating. The Shape felt alive in a way it hadn't since that night so long ago.
It was just the beginning. The Shape was hungry for more-- more blood, more souls, more suffering. And with his new weapon in hand, The Shape would have the strength to hunt whatever it desired.
Now the scared little boy hiding in his attic, grew smaller and smaller as The Shape grew bigger and bigger. He was the Shape, and The Shape was death.
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As The Shape wandered the neighborhood it watched all the people trick or treating, searching for its next victim.
Suddenly The Shape stopped dead in its tracks as it spotted a group of three teenagers, two girls and one boy, walking down the street and laughing in glee. They were so caught up in their excitement that they failed to notice the imposing figure standing in front of them.
They were stopped in their tracks as they bumped into the figure.
"W-Shit! Sorry man!" The boy offered the figure a kind smile as they started to walk away. But The Shape didn't budge. It gazed at the teens in…interest.
The Shape watched the teenagers as they stopped and stared at him with curiosity. They were so young and so innocent, so alive. The Shape could feel something stirring inside him, something he had forgotten long ago. It was like the little boy Michael Myers was trying to fight his way out. But the voices spoke up again, more persistent than ever.
"Do it," they whispered, "do it now!"
The Shape snapped out of his trance and started to move toward the teens. He felt like he had to do it. He couldn't fight the urge any longer.
The teens backed up a bit, uncertain. "Uh-w-w-What are you doing, sir? It's not fucking funny you creep!"
The Shape backed them into an open, empty field. No one would hear their screams.
The boy was afraid yet sure, he didn't who this guy was, he was scared of what he was going to do.
One of the girls eyed the boy, "Corey, what kinda joke is this!"
The boy, Corey shook his head, "It's not a joke guys…" The teens became more frantic as the figure grew closer and closer and closer with each step.
One of the girls stopped moving and just stared up at it. "C-Cynthia, what're you doing? Get away from that freak!"
The Shape froze in shock as the realization hit him. Cynthia…Cynthia? Cynthia.
The little boy inside grew louder, pounding his little fists into The Shape's skull, desperate to escape.
No. No, it's impossible. It can't be…no! No…n-no. It is-it-it-…Cynthia…? His sister…how?
The Shape was in shock as he recognized Cynthia, his little sister who lived in his memory. The little boy inside of him was screaming, begging, pleading. He could see the confusion in Cynthia's eyes as she recognized him too. She had seen how his face changed when he looked at her.
For a brief moment, The Shape was back to being little Michael Myers, holding his little sister's hand at the park. He didn't want to hurt her, but the voices kept screaming at him.
"Kill her!" they screamed. "Make her pay!"
The Shape was paralyzed in shock and confusion as he stared at his…sister. Before The Shape could regain its focus, the kids were gone, scrambling away…
And The Shape, Michael? He-It stood there trying to comprehend what he-it had just seen.
The Shape was left standing alone in the open field, trying to remember what had just happened. Cynthia? No, it couldn't be Cynthia...it couldn't be. But why did her face seem so familiar? And why was the little boy inside of him still yelling and crying?
The Shape looked down at his hands. It was like they weren't even his own. They were hard, muscular, and deadly. Who was he now? He could feel the little boy trying to come out, to speak to his sister-- to Cynthia.