An hour-long car ride away from the forests of Camp Crystal Lake led to a house on Rolling Rapids Ct. Ending in a neighboring cul-de-sac on the edge of Hatchetstown. A once peaceful street was now cursed with agonizing screams from said house. Many neighbors have looked at the house with worry about the occupant. Some would call the police and leave it in their hands. But others swallowed their fear and approached the once quiet home. Whether it be a few knocks on the firm wood, or hearing the doorbell's chime; they were all met with a few seconds of silence followed by a voice yelling from inside.
"Coming!" the voice would call out.
Eventually, the occupant of the house would open up: a black man, smaller than average in stature. He looked like he wasn't old enough to drink, let alone own the house. The only hint of age were wrinkles that hung from his sharp eyes. Vacant of any agony that bled out of his house prior. The man would hear the concerns of his neighbors and respond with the same line.
"Sorry about that. It's just…my peepaw is really sick and he gets irritable sometimes. Everything is okay though," the young man would reassure.
The neighbors would leave the young man to his business—he had a sick relative to take care of after all. But the neighbors felt doubt brew in their minds after turning away. The way the man hugged his right arm closer to his body as he leaned against the door frame listening to his neighbors' pleas. The way he'd twirl his finger through the curls over his forehead as the words quickly fell out of his mouth. As if his words were rehearsed, prepared for any ensuing questions. This tone didn't reassure his neighbors, in fact, they grew more concerned. Was the poor man being abused? What could be going on for his screams to pierce the walls of his home at random times of day or night? Who was this peepaw he spoke of? The neighbors could do nothing but continue with their lives. Sitting with the possibility that the man that claimed to be caring for someone, was being coerced into doing it.
These rumors of the abusive peepaw spread far and wide across Hatchetstown. Whether through the beauty supply stores or the gas stations. There wasn't a single person in that town that didn't hear about the rumor at this point. It even flew through the halls of Centaury University, and into the ears of the young black man himself.
"What?" He exclaimed. "Why on Earth would you ask me that?"
"Everyone's been talking about it, Danny. You've been screaming in that house of yours for days," said the person talking to Danny.
The two sat on a bench in front of the fountain in the middle of the entrance. Danny huffed. He slicked his hair back with his left hand and felt his curls brush his forehead as they fell forward. He watched as Centaury's campus shined with life. Many students were found playing with their friends in the leftover snow, preparing for any future classes, or leaving classes through the main gate. Danny pulled out a pack of sour patch kids. He offered some to his confidant.
"I'm tellin' you Bait, I was just playin' nurse," Danny started. He placed a sour patch in his mouth. "Do you know how traumatizing it is to sew up a wound? To clean vomit off the floor? I wouldn't wish that shit on anybody."
"And yet you continued for a week and a half," Bait retorted. "People said they heard you scream for 10 minutes straight, and then you would stop. And that would happen at the most random times."
"And they need to shove it. I told them it's been fine. Look."
Danny pulled out his phone, opened the calendar app, and showed it to Bait.
"See? It's been two days since I last screamed. Now everyone can go back to being calm."
"You've been keeping track of it?" Bait laughed.
Danny laughed with him. They shared a few more pieces of sour patches before Danny put the bag away.
"Is he okay, by the way?" Bait asked.
"Who?"
"Your peepaw."
"Oh yeah, he's fine now. I took him out near a lake and that seemed to calm him down."
"That's good at least."
Danny started to walk toward the gate. Bumping into a larger man on the way. The man's posture remained strong. The shadow from his stocky body darkened his white and black sports jersey and his green and black jodhpurs. Looming over Danny like a dark cloud. Threatening to rain down and ruin his day. The man catches Bait in his sights for a moment. The man's eyes softened for a moment.
"What do you want Leonard?" Danny asked.
"I wanted to hear it for myself that you were the one that made that article about Gingy?"
"Why?" Danny asked. He brushed his fingers over his chin hair. Looking into Leonard's piercing gaze.
"Because what you said wasn't true! What possessed you to think that weed was causing Gingy's nightmares?"
Leonard raised his voice. His cadence hardened with accusation. Danny wasn't willing to deal with this right now.
"Obviously weed doesn't affect your dreams. Gingy told me he was havin' bad dreams, and I asked if he was smokin' at the time. The correlation was just to fill the word limit."
"The police didn't seem to think so, after going to Gingy's house and interrogating him!"
"The police?" Bait interjected.
"Yeah, bet you didn't know that?"
"No, I didn't! Because I don't give a shit, Leonard!" Danny jeered. His words managed to silence Leonard and Bait. Giving Danny enough time to walk off. He glided past Leonard and strolled to the main gate. Leaving Leonard to nothing but his frustrations.
"You fuckin' rat! I know you're buddy-buddy with the police! Those pigs have you in their pocket!" Leonard blurted.
"Yeah, whatever. As if I don't have the scars to prove otherwise…" Danny mumbled to himself. He stared at his covered right hand, before he shoved it into his coat pocket. Suppressing his sadness with an eye roll.
They retreated into Danny's car and drove off. The lemon-scented air freshener fused with the tense air that stirred in the vehicle. Becoming headache-inducing for Bait. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his vision spun.
"Why are you such an ass?" Bait asked.
"Me? What about your boyfriend?" Danny mocked. "I don't know why you don't just get with him already so he can get out of my fucking business."
"And there it is! That apathy! You know, have you ever considered that the article you posted put Gingy in more danger?"
"No, I hadn't, because last time I checked; weed is legal in Jersey. And between the strange murders, weird dreams. I have more important things on my mind than cops breaking constitutional rights over a thinkpiece from a college student."
"Apathyyy…" Bait teased.
"You know, you could've at least defended me."
"Can't. He's my boyfriend, remember?"
"Fuck you, Bait," Danny said.
Danny slammed the brakes. His car screeched to a halt and Bait fell forward. The belt holding Bait pushed him back into the chair.
"Damn, Danny! You tryna lose your license?"
"Girl, if you don't getcho ass out this fuckin car…" Danny started. Slapping the back of the passenger seat as Bait hurried out of the car.
"See ya, Dan!" Bait laughed.
"Whatever!" Danny yelled. He shot a middle finger as Bait turned back to him. Bait returned one. Then they both switched to a heart."
Danny drove off. Returning to the—once cursed with agonizing screams—now quiet neighborhood of Rolling Rapids Ct. He stopped as he noticed a cop blocking the front door to his house with his wide frame and dim uniform. A young woman stood near him. Taking off the hood to her oversized pink and black coat. Revealing double buns stuck to different sides of her head. Danny cursed to himself as they watched him park his car in front of the left garage door. Burying his annoyance as he emerged.
"Is that Danny?" Mindy yelled.
"Nice coat, Mindy!"
Danny latched onto Mindy like glue. Calming at the smell of strawberry that wafted from her blonde hair. Danny ended the embrace to look toward the cop. He closed in for a warm embrace, receiving a chilling hand from the cop. Danny's arms sunk to his sides as he rolled his eyes.
"Don't be like that, Portius," Danny said.
"This is the 13th time within 2 weeks I've received complaints, Danny. With this being the 3rd one today," Portius said.
"Why are people still complaining? It's been quiet around here for 2 days." He paused. Kicking a rock away from the gravel path that led to his porch. "This feels racially motivated."
Portius' face reddened at the thought. Danny sunk his head as he shrugged.
"They're just worried about you Danny."
"And they don't gotta worry. Peepaw and I got through the thick of his illness. Now he just needs to rest."
"Can we meet him?" Mindy asked.
Danny and Portius turned to Mindy; who innocently played with the lollipop she released from its wrapper.
"He's not much of a people person," Danny replied.
Mindy paused before pointing her lollipop toward the right window on the second story of the house.
"Well, 'Peepaw' says otherwise."
"What?"
Danny dashed to Mindy's side turning to see an old man looking out toward them. His white pajamas shined past the darker glass. His eyes were dark, absent of any intention other than to observe. Mindy waved at him. No response from Peepaw. He disappears like an apparition. Back into shadow.
"Danny, just make sure it's quiet around here." Portius interrupted. Snapping Danny out of his daze.
"Like I said Portius, it's been quiet for a week before you came back here. But I promise. Scouts honor."
"Thank you."
Portius scratched the back of his head and walked off toward his cop car. Mindy followed. Looking back before entering the passenger side..
"Danny!" Mindy yelled.
Danny turned around.
"You still comin' over for Thanksgiving?"
"I'll be there!" Danny yelled.
"See you there!"
Danny waved them goodbye. Once Mindy was in, Portius drove off toward the other half of town. Rolling Rapids Ct was quiet again. Leaving Danny with his regret. He totally forgot about Thanksgiving. He wished he could spend it alone. Just this once he had to spend it alone.
An exhaled burst out of Danny's lungs as he shut the door. Unaware of how shaky his breathing had become. He slicked his hair back as he walked up the stairs. Flinching as they creaked from his weight. He turned right and approached the metal door that was at the end of the hall. Feeling his heart rapidly beat against his chest. Danny's breath shortened. He placed an ear at the metal door. The door sent a chill through his body as his brown skin collided with it. There wasn't a single sound that warned him of what was happening in that room. Danny's blood drained as he heard the bed creak. This wasn't a situation where he could be his "bitchy self," that Bait loves to describe him as. No, it was just him, and the person behind the metal door. His peepaw.
"P—Peepaw," Danny called.
There was no response. Danny didn't know why he expected one. He tried saying peepaw again, but silenced himself. Tightening his grip on the leather strap to his bag. There was no one here, he didn't need to uphold the facade anymore. His heart tensed. He begged for this standoff to end. But it wasn't gonna end until Danny called his name, he knew that. He gulped and called out again.
"Michael… are you there?"
The silence feasted on Danny's words until there was nothing left but his shaky exhales. After a few minutes of shaking before the door to hell, he decided to head back downstairs. He yelped once he heard a knock coming from the metal door. Danny approached the door again.
"Can I come in?" He asked. "Two knocks for yes. One knock for no." He quickly added.
Silence befell the hallway again. Two knocks reverberated through the iron door. Pushing Danny back again.
Danny's face brightened. He pressed a green button on the small remote hidden in his bag. The iron door lifted itself revealing Michael, who sat in the king-sized bed placed to the door's right. Michael kept watch of Danny's movements as he moved further into the room. Danny tip-toed. As if not to wake Michael from some sort of slumber. But Michael was not hampered by some daze. He was fully aware of everything. The beating of his heart, that grew faster as Danny drew near. The shuffle of the covers as Danny sat down. The chill of the outside that latched onto Danny's coat, which tried to rub onto his body. It was no match, however, as his pajamas hugged his body close. Keeping his body heat at a satisfying level.
Michael shivered. Something still wasn't right. He rubbed his fleshy visage and turned toward the object that sat on a pole next to the bed's other side. It was his face, his true face. It glistened under the lights of the bedroom with cleanliness. How he wished his face could have a smudge of dirt, or a sprinkling of blood plastered on its front. Anything to give it a stark imperfection. To calm his frustrations about how clean—how sterile it looked.
"I know, I know. It must be hard, not being in your…usual…attire," Danny said.
Michael turned and observed Danny's posture. Shoulders tense. His back; hunched. Both hands stuck close to his chest. Ready to protect anything important.
"But, I wanted you to know that…"
Danny sighed. Losing his words and accepting the silence before him. He eyed Michael's abdomen. Danny straightened his spine and pointed just under his ribs.
"How's down here?" Danny asked.
Michael lifted his shirt. Poking at the stitches that curved across the right of his abdomen.
"Don't mess with it," Danny laughed.
Michael moved his hand from the stitching. Danny couldn't help but be amazed at it. The area lost its pinkish hue of the under-layer of skin. And the stitches were still strong, there was no chance for them to break.
"I don't know how Jason managed to redo the stitching so well. You didn't make it easy."
Michael grumbled.
"Aw man, just think. When we get to the point where we hunt as a team. With our suturing skills? This town won't stand a chance."
A smile stretched across Danny's face. The image of countless amounts of capers ran through his head. His voice calmed further at Michael's gaze.
"That's why, I don't want you to think you're a prisoner here," Danny started.
Michael couldn't help turning toward the metal door that was controlled by Danny's command. Danny clicked his tongue.
"Listen, I might be ambitious, but I'm not stupid. I have to feel safe too. It's only temporary, Mikey."
Michael moved toward the window.
"I'm serious!"
Michael ignored Danny. Temporary. Michael couldn't shake the disgust that word gave him. Everything's temporary, no matter how long it's been going on for. Temporary doesn't mean something will be short-lived. It was difficult for Michael to recall it—visions of those glossy white rooms with nothing but tables, chairs, and people with similarly white clothing. That was temporary, and yet, to this day Michael still couldn't figure out why those white rooms were so clear in his mind. So embedded in his being like the scars that peppered his body already.
"Michael."
The picture in his mind went away as he looked back toward Danny. The white coloring of the walls fled to the ceiling, as aged green paint took its place. Michael's toes wiggled against the floor. No longer remembering the cold touch of a hardwood floor. The floor was a cream lush carpet that softened under Michael's weight.
"I don't want you to feel like you're trapped here, but I don't wanna feel unsafe in my own home. So, I'm giving you a chance."
Finally, a string of words that actually piqued Michael's interest. He walked closer toward Danny; unintentionally frightening him. But Danny continued anyway. As if his heart didn't almost leap out of his chest.
"I need you to watch the house, while I'm gone. Can you do that?"
Without hesitation, Michael marched out of the room. Much to Danny's dismay. Danny shadowed Michael down the stairs as he made his way to the living room. He paid no mind to Danny's begging for "ground rules" or whatnot. Instead, he claimed the couch for himself and stared off into the darkness of the tv. He moved his eyes to Danny's direction, a glint shined in his dim eyes. Danny softened to Michael's gaze. It was weird how clear the view of the white of Michael's working eye was. A chance to see Michael stare at him and not plot the specifics of his death. Instead, his eyes begged for Danny to turn on the tv.
"If I show you how to work the tv will you listen to what I have to say?" Danny asked.
Michael nodded. Danny offered Michael the remote. Michael took it out of his hands. He looked to the power button for a second, before turning back toward Danny. Waiting for him to speak. Danny dug into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and a pencil.
"Okay, so I'll spit some rules out. Respond with the knock rules or nodding, whichever you prefer." Danny said.
Michael nodded. It seemed reasonable to him. Danny felt weird about how responsive Michael seemed. Was it because of the situation he found himself in? Danny wondered how the people at Smith's Grove fucked up so badly all those years ago. He started writing down his ideas.
"I know you don't plan on going anywhere. But please don't leave the house unattended. And that includes not creeping around in the neighbors' backyards."
Michael scratched his chin. Contemplating if the rule was worth following. A sigh of relief escaped Danny once Michael nodded.
"Also you won't have to worry about the front door. I'll leave a note letting people know I'm gone. But if they knock anyway, you can ignore them."
Danny noticed Michael's silence. Catching his nod in a gaze. It was sudden how fast he reacted to it. In true old-man fashion, Michael wanted peace more than anything.
"Okay, last one. If someone comes around, and they don't go away. You can't kill them."
Silent again. But once Danny met Michael's eyes. His eyes heated with a dormant rage.
"Then how about? You can chase them away. But don't hurt them?"
Michael shook his head. The glare of daggers sharpened.
"You call the police?"
Michael stood. In the midst of storming off toward the kitchen, Danny stood up too. Michael planted his hands on Danny's shoulders and pushed him back into the chair.
"Michael. You can't kill anyone."
Michael wasn't listening. Instead, he eyed the box of cinnamon toast crunch he grabbed from the top of the fridge. He watched as the sugary squares on the front of the box urged him to give it a try. A promise of sugary goodness rang nicely in Michael's mind. He opened the box and shoved a handful of them in his mouth. He stripped the wheat squares of their coat of cinnamon sugar with his tongue. Michael deemed it worth chewing on the tasteless mass that the cinnamon sugar surrounded. He fished a jug of milk from the fridge and a dish bowl on a shelf above the stove. Placing his findings on the counter next to the sink and mixing them together in a bowl. Freezing at Danny's gaze from a counter chair.
"Seriously. I don't wanna come back home to three homicides on our street," Danny said.
Michael shrugged at him. It wouldn't be his fault anyway. He wouldn't intend on leaving any incriminating evidence behind. He pondered over the places he could hide as he finished his cereal. There's always someone dumb enough to leave a door unlocked. A shed he could hide out in. He could even hide in the surrounding woods. And if those options weren't viable, he'd continue his carnage until it's impossible to move. Michael winced. A sudden pain lulled in his side. Reminding him of his limits.
"Whatever. I'll just write it down anyway."
Danny fell out of the chair as Michael failed to grab him over the countertop. Once Michael was out of the kitchen. he grabbed Danny's ankle and dragged him across the floor. Danny bent forward and stabbed Michael in his hand with the pencil.
Danny scurried into a stance and tried to stab Michael with the pencil. Michael crushed Danny's wrist and reached for his throat. Danny gasped for air as Michael lifted his body into the air. Tightening his grip around Danny's windpipe. Danny thought quickly and kicked Michael's side. Michael folded at the pain and released Danny.
Before Michael could recover, a stabbing pain erupted in his injured side. It wriggled its way through the rest of his body. It locked his joints and his muscles tightened with little control on his part. He fell into the door leading to the backyard. Danny stood over him with his neck cradled between his right hand. Danny wheezed as he collected his breath.
A second sooner and Danny would've been dead. He'd be lying if he thought any part of this experience was enjoyable. That keeping Michael Myers stowed away in his house—barred from the public or the police—was a pleasant experience. No, like the years of academia, it was hell. A hellish trial of endurance that he had to suffer through for some meaningless credential. But unlike his years of academia, he saw Michael's company as a twisted answer to his prayers. A promise for something more. But the pain in his neck twinged, reminding him of the long road ahead to get to that answer. He repressed his fear, to the dismay of his body. He felt his chest collapse on his ribs as he thought up a compromise.
"If someone disturbs you just… call me, okay?"
Michael dimmed. His stare staled his previous urge to kill. A searing pain nestled in the veins under his flesh as his stitched wound burned, akin to a fresh bullet wound. Michael weakly nodded to the idea.
Danny sighed and pushed his hair back. "Now, let me show you how this remote works."
Frankly, it was weird. Michael couldn't pin the feeling in his chest as Danny helped him to the couch. His limbs, too limp from the taser shot to the stomach, cried out in pain as well. But he ignored it. That was a good pain. The pain meant he was still alive. That his body was fighting against the whims of fate that yearned for his death. He could always fight against it. As long as there was someone else in this world he could throw in front of death's headlights instead. This other feeling wasn't painful, but it nagged him nonetheless. This kid, Danny, was different from the monster that lived in the forests, miles away. The true shape that Michael encountered. The one that called itself, Jason.
Jason would've stopped at nothing to kill him. The new scar that blemished his abdomen proved that. But here was little Danny—quick, and ruthless in his methods of detainment. Like the cops that Michael had encountered in his life. But he was also quick to negotiate. Quick to care for Michael. Michael couldn't help but question the boy's judgement as he showed Michael how to work the large flat screen in front of them. A fruitless effort, as Michael was no longer focused on the remote's magic buttons, let alone Danny's instruction. It didn't take long for Danny to notice, and when he did he huffed. Shaking his head to the ceiling.
"So, do you want to watch anything?" Danny asked.
Michael looked at the remote for a second. Recounting the one instruction he heard before his mind wandered. The button at the top turns the tv on or off. Michael pressed it and watched as the blackness of the screen reflected the living room.
"Well, if you don't need anything else, I'll be in my room."
Michael caught Danny's eyes in a stare before he walked off to the front of the house. Michael listened as the stairs whined in response to Danny's weight. Followed by the calls of a distant door opening and closing. The world was silent again. Forcing Michael to stir in his confusion. He had no reason to believe Danny. What's stopping him from trapping Michael in this place he calls home? Michael wasn't sure of the answer. He wasn't sure of anything.
Memories flew by in his head. The slideshow of events showed a ghostly figure stretching out its hand toward Michael. The mouth of the ghost stretched further than any natural expression Michael has seen. With its eyes curving upward, imitating a person's face if they were to scream. But the ghost didn't look like it wanted to scream, it looked as if it imitated the expression if anything. Making fun of the humans it terrorized. The ghost seemed like it was speaking, but Michael heard no words. It was hard for Michael to ever remember words. Sensations were easier, emotions too. Images, but never words.
All Michael remembered after that was the weeks with Danny. The times when Danny would come in, check on him, then stick around. Michael would try to find an opening in Danny's behavior. Catch Danny in a moment when his guard was down so that he could kill him and escape. He remembered trying to crush Danny's skull in his hands while Danny tried to stitch his wound. When Danny tried to bandage the stitches, Michael would swing his arms. Hoping to take Danny's head off. There were times when Michael managed to push through Danny and escape his room. Only to be tased and forced back in again.
It wasn't until 3 days ago, that Danny asked Michael if he wanted to go out driving. It was an odd question at the time. He was unsure if Danny had an ulterior motive. Michael was unsure why, but he felt compelled to move his hands to spell out a word.
"Camp."
He didn't remember Danny's response, but he could tell the boy was bewildered. Before a moment of pondering, Danny seemingly knew where to go. And by some miracle, it was the same camp Michael was talking about: Camp Crystal Lake.
And that's where Michael saw him. The monster of that place: Jason. In the worse shape he's ever seen him. Michael thought Jason was invincible. Jason never seemed to lose against him. And yet there he was, chained to his knees in front of 3 college students in the middle of a snowstorm. Michael couldn't believe it at first, but the fact settled in. Eventually, Jason's eye drifted toward Michael, and something came over him. It was like he already knew what to do once Jason stood and freed himself from the chains. Starting with the girl in front of him holding a crowbar.
Once they made quick work of the college students, that's when Jason collapsed. The giant unstoppable shape fell with a booming thud into the freezing dirt. Michael remembered studying him for a while before deciding to take him back to the cabin. Michael remembered waking up in a small bed of a cabin, wounds tended to. Maybe Jason needed that too. He dragged Jason to the cabin. Placing Jason in the same worn-out bed he was placed in. Michael was unsure at the time if Jason was even alive at that point. He eyed the black pits of Jason's eyeholes. Hoping, for the first time, that there was some semblance of life behind the face he was looking at.
The sound of water crashing onto a surface caused Michael to stir. His eyes creased at the chilling blue light that shined behind white curtains. A joyful whistle rang in his ears, stopping at a chair facing the leveled countertop. Michael looked to the countertop to find Danny. Michael approached him. Danny pulls out the second chair for him.
"You don't have to stand there, Mike," Danny started. Mouthful of french toast.
He patted the neighboring chair's cushion. But Michael didn't care about the invitation. No, instead he eyed the food that stood tall on Danny's plate. Four pieces of bread, stacked together and chopped in a 3x3 grid. One of the sections of stacked squares was missing, much to the satisfaction of Danny's stomach. He stopped after plucking another stack of squares. He looked toward Michael, with cheeks as big as a squirrel's packing food for the winter.
"Want some?" Danny signed.
Michael didn't respond, but his gaze on the french toast was deeper than a hawk's for their prey. Danny took it as a yes, and found a fork for Michael. Michael picked at the french toast. Putting a stack into his mouth. Michael was unaware of how deeply he fell under the sugary spell of the french toast. Voicing a heavy exhale of satisfaction at the creamy chocolate topping. It didn't take long before the french toast was demolished.
An unusual break in the pattern. Michael didn't expect to fall asleep on the lush cushions of the couch. He didn't expect to remain there either. But Danny continued on as if it was normal. Fetching a container of water and pouring some into two glasses. He offered the second glass to Michael. Michael accepted. He couldn't help but move his eyes back toward the couch.
"What's up?" Danny asked.
No response. A constant stare aimed at the couch.
"Well, I hope you plan on staying awake after gawking at that couch. Someone still needs to learn their way around the house."
Danny beckoned Michael to follow him past the kitchen. Michael did, without question. He fully expected to be forced back into his prison cell upstairs. His eyelids flickered at the alternative prospect presented before him. This room had a normal door, and had more evidence that a person actually lived there. Danny moved to the dresser near the door. Populated with an assortment of knick-knacks whose use was unknown to Michael. There was an unusual space that settled in the middle of the otherwise cluttered area. Michael moved his head to the nightstand next to Danny's bed. There a picture frame stood tall. Three people posed within the confines of the frame's matting. Sunlight reflected from the glass that protected the photo. Brightening the people's smiles. Michael grabbed the frame once he recognized one of the people in the photo. He eyed the black boy, whose cheeks rounded with new life and eyes like Danny's.
"Hey hey hey, woah!"
Danny snatched the frame from Michael and searched for any imperfections. Michael watched as Danny frantically searched for any damage to the frame. His movements slowed after a few seconds, and he cleaned the glass with a quick rub of his right arm's sleeve.
"Sorry. It's just… really important to me."
Danny placed the frame in the missing spot on the shelf. A perfect fit. Michael took note of how the knick-knacks acted as not just a means of decoration. No, with how surrounded the frame was, it seemed the objects protected the picture.
Danny continued on. Telling Michael various instructions on how to keep the room clean and where stuff belongs. Advising Michael to keep the windows covered so nosey people wouldn't get too close. Michael kept it all in mind. Half-dazed by a wave of nausea that blanketed him. Danny rushed along as Michael crept from behind. This stays here, move this here, this is where this goes and this goes and this.
Danny was quite thorough, much to Michael's dismay. A lot of it could've been boiled down to "Don't touch this" or "Return this here when you're done." All this needless instruction was enough to leave Michael winded on the he knew it, a new day came around and Danny waited for Michael to rise from the couch. After a bout of breakfast, the same instruction came around. Except this time, Danny gave Michael control of when he wanted things to be in place. Breakfast at first rise, windows unblocked until 12:00, tv remote in hand until 15:00, then a return to the window until 20:00.
More days passed, the pattern became more natural to Michael. Minor alterations were no longer a problem. But now, the fated day was here. The day that Danny warned. Michael stared down at the toaster. His body tightened as his focus deepened. The heat from the toaster brushed against his skin as he peered into it. Watching as bread became toast.
The toaster rang. Pulling Michael out of his head. Two pieces of toast shot upward from within the toaster's clutches. Michael took out the pieces and placed them onto a plate. He put two more pieces into the toaster's heated claws and pushed the lever back down. Waiting again for its surprise. Danny rushed down the stairs with a booming presence. His beige coat swished through the air as he rushed to turn on the coffee maker, and then toward the living room to sort through his satchel. After a few seconds, Danny stopped the coffee maker. One sip was all he needed, at least for now. Michael eyed Danny, as he placed the mug into the sink.
Danny jumped as the toaster dinged again. Freeing two crisp pieces of toast for Michael to grab. He stacked them with the other two pieces and placed them on the leveled countertop. He knocked. Causing Danny to swerve his head. Michael ushered to the pieces of toast.
"It's okay Mike, I'll eat on the way."
Michael shook his head. He reached for a container of chocolate and for a butter knife. Placing both next to the plate. Danny slumped his shoulders with a sigh, stumbled over to a seat, and shared the toast with Michael. Deciding to spread his toast with butter instead of chocolate.
"I don't know how you can eat chocolate so early in the morning," Danny said.
It was quite simple really. Michael didn't have an appetite for anything else, but sweets are always nice. What he didn't understand is why Danny went for a tasteless alternative. Danny pressed the back of his left hand on Michael's forehead. A nice cold shiver went down Michael's body. Danny's hand felt like an ice cube fresh out of the fridge. The hint of lavender eased Michael's stomach. The corner of Danny's mouth fell downward, as his brow tensed. Michael shook his head at his glare.
"If that's an 'I'm fine,' I'm not convinced."
Danny crossed his arms as his brows pinched closer together. Michael continued finishing his toast and began to make a glass of water. He paused once he opened a drawer filled with medicine. Something missing. All of the medicine in there, but not the one he needed. He looked up to Danny who sighed.
"That's what I was worried about. Will you be okay until I get some more?"
Michael wasn't one for 'maybe's,' but he wasn't gonna tell Danny no. He'd do anything for a chance to be alone in the house with full control, and he was too weak to try and kill him. He nodded, but Danny didn't seem convinced. He surrendered his worries to the air as he lifted his hands and headed towards the door.
"If something happens, call me," Danny started. The door whined behind him before he broke through the crack once again. He pointed towards Michael. "Anything!"
Michael rolled his eyes as Danny inched out of the door. Once the door was secure in its frame, Michael put his ear to the door. Listening close as the sound of a car boomed down the street. Once he was sure Danny was gone he repeated the actions they went over for this day. Front and back doors; locked. Windows; covered. No one was getting in or getting out, and Michael was free to do as he pleased.
The return of such freedoms was not unwelcome, but there wasn't much that Michael was willing to do. Danny showed him everything; how to set up the game console for the tv, how to find shows, even how to pull up music. But Michael didn't need it, he could live without the noise. Instead, he ventured to familiar ground. Stumbling up the stairs and back into his prison. He didn't like being in there all that much, but there was one thing that he did like: the window.
He liked that he could look out toward the town. He watched as the old lady from a few houses down walked her dog. A kid with a bumblebee helmet dashes past her, to the cul-de-sac not too far from Danny's block. It was sublime, peaceful. They were completely unaware of the boogeyman's shadow. Watching, waiting for his chance to reveal his terror upon this quiet town.
The town faded in Michael's working eye as he focused on something else. A man broke through the cloudy reflection, with a piercing gaze. He shared Michael's damaged left eye; the left side of his face, also kissed by vengeful flames. Michael brushed his hand against his scarred flesh; the man in the reflection copied him. Both of their eyes twinged as a searing sensation became more familiar. The sensation grew in intensity, shredding into his fingertips. Michael's hand shuddered, but he stayed his hand on his face. Then, embers surrounded his reflection. Michael's breath shortened as his reflection's gaze never left his. He remembered; the fire, the darkness. With a little luck, he was able to free himself from the bowels of that hell. After that, nothing. The images blurred. The memory grew unclear.
He left his reflection for a moment and looked toward his face. It sat, erected on a slim black pole that situated itself between a shelf and the bed. It chose the shelf as a more comfortable spot to lean on. The shadows grew as the sun began to set. Michael was impressed with how well the pole wore his face. He took it back from the pole and donned it again at the window.
There he met them. The devil's eyes. He stared into the pits. Hoping to find the answers he searched for in the light that reflected from the dull eyes. His mind led him as the memories grew clearer. Light from the heavens reached him, but was no match for the darker shadows. There Michael once held himself. He longed for the day when his strength came back to him. But he remembered the futility of his dream. His breath labored, his joints whined as the remembrance of finality joined him in his mind.
Michael was surprised to find himself on the floor. Hand pressed on the smooth stone. The base of his spine pained on the curve of the wall behind him. He looked up into another man's eyes. They were dark, almost as dark as his own, but they were amateur. Experience had yet to edge it, the evil was but juvenile. But the eyes demanded to know. They demanded to learn. An intense vibration escaped the man's mouth. Rattling Michael's spine.
The man left as soon as he came. The darkness escaped from his memory and overtook the room. Killing the sun. Leaving room for the moon. Heat latched onto Michael's body. Forcing him to collapse onto the bed. His brain swelled to an unbearable size. Pounding against his forehead, begging to escape. Michael shut his eyes, hoping to keep the room from spinning. But it didn't work. The room whisked him around with forced spins. Round and round he went, unable to cope. Saliva built up quickly in his mouth. He swallowed in quick succession. The heat grew worse. A pressure formed in his stomach. Michael lay in agony, unable to think of anything else but to release this pressure.
He fell off the bed. He stumbled across the hallway with a hand pressed against the wall. Then came the stairs. Not too quick, lest the sudden drop would agitate his stomach further. But too slow and he'll vomit there and now. Slow, but not too slow, Michael stumbled down the stairs. The pressure forced his eyes to the floor and his back to hunch. The darkness in his vision moved with unfathomable speed. The pressure forced itself upward. It begged to escape as it reached the back of Michael's mouth.
But Michael was persistent. He led with his hand past the archway. His foot kicked a familiar object. The rustling of plastic eased into Michael's ears, confirming his suspicions. He fell to his knees and clutched the edges of the trash can. The release, while quick, wasn't without its pain. Michael's agony was silent, as vomit splashed into the trash can. As Michael came to, the acrid odor shot back up his nose. He collapsed. His cheek froze at the touch of the kitchen floor. Pained, but alive. Just like back then.
For a moment, Michael's consciousness drifted. Until a sound pulled him back. An object crashed into the floor. Shrieking as it exploded into a million pieces. The sound shredded into Michael's eardrums. Forcing him to become more aware of his surroundings. He stood up from the pool of sweat that rested around his cheek and stared into the darkness of the living room. As the heat left him and his headache subsided, Michael couldn't help but wonder why the kitchen light was even on. He pondered on the thought as he inspected the remains of a vase on the living room rug.
Michael hissed as a counter chair cracked on his elbow. It took some time for his eyes to focus; slowly, Michael realized what was in front of him. A slim boy, given volume by a white and black varsity jacket. Michael crushed the boy's throat with a hand. Watching as the boy's face turned pink at the lack of oxygen. The boy struggled for freedom. Falling victim to Michael's oppressive grip.
"Gingy!"
Michael gasped at how quick he was thrown. Cursing the weakness of his body, he fell limp. His vision spun again as the back of his head slammed against the floor. The person on top of Michael cocked their arm for a punch, and their phantoms copied them. Bashing Michael in his face.
The pain that sat in his cheek buzzed. Giving Michael focus. The image was clear. And the people were now one. Another boy, bigger than the other one, Michael grabbed. The boy launched another punch. Michael grabbed his wrist. Then his throat. Throwing the stronger boy off of him.
The boy struggled to recover. Giving Michael enough time to crush his throat with a foot. The boy struggled, he pounded at Michael's shin. Proving ineffective.
The quicker Michael could kill him the better. Then he could kill the other boy and anyone else who happened to be in his way tonight. Then he'll leave. Maybe he'll give it a few days, and slowly make his way back to Crystal Lake. Jason seemed okay about him being around. Michael strained his eyes. He had to focus. He'll worry about everything later.
The boy reached for the second counter chair. Michael stumbled back as the chair fell between him and the boy.
"Hey, who the fuck are you?"
Michael turned his head. The weaker boy's face was lit up by the phone in his hands—Michael's phone. Michael stiffened. He could hear the stronger boy gathering his strength as the boy's breathing settled. But Michael didn't care, the uneasiness in his stomach led him to the mysterious person on the phone. There's only one person that could've been on the other end of that call.
"Danny?" The stronger boy coughed.
"Leonard…" Danny said. "Hey, gingerbread asshole! Turn the phone around!"
The weaker boy did what Danny said. The white room Danny sat in brightened the dark living room. Cutting the shadows away from Michael, revealing the curve of his brow and his slightly widened expression. Michael watched as Danny's mouth fell agape and his eyes widened. Slowly uttering the word "Michael" under his breath.
"Lenny, what the fuck are you doing in my house?"
"None of your business!"
"Fine. The police will be more interested in your story anyway."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"I already have a screenshot of you and Gingy. All I have to do now is show Portius."
Michael didn't have time to offer a silent reaction to Danny's claim. As another vase exploded into the back of his head. Michael fell to his knees and choked on his breath as a pair of arms wrapped around his neck.
Leonard approached Michael. Ordering him to stop moving with a switchblade.
"And all we have to do is give peepaw over here another damaged eye," Leonard said.
"Wait! You shouldn—!"
"What's wrong, Gale Weathers? Can't stomach watching a senior citizen kick the bucket?" Leonard mocked.
"He's not who I'm worried about."
Seeming old and feeble has worked to Michael's advantage. He grabbed Leonard's hand. Jabbing the switchblade into the person behind them. A beautiful symphony of agony emerged from Michael's captor. He urged for an encore; dragging the key further down the person's arm, and cracking the outer layers of their skin.
Her scream ripped into Michael's left ear. He covered his ear once he was free, dazed by the beautiful sound. He looked as Leonard's face dropped with horror. Leonard froze, unsure of what to do. Gingy ran past him hitting Michael above his left eye.
Michael hissed. Pushing the woman behind him to the floor. He ripped the phone out of Gingy's hand and threw him into Leonard. While the two boys bickered on the floor and the girl cradled her arm in her hand, Michael shifted into the kitchen and shut off the light.
"Gingy, get off!" Leonard yelled.
"I can't fucking see," Gingy started. "Patti, are you okay?"
Patti couldn't speak. Her screams went silent as her vocal cords scratched against her throat. Blood pooled onto the floor. The chill of death hung over her. Giving Michael enough time to grab his face and sneak back to the stairs
Michael snuck out of the kitchen and past the dining room. All while Danny whispered his apologies through the phone.
"I didn't think Leonard was planning something this extreme," he started. "I'm on my way now just hang on."
Michael didn't care. What's one more day of running into someone wanting to kill him? This is all he's known. From this, to Crystal Lake, to Haddonfield, to his house. His life truly began with death, and it'll end that way again. Danny called for his attention, and Michael froze. He waited in the middle of the stairs. The grip on his face tightened with anticipation. Danny remained silent, but spoke through his hands so as not to alert the intruders.
"Don't. Kill. Them."
Michael's grimace stained his phone's camera before he threw the phone into the wall. The destruction echoed throughout the house and the phone screen went dark.
Michael threw on his face and dragged himself upstairs. It was difficult trying to keep his movements silent. He pushed a door quickly, he winced as it whined. Stumbling in, his hand investigated the dresser that he leaned on. This was the knick-knack-ridden dresser in Danny's room. Michael made note of how spacious the dresser was now. A lot of the knick-knacks were now on the floor. He plucked the picture frame from its spot and turned to the destroyed nightstand. Michael opened one of the drawers and placed the frame in there. Where it'll be safe.
Michael turned toward the closet next to the window. Two bi-folded doors glowed against the room's shadowy walls. The white doors were sealed shut; a potentially comforting place to hide from a maniac.
But that wasn't Michael's role this time. Instead, he was the feeble old man waiting for his young caretaker; Danny, to return home with the police to help with a home invasion. He just wore his face as a means of comfort in such a traumatic event. Michael deflated at the thought of people adorned with blue uniforms and guns and their trusty batons. What could they possibly do that Michael hasn't already thought of? Michael walked closer to the doors. His ears honed in on the closet as the murmurs from downstairs grew further away.
From what Michael could hear before; there was a fourth member that was here with those kids. Michael had yet to encounter that fourth person. Maybe he lucked out, and will finally have the chance to disclose their location. Michael kept it slow. Hand pressed on one of the doors' handles. He peeled it open slowly. Finding nothing but the closet filled to the brim with various clothes. A smaller dresser filled the bottom. This one was filled with stuff; pants, socks, underwear.
Michael's head swerved as footsteps boomed from across the room. The door swung open, but he was too quick. He dashed into the person in front of him. Slamming them into the widened door. Muffling the girl's screams with a hand over her mouth. She bit into his hand. Tearing the flesh as Michael stumbled back.
There was no time to eye the patches of exposed flesh. The girl escaped into the hallway. Screaming for her friends.
"Len, he's here! He's upst—!"
Michael rushed down the hall. The back of her head was helplessly stuck in his hand as he slammed her into the iron door to his prison. The sound echoed throughout the house. The dog next door alerted the neighborhood of Michael's strike. He looked at the girl. A small streak of blood left the middle of her forehead. Her body, remained unmoving. Michael himself was unsure if she was still alive. He leaned in closer. Her mouth, agape, was still. He hovered a hand over her. Inching to check her pulse.
Footsteps echoed back into the house with a yell.
"Sade!" Leonard called out.
The urgent passing of time gave Michael an idea. Michael grabbed the girl, Sade. Pulling her into the bathroom next to his prison. He set up all the hiding spots; an opened window leading to the outside, shower curtains completely shut, and the closet door slightly opened. With Sade's body inside. The wind will do the work. Manning the door with a ghostly whine. And the curtain will feign secrets. Michael walked to the end of the hall. Hiding out of view as Leonard made it to the top of the steps.
Leonard called for Sade's name again. Then, silence. Michael remembered the droplets of blood that led into the bathroom. Leonard had to have been inspecting it. The silence gnawed on Michael's own bones. His body begged for him to act, and when he heard Leonard's clothes shift further into the bathroom, Michael did as well. He stumbled near the steps. Remaining light on his feet. Michael hears Leonard push the shower curtains followed by a sigh of relief when he realized nothing was there.
The anticipation excited Michael. His ailments from earlier dissipated, and left him with a fresher feeling. It felt easier to move, easier to harm, despite the injuries he's sustained already.
All he needed was something to give him enough time to move again. Soon enough, Leonard screamed followed by a thud. The step creaked as Michael moved past the bathroom door. Near his prison door. The chill of iron cut through his shirts. Punishing his spine for inactivity. But his body relaxed as the conversation went on in the bathroom. Michael shifted his feet. Ready to pounce at any moment.
"Leonard…"
"Fuck! Sade, stay with me!"
"I'm…"
She took a breath.
"I'm fine…"
"That was a confident response. Come on! The cops'll be here!"
There was more shifting, followed by a thud. Michael watches closely as the two exit the room. Making sure his target is the correct one. He smashes into them with his weight. Michael grabs Leonard. Sade falls to the floor. She cries for Leonard.
"Just go!" Leonard yells.
"I can't!"
Music to Michael's ears. That concussion will last for a while. Giving him enough time to deal with Leonard—the strongest one among them. But not even he could do much as Michael slammed him into the wall. Leonard kicks Michael in his knee. Michael recoils, underestimating how weak he was again. Leonard punches him, sending Michael down the stairs. Michael grabs Leonard's leg, and they both descend downward.
The room spun again. The darkness grew hazy and Michael's brain rattled in his skull. But he was able to recover before Leonard could. He grabbed his head and slammed him into the banister until it broke. Leonard yelled curses, begging for Sade to get up. Michael could see the blood trickle down his head. And his eyes, youthful brown, began to dim as his consciousness went.
"Hey!"
Michael's eyes moved to the top of the stairs. Sade stood, feet planted and head straight. Fighting her concussion. Gun cocked and pointed at Michael. Michael stood idly. Taking in the quick exhales of the two people, desperate to escape the house. His own breathing reverberated throughout his mask. Calming him with its rhythm.
"Don't move a fucking muscle."
And he didn't. He waited for whatever was to come. Whether it be a bullet, or Sade herself. He was interested in Sade's plan to grab Leonard to escape. The gun trembled with her hands. As her resolve slowly broke before Michael. But she was willing to stand up to him regardless. Willing to fight a losing battle. She was an interesting one for sure.
"Police! Come out with your hands up!"
The cop's arrival broke Sade further. The gun trembled more at the threat of punishment. Giving Michael enough time to step closer. She boldened her stance.
"That wasn't an invitation!" She started. "I'm gonna grab my friend. And…" She hesitated. Swallowing her guilt. "And… we're surrendering ourselves to the cops."
Michael eyed the drop of sweat that curved along Sade's cheek. Whether the cops or Michael himself she shook at facing either possibility up close. Michael wasn't keen on seeing police tonight either, but what will she say if he lets her go? He couldn't think of this ending well for him. He replanted his own feet. He'll stand here with her. He couldn't let her go. He's better off dealing with the cops than having future prey get away. Her voice shook again.
"What are you doing? Get mo—"
Michael's eyes widened as Sade's body jerked. She convulsed; quickly falling to the floor. Her hurried breaths died as her consciousness gave out. A figure towered over her before it looked towards Michael. It was the screaming Ghostface again. Michael tilted his head at the reacquaintance. He looked down toward Leonard, whose eyes shut long ago. His breaths were slow and heavy.
"Leave them. Come on, there's a ladder we can leave through."
Michael tilted his head at Ghostface. Michael couldn't help but notice the beige-colored coat that he wore. His gravelly voice steered Michael away from any familiar thoughts. Michael wondered how many more mystery people he'll encounter wanting to help him. Ghostface stopped and pulled out a shoe box from under the bed. Revealing its contents to be empty, he pushed it towards Michael.
"You have to pretend, again," Ghostface said.
Michael pondered the box's emptiness. Ghostface's voice grew desperate.
"We don't have time! You wanna spend the rest of your life locked up again?"
Michael froze at the statement. Opting to exhale a heavier breath of resignation. He knew what answering that question meant. Shedding his face, all to fit amongst the innocent world. Michael sighed, before pushing his face off. A sickness washed over him as the air came into contact with flesh. While minor, his wounds were still anything but kind to him. Ghostface closed the box and nodded.
"I'll follow you. Just get going."
Michael climbed on the ladder. Looking one last time as Ghostface beheaded himself. The pearly white screaming face detached from the head. Coily brown hair shot up as the shrouded cowl released its grip. Shaved lines of hair escaped from the mass in the middle and to the sides in the shape of spikes. The head turned toward Michael, a glint shined in Danny's dark brown eyes. Innocent eyes, that were dimmed with immature darkness. He approached the ladder and climbed down with Michael.
They landed next to the back porch. Michael cringed as the grass pricked at his feet and a wintery chill gripped his ankles. Danny noticed the lack of warm clothing on Michael. He quickly wrapped his beige coat around Michael.
Two cop cars parked in front of the house, along with two other cars—newer models that Michael didn't recognize. He watched as two of the kids entered a police vehicle; one of them cuffed with his hands behind his back. The edge of his mouth twitched at the sight of the one with the giant scar on her arm. Michael couldn't help but admire his work. Two figures placed themselves in front of him and Danny. The older man and the girl that Michael saw days ago. This time, the man dawned a more casual set of clothing. The girl's hair was completely down, and her makeup was more subtle.
"My men have told me that you did quite a number on these kids, mister…"
Portius trailed off, he hoped that Michael would fill in the gap he left. But it was Danny instead, Michael had no intention of doing such a thing.
"...Dolion. Audrey Dolion," Danny completed.
"Dolion… sounds greek."
"Portius, is something wrong?"
Portius huffed as the air grew heavier.
"What's wrong is I have one kid with an arm scarred to hell. One with a dislocated arm. And they just found another in the house suffering from a concussion and tased."
"So…what? You thought he was torturing them? They're the ones that broke in!"
"Let him tell me that."
Danny went quiet and looked toward Michael. Michael averted eye contact, but that led his eyes trapped in Portius' gaze.
"So, Audrey, care to tell me who started the altercation?"
Michael didn't respond. Danny tried to interject, but Portius held up a hand and shook his head.
"Did the kids do anything for you to act in self-defense? Or did you start the altercation yourself?"
Michael turned his head away from Portius. Looking at the yard, filled with cops. Michael looks back and rolled up his sleeve. The cold air graced his arm. His elbow shined a bright pink. Michael urged Danny to touch it. He did, Michael winced as he squeezed it. Danny retreated his hand.
"Your Elbow? Did they hit it on something?"
Michael nodded. "Chair," he fingerspelled.
"It must've been one of the counter chairs," Danny said.
"So, they attacked you with a chair, and you retaliated?" Mindy asked.
Michael nodded at Mindy.
"So did they continue their attack after the chair?"
"You saw my screenshots Por—"
"And for all I know those could be fabricated."
"So you don't trust me?!"
"Enough!" Portius rubbed the nape of his neck. Hoping to settle himself as his face glowed pink.
Michael showed his wounds; the red on his neck from a previous asphyxiation attempt. The bite marks on his hands that have begun to heal. And the facial injuries were obvious.
"One of them also had a gun. And threatened to shoot," Danny interjected.
"And how do you know that?" Portius raised his voice.
"Because I was in saving my peepaw while you have all these cops but deciding to stay outside!" Danny paused. Before quietly admitting; "That's why you found Sade tased."
Michael caught another glare from Mindy. She rolled her eyes at the quick exchange of words. This is a normal occurrence, the lack of interest in her eyes told Michael. Portius sighed and wrote all he learned into a notepad.
"I'll have to talk to the kids for the rest of the info. Is there a primary caretaker for Mr. Audrey?"
"It's me."
Portius sighed.
"What?!" Danny exclaimed.
"Danny. Don't tell me you're taking care of a random senior citizen…"
"He's not just anybody. He's just not from here."
"Then where did he come from if not from the health center?"
"He's a friend, of James!" Danny yelled. Michael felt the difference in the silence. It wasn't because no one wanted to speak. But because of the name itself. What it meant to the rest of them. As if Danny had spoken a graven curse on Portius. "I thought you would know that," he accused Portius further.
The silence numbed Portius. His face burned as his stare hardened on Danny. Danny remained hardened his heart.
"I didn't," Portius mumbled.
He walked over to Danny's porch. Mindy's eyes followed her father; she looked to the front door as a cop walks out with Sade. Helping her sit on the step.
"Sade…" Mindy trailed under her breath. She turned to Danny. "I'll see you later."
"It was nice meeting you Peepaw Audrey!" she yelled. Her hand raised toward Michael and quickly put down as she hurried to Sade.
Michael tilted his head. Audrey. He hadn't heard himself referred to by that name in so long. Michael looked to Danny for an answer of some kind. Danny sunk his head between his shoulders.
"I hope you don't mind. Not many people know your middle name."
He didn't. He hoped that the cops would clear and the neighborhood would go back to being quiet. All so that he could sink into the bed and suffer from the exhaustion that ached his back. The hunger that pained his empty stomach. He wanted to crawl into the deepest recesses where the quiet was palpable. Michael returned to the back of the house. Danny, of course, followed him with a question.
"Prison," Michael answered.
Danny had the nerve to look dumbfounded; eventually, he understood and he shook his head. He stopped Michael at the bottom of the ladder and urged Michael to follow him. Leading him to the large, red trapdoor that Michael didn't pay any mind to. Michael tilted his head back and forth as Danny unlatched the lock and opened one of the doors. Michael followed him into the barren basement. The vacuum chilled Michael. Making his breath visible. His toes dug into the carpet; hopelessly searching for warmth. Michael hugged the beige coat and shambled past a couch into an old armchair. The chair whined as Michael's form encased itself into the old leather. Danny walked to the fireplace Michael sat in front of. Invigorating the faint smell of ash as he burned more wood inside of it.
"This should warm you up better than that shitty chair."
The silence Michael yearned for retreated at Danny's quip. Michael retired further into the chair. Loosening at the heat that began to blanket the basement. Danny left the fire once his nurturing wasn't needed. Reaching for his bag at the foot of the couch.
"I have something for you," Danny signed.
Michael watched as he placed his bag on the couch and dug out a fresh bottle of water and a bottle of pain relievers. Danny gave the bottle to Michael. Urging him to drink some water first. Then two small tablets landed in Michael's hand before entering his mouth. Michael swallowed them with little struggle. Danny walked to the trapdoor. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned back to Michael. Michael noticed how relaxed Danny's shoulders were, how his spine curved with elation, and how firm his feet were planted.
"I owe you one," Danny signed.
Danny walked up the stairs. The locking of the trapdoor echoed throughout the basement, leaving Michael to inspect it.
Half the lights illuminated the space. Leaving shallow holes of darkness. Not much of the basement was furnished except for 2 armchairs—the one Michael sat in clearly older than the other—surrounding a beaten old couch that reeked of mildew. The chair's leathery embrace had already enthralled Michael, but Michael's curiosity lead him to the couch's flattened cushions. The musty air surrounding the couch reminded Michael of the one from the camp. He wondered if the similarities ended there. He reached for one of the cushions. Throwing them to the side.
And there it was; the secret that the couch kept. Just like the one at the camp. Michael pulled the bed out and sat on the edge of it. It took a lot from Michael to not collapse onto the soft sheets.
He thought to the night he went back to the camp. How Jason laid so straight on the cloud of the bed. He was so focused in fact, he didn't notice when Michael looked back at him. Michael remembered heat in his vision as he pushed Jason off. Michael thought Jason was making fun of him at first. But when Jason didn't move, Michael realized, he wasn't kidding. He was truly at rest. Michael had never seen someone act so much like him.
A voice broke through the ground and entered Michael's ears. It was Danny, he'd recognize the cadence from anywhere. He never expected Danny to yell so angrily. Maybe it was an attempt to drive everything there away. To make it quiet again. To make it safe.
To make it home.
Michael's vision grew blurry; quickly making him irritable. It became more alluring to lie down. To give up control of his eyelids as their weight increased. Danny's voice muffled as Michael's mind drifted. All he could think of was the cabin, sitting in the middle of Camp Crystal Lake's darkness. Before his consciousness drifted completely.