Title: *The Final Hunt*
The house was silent, the stillness of the night broken only by Laurie Strode's shallow breaths. She stood, gun in hand, every muscle tense as she scanned the dark corners of her home. She had prepared for this moment her entire life, but the weight of Michael's presence made the air feel thick and oppressive. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was close—he always was.
For a moment, everything seemed still, almost too quiet. Laurie's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, her ears straining to pick up any hint of movement. The house felt like a tomb, and she could feel the cold weight of death pressing in from all sides.
Then, from behind her, a deep, guttural sound echoed through the darkness. A loud, chilling intake of breath, slow and deliberate.
She froze.
Her body tensed, and before she could fully react, she felt his presence looming behind her, cold and menacing. Michael Myers had stepped out of the shadows—literally. The ability to vanish into darkness was a new power he had taken from one of the demons he battled in Hell. He was closer than she had imagined, his breath now echoing in her ears.
There was no time to think, only to act. Laurie spun on her heel, pure instinct taking over. Without hesitation, she drove her elbow backward with all the force she could muster, connecting solidly with Michael's chest. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his large frame slamming into the bathroom doorframe with a heavy thud.
But, as always, Michael made no sound. No grunt, no gasp of pain—just silence. He simply leaned against the frame for a brief second, then stepped forward again, his knife raised, eyes cold and unfeeling behind that mask. The sheer inhumanity of his silent advance made the moment even more terrifying. He was like a walking shadow, a force that couldn't be reasoned with or stopped.
Laurie dodged to the side, her reflexes sharp despite her age, but Michael's grip was faster than she anticipated. His hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder with a vice-like grip. In an instant, he hurled her across the room as if she weighed nothing. She crashed into the wall, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs, leaving her dazed and struggling to regain her balance.
Michael moved with methodical precision, never rushing, always in control. He approached her, towering over her fallen form. He lifted his knee, preparing to drive it into her chest with brutal force. But Laurie, even through the pain, moved with the speed and determination of someone who had fought this battle before. She rolled to the side just as Michael's knee slammed into the wall, the drywall cracking under the sheer force of his blow.
The wall splintered, shards of plaster and wood falling to the floor like debris in the wake of a storm.
Laurie didn't wait for him to recover. She scrambled to her feet, her hands instinctively reaching for the nearest weapon—a broken piece of wood from the shattered wall. Her eyes locked onto Michael's mask, that emotionless, featureless visage that had haunted her nightmares for decades.
Michael turned to her, his movements unnaturally calm. The crack in the wall might as well have been nothing to him. His cold eyes flickered with something dark and ancient as he began his advance once more.
Laurie's heart pounded in her chest. She had faced him before, fought him, and survived, but this time, she could feel the difference. Michael had changed. He wasn't just the Shape anymore—he was something more, something darker, fueled by the power he had stolen from Hell itself. His ability to fade into the shadows, to appear and disappear at will, was just the beginning. And yet, she had no choice but to fight.
As he drew closer, Laurie gripped the makeshift weapon tighter. She knew this wouldn't end the way it had before. There was no escape, no hiding from him now. He had come back stronger, more relentless, and she could feel the weight of inevitability pressing down on her.
But Laurie Strode had never backed down, and she wouldn't start now.
Michael lunged, his knife gleaming in the dim light, but Laurie was ready. She sidestepped his attack, driving the sharp end of the broken wood into his side. The force of the blow should have been enough to stop any man—but Michael wasn't a man. He didn't even flinch.
He ripped the shard from his body, blood spilling onto the floor, but his blank expression never changed. He moved toward her again, his knife raised for the final strike.
Laurie felt a surge of desperation, knowing that this fight was different, that Michael was different. But this was her home. Her life. And she would not let him win.
With a primal scream, she lunged forward, dodging his knife once more and aiming her strike at his face. The force of her blow knocked him back again, but Michael, unstoppable as always, kept moving forward, his relentless pursuit like a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
This was it—the final hunt. One of them would not walk away from this fight.
Laurie knew she couldn't outrun him. She couldn't hide. But she could finish what she started.