Title: *The Last Stand*
Laurie's breaths came in ragged gasps as she staggered back, her eyes fixed on Michael. They had been fighting for what felt like an eternity, a deadly dance of survival and death. Bloodied, bruised, but still determined, she knew that this could be her only chance. There was no way to kill him conventionally—Michael Myers wasn't just flesh and bone anymore. He was something far worse.
She stumbled across the living room, grabbing a makeshift bomb she had rigged earlier. It was her last-ditch effort, a weapon she had prepared in case everything else failed. And everything *had* failed. Michael was still coming, his cold, dead eyes locked onto her, the unrelenting force of evil.
With a final, desperate motion, Laurie pulled the pin and hurled the bomb at him. The small metal device clattered across the floor, sliding to a stop at Michael's feet. His eyes flickered down, but he made no move to stop it. He kept coming, as if nothing in the world could halt his pursuit.
Laurie didn't wait to see what would happen. She turned on her heel and bolted toward the door, her legs weak and shaking beneath her, adrenaline pushing her past the pain. She leaped through the shattered front window just as the explosion ripped through the house behind her.
The blast was deafening, a fiery roar that consumed everything in its path. Flames shot upward, the shockwave blowing out what remained of the windows and sending debris raining down on the street. The old house, her final refuge, was engulfed in a ball of fire and destruction. The force of the explosion threw Laurie to the ground, dust and ash filling the air as the walls collapsed inward.
She lay there, stunned and dazed, her ears ringing, the heat from the blast searing her skin even from a distance. For a moment, everything was silent. She lay in the dirt, her breath shallow, wondering if this was it—if she had finally done it.
But deep down, Laurie knew.
Through the thick, swirling smoke and falling rubble, a figure began to emerge. Michael Myers, burnt and charred, his coveralls scorched, still moved with that same, terrible calm. His mask, once pristine after his resurrection, was now blackened and cracked, but it clung to his face. His body was riddled with burns, his skin blistering and smoking from the fire.
Yet he was still standing. Still alive.
Laurie pushed herself up onto her elbows, her heart pounding in her chest. The bomb had leveled the entire house, yet Michael had survived. The inhuman force of evil was unkillable, unstoppable. He stepped out of the rubble, his large frame silhouetted against the flickering flames. His knife, still in hand, gleamed faintly in the firelight, as though it too had survived the inferno.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. Laurie's face was a mix of exhaustion and resolve, and Michael's mask—expressionless as ever—seemed to carry with it the weight of inevitable death. It was as if time stood still. She had thrown everything at him, but it was never enough. He had returned from Hell itself. What could she possibly do now?
But then, something strange happened. Michael didn't attack. He didn't advance. He simply stood there, looking at her through that mask, those empty, soulless eyes staring into hers. And then, without a word, without a sound, he turned away.
Laurie's breath hitched as she watched him walk away, his steps slow, deliberate. He wasn't coming for her anymore. His body was battered and burnt, but he didn't seem to care. His destination was clear. Michael was walking toward where his old home had once stood.
It was as though the fight, the years of relentless pursuit, had finally led him back to where it all began. The decrepit house where he had taken his first life as a boy, where his darkness had been born. Now, after all this time, after rising from Hell itself, he was being drawn back to the place that had shaped him into the monster he had become.
Laurie sat up, still dazed, watching him disappear into the night. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. He had spared her, left her alive. Why?
Maybe it was the endless battle that had finally exhausted them both. Maybe the ties of fate had loosened just enough for her to survive this night. Or maybe, in some twisted way, Michael had decided that his war with Laurie was over. But he hadn't stopped. He was simply returning to the darkness.
The flames from the destroyed house flickered in the distance as Michael Myers, the Shape, vanished into the shadows of Haddonfield once again, heading toward the only place that had ever truly been his.
Laurie didn't move. She didn't chase him. She simply sat in the rubble, breathing heavily, the night eerily quiet around her. For now, she had survived. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn't over.
Michael Myers had returned home.