Michael Myers: Final Girl

A Woman Left Lonely

Warnings: Violence/Gore

It started off slow. She was happy. He lavished her with attention, grand gestures all the usual tactics men like him use. She had no need for him, she was independent but he made sure to break down all her walls and invade her life anyhow. He was good at the game he played. He'd done it before, but how could she have known? Men had never really paid attention to her in the past and here he was. He was handsome, dark hair, green eyes and well built. She herself was beautiful, but she could never see that. She felt appreciated in a way she never had before, and as previously stated, he was good at making a woman feel like she was the only one in the world. She wasn't. She was naive.

It wasn't her fault, she thought he loved her and who wouldn't have? He was an impressively good actor in that aspect. Showing up at all the right moments, pursuing her endlessly, fooling her friends and family. Sure, maybe he cared in his own sick way, maybe in the beginning. How couldn't he? She was sweet, kind, gentle and most of all free. People like him prey upon women with her qualities. She just couldn't see it. But Michael did. He saw right through him.

He was a different kind of monster, but a monster nonetheless. It pained Michael to watch as she fell into his arms. It took him time to win her over, she was a smart girl but eventually he had to watch as she succumbed. She was happy in the beginning, of course. The monster knew better than to let her in on his tricks too soon. He wore a different kind of mask, but little by little, it began to slip. But by then, he had her. He had plucked her from a life full of love and dragged into his decrepit world. Once there, things changed. Not all at once, it was slow enough for her to stay, thinking maybe it was just a bad day here and there. Then the bad days become one long nightmare in which he would give her just enough hope to cling to so she wouldn't run. Once he had her fully encaged, he fed her lies. Her life ended for him, but he kept on living his. Nights filled with laughter, friends and family turned cold and lonely with no one around. Not even him. She was alone keeping the awful secret her life had become.

Michael had never stopped watching. He was unable to help her, he knew that. He had never wanted to end someone's life more, but he knew, even though he would be saving her, there was a chance it would hurt her. So he watched. He watched her fake smiles, they were nothing like the ones he used to look forward to seeing. He watched her slowly cover herself, hiding the bruises her monster would leave behind after accusing her of doing all the things he was doing. And he watched him.

He watched him lie and take from her. All the while he was giving it to someone else, anyone else. He would leave her in the cage he made for her, filling her head with stories of how he was out working for her, killing himself for her. All lies. It had never been just her for him as she had become for Michael. She meant nothing to him.
She was another game to be played, but he had taken this game farther than others. She had married him. He had taken her innocence. He had won. He couldn't watch anymore, it was unbearable.

Rage was all the Shape was able to feel for what felt like ages. As she sank into misery so did he. His knife plunged into victim after victim, only wishing to end one life. He saw what he did to her and it was unforgivable.

He pulled his knife out of his latest kill, enjoying the slick sound it made upon exit. His breathing was heavy and he was tired. He walked calmly over the bodies that lay scattered and out the door. The night was cool, the smell of autumn in the air. He made his way back home, but as he neared the house he noticed something strange. He could see a person standing on the sidewalk in front, just staring at the door. Whoever it was had a hood over their head, making it impossible for him to see who it could be. He thought perhaps it may be Loomis, that wouldn't surprise him. He paused as he watched them study the house, contemplating before marching up to the door. They tried the handle, which was of course unlocked and let themselves in. He hated killing in his home, it was such a pain having to clean up afterwards but he readied his blade anyway as he moved towards the back door. He made sure to be silent as he pushed it open, making sure his masked breathing wouldn't give him away. He heard a sniffle and followed the sound. He saw the hooded individual standing in the front hallway, studying the staircase. As he entered the doorway, the rotting floorboard creaked underneath his boot giving him away. He had only made that mistake once before. The person turned, slower than he expected, seemingly unafraid. They certainly weren't startled. The moonlight streaming in from the window just barely made the face visible underneath the hood. If he could speak, he would have been at a loss for words.