Michael Myers: Final Girl

Don't Fear The Reaper

She concealed the knife the best she could as she raced towards her house. It was such a freeing feeling, suddenly having no fear of him whatsoever. She relished in the feeling of her heart practically beating out of her chest as she neared the home. Perhaps she'd completely lost her mind but she no longer cared. Her nightmare was finally going to end. She had almost forgotten it was Halloween, the children rushing past in their costumes reminded her. At least she wouldn't have to explain the blood if it got messy.

She slowed down as she saw the house come into view. That old familiar dread tried to find its way to her, but she did her best to refuse it. She could see him through the window of their room. For a moment, she watched. He looked to be watching TV. She felt a pit in her stomach as he smiled, it was something she had once loved about him. He had one of the best smiles she'd ever seen, his skin would crease at the side of his lips, not quite dimples but close enough to give him that charming appearance. She felt herself softening. That old weak feeling began to return. She turned the doorknob and made her way up the stairs. She took her time walking down the hallway, the light from their cracked door illuminated the old floors. She wondered if she would be able to find the courage to do it. It was the only thing she had thought about for days. After all, he might as well have done it to her and more than once. He had killed her in so many ways over and over again. But still she felt hesitant. Perhaps she wasn't so far gone yet.

The hallway came to an end. It had always seemed so long, but it seemed to have shrunk she thought to herself. She was right outside the door. She felt her breath hitch as she gently pushed it open. He wasn't in there. She walked in, almost relieved for a moment until her eyes fell on their bed. The bloodstained sheets were still on it. She felt all that pain rush back to her, she saw herself screaming, the blood covering her mind like a blanket.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and his breath on her ear, "I left that for you to clean up."

His voice felt like nails down her back and her hand clenched the knife. No more.

She quickly pushed the blade backwards with force, hitting him in his thigh. He pushed her away, but she held on tightly to the handle, making sure to pull the knife out as she lurched forward. She shakily brought the blood soaked blade into her view, wide eyed. She was in a trance, marveling at its now bright red gleam, her strength rushing back to her in waves. She felt no guilt, no shame. She felt alive.

"You bitch!" He yelled through gritted teeth.

Just as she turned, he was barreling towards her. His hand went for her weapon, but she fought him. She used all the strength she could muster, he was no easy match. She had never fought back before and her inexperience was apparent as she tried to pry his hand off of her unsuccessfully. She resorted to her legs, kicking him off as hard as she could. He hit the ground with a thud, his head slammed against their dresser momentarily disorienting him. She hovered over him, raising the knife as she moved closer. He started to laugh as he glared at her from under his brows, only fueling her fire further.

"You don't have it in you," he said, almost encouraging her.

She plunged the knife down with all her might, aimed at his heart ready to take his as he had taken hers. Before she could meet her target she was thrown back against the wall with a large hand wrapped around her throat. The force caused her to drop the blade and with free hands she tried desperately to free herself. Her eyes met his underneath his pale mask and she knew there was no winning.

"Michael, let me go," she said, her words laced with venom.

She could see the rage mingled with pain in his eyes and she didn't understand. She could see this was hurting him. It was buried deep within his gaze, but there was something there he was hiding. She didn't have time to figure it out, it would have to wait. She wasn't going to let go what she came here for.

"Let me go," she repeated.

"No."

It was just barely above a whisper, but he had spoken.

"What the fuck!" She heard her husband say from the corner of the room.

As she and Michael turned their attention towards him they realized he had grabbed the knife. He rushed over and plunged it into her stalker's neck. She felt her heart sink.

He stumbled for a moment, releasing her from his grip. (Y/n) screamed as she went to hold him, but before she could she saw his hand grab hold of the knife. His eyes stayed burning into hers as he pulled it out of himself, not even flinching. Her eyes widened as he turned around, his attention now fully focused on him.

Her husband was just ask shocked, if not more than she was. She finally did get to see true fear in his eyes as he looked up at the Shape. He held his hands up, but they offered little protection. Michael's rage was inevitable, a force to be reckoned with. So many years watching him embody everything he hated about this world led him to this moment. For the first time in so long he knew he'd be satisfied.

His knife found him over and over again, each plunge going further than the one before. She watched in utter horror. His screams filled the air, finding a permanent place to live in her mind as they echoed. His blood trickled towards her through a narrow crack in the floorboards. It made its way just underneath her and began to pool there. His end was brutal and cold, just as he had lived his life. The Shape showed no mercy.

His stabs became less calculated as he realized the monster had long been dead. His screams no longer filled the room, just the sound of his own heavy masked breath lingered. He plunged his blade in one final time, as he took in the image lying beneath him. He was gone. He admired his work.

After a moment he wanted to look at her, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure what to expect. She had wanted this, but would seeing him for who he really was make her fear him. He wouldn't be surprised. The grim reality of what had just transpired began to fill the little room like a dense fog. He pulled the blade out of the corpse and stood up. He let his head hang as her horrified gaze fell upon him.

She didn't move. She couldn't. She could still hear the screams in her mind and she couldn't decide whether she liked it or not. The thought that she enjoyed it frightened her. She wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid of herself. He finally lifted his masked face, her eyes waited to meet his. For once silence wasn't something he wished for.

He hesitantly moved towards her. She watched him carefully as she tried to figure out what she was feeling. She was angry he had taken her place, she was meant to kill him, not Michael. At the same time, he had saved her in so many ways. He stood close to her, not touching but she could feel he wanted to, he just didn't have the capability to act upon his desires. She leaned her head back as he towered over her, his eyes were closed under the mask as if perhaps he was too ashamed to look at her.

Her mind let her body take control for a moment. Her toes lifted her up so her lips were just barely brushing the lips of his mask. He flinched a bit and turned his head away, unsure if this was something he himself could allow. She paused, half expecting him to react violently, instead he slowly turned his face back towards her. His eyes were open, she could see he was afraid. Gentle as ever, she pressed her lips to the mask.

His breath was no longer controlled, in fact he couldn't seem to catch it. Everything in his mind fought him, but he let his eyes close, choosing to ignore his internal battle for once. Her touch was guarded by the cold rubber between them, but he let himself imagine what she felt like. He remembered that soft feeling on his fingertips just hours ago. She pressed a little firmer when she felt him relax ever so slightly under her touch, before she pulled away. Her own feelings began to frighten her.

When he opened his eyes she was gone.