Michael Myers: Final Girl

Sympathy For The Devil

The sound of his empty glass slamming on the table ricocheted off the walls of his empty home. He had finally run out of liquor. He got up and stumbled to the refrigerator to search for any other substance he could abuse. He settled on a half drank beer that he'd forgotten who knows how long ago. His feet managed to find their way back to his all but empty table. Through bloodshot eyes he stared at the newspaper that lay open. He had already read the article over and over again, but his drunken rage led him back to the headline.

Man Found Dead, Presumably Murdered by Jealous, Missing Wife

He knew he always hated her. From the moment his brother had brought her home, he knew she was a stuck up wannabe princess. Her little good girl act didn't fool him. Jealous was a good way to describe her, he thought. She knew she'd never be wanted like he was, by every woman in town. But now she was wanted and he'd make damn sure he would find her before the authorities did. No punishment they could offer would be as good as he could give. He would see to it she paid.

He ripped the article out and shoved it in his pocket before he pushed himself away from the table. He made sure to grab his pistol before he stumbled to the front door. He patted down his jacket in search of his car keys. Red and blue lights in the distance made him think twice. He didn't want anything getting in the way of his plan and getting pulled over wasn't on the agenda for tonight. He knew she had to be close anyway and he would need his parked car for an alibi later.

In his drunken stupor he decided to go his brothers old place first. The police had long since stopped looking for answers there, but he didn't trust them. They had to have missed something. Besides, with so many unsolved murders in town it was pretty apparent they weren't the best at their job. His heavy footfall echoed through the empty streets as he neared the residence. He still had a key so getting in wouldn't be difficult. It was empty, everyone had split after his brother's death. With their records he wasn't surprised that they feared they would be looked at as suspects, but he knew they weren't to blame. He found his way to the stairs, half afraid he might be too drunk to get up them, but his hatred for her kept him moving. It felt as though that article was burning a hole in his pocket, egging him on.

Stabbed Seventy-Eight Times

He would do her worse than that.

He saw her footsteps in his mind and they led him down the hall to their formerly shared room. The door loomed ahead of him in the darkness inviting him in. He tried the handle. Locked. This wasn't going to stop him. He slammed the side of his body right through, indifferent to pain it caused his shoulder. He stumbled in to search for light and found a shaded lamp on the desk. He pulled the metal string and the room brightened around him. He stared at the scene before him. The police had managed to clean most of the damage up, the only evidence the crime had ever occurred was the wooden floor that had been permanently stained by his blood. His fists clenched. It was like he could see that whole night unfold before him. Her fake innocence as she lured him into her, her smile as she ended his life. He could see it so clearly.

Something caught his eye. There was a smaller, less defined stain next to the one where he had lain. It would have been easily missed if you didn't look close enough, passed up as a simple pattern in the aged wood. He leaned down to get a closer look. It resembled the print of a boot. It was too large to have been hers. He shook his head with a sick grin on his face.

"You little whore," he muttered under his alcohol laced breath.

It was further proof to him that she was anything but innocent. Not only did she kill him, she had had her lover help her. Maybe he'd kill him too and make her watch. He pulled out his pistol and checked that it had a full round before he exited the room. He went back out to the front of the house, his head whipped around to check his surroundings as he walked. It was eerily silent out tonight.

He noticed his brothers car was still parked out front and wandered over to it. He peered through the glass, but couldn't find any evidence she'd been in it. She didn't own one of her own and he figured she was too much of a coward to steal one. Good. Unless her accomplice had a vehicle, she was on foot and that meant she couldn't have gone far.

He heard a sound down the street, like glass shattering and ducked behind the car. He waited a moment and almost became impatient until he saw movement outside the old Myers' house. His eyes strained to see farther and then a sneer formed on his face. He recognized that worn out jacket with the hood she always wore.

"Gotcha," he whispered to himself.

She ran off down the street, but he wasn't bothered. She wouldn't get far. He stood up and checked the handle of the car. Unlocked. He slid into the driver's seat and checked the sun visor, his brother had always kept his keys there. They fell into his lap and he didn't hesitate to start the engine.

He made his way down the street, managing to follow the speed limit well enough. It didn't take long to catch up to her. He saw her slip into the trees. He knew Haddonfield well enough to know there wasn't anything but wilderness past that point for miles, except one place. Not many people knew it still stood. It had been in the Myers' family a long time ago, but no one had lived in it for years, even before their crazy kid killed his sister. It was a hunch, but seeing as she had just left the old spook house, he was willing to bet that would be her next stop.

He drove just outside the city limits and found the dirt road that led all the way down to its driveway. However, he didn't go that far. He pulled off and made sure to hide the car within the trees far enough away so she wouldn't be alerted to his presence. He crept through the brush and hid himself to where he had a good view of the home. He knew he had probably beat her there by a long shot. So he waited, but finally she arrived. He watched her walk onto the porch to catch her breath.

"Enjoy it," he whispered as he readied himself.

Just as he started to stand up he saw another figure appear out the corner of his eye. A man in a white mask and blue coveralls was making his way towards the house. She looked as if she knew him. It was safe to say he was confused, but he leaned closer to listen.

"You're home," he could just barely hear her say with that fake little smile plastered on her face.

The man in the mask calmly walked past her into the run down house, "Michael," she whined after him.

Michael? It couldn't be. He weighed his options as he watched them lean the door into place. With all the unsolved murders going on it made sense that it would be him, but why would he keep her alive? Probably fucking him, he thought. It wouldn't be unlike her. He couldn't kill her with him there. He would have to wait. He could be patient just a little longer.