Michael Myers: Final Girl

Every Breath You Take

Warnings: Violence/Gore

He watched her for days, weeks, months. He'd lost track of time, but not of her. She was a constant presence in his mind and it was maddening. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around why he was being internally tormented with her image. It was a drug he couldn't quit.

After that night he had made his way home, managing to evade the authorities for the time being. He couldn't quite say he found comfort within the cold walls of the Myers' house, but it was in fact all he knew. He could rest there. He stood in the window gazing out into the night, contemplating the woods and her illuminated face in the glow of her campfire. It was hard for him to imagine why he hadn't taken her life like he had so many others like her. Maybe it would be best he had, maybe then his mind would be silent the way he longed for it to be. He tried instead to focus on his breathing and the sound it made as he exhaled through his mask.

Just as he thought he might be able to let go of her image, he heard laughter coming closer from down the street. He tensed up as he waited for the sound to make itself known, but it was little comfort. In the dim light of the night he could make out the familiar features. It was her.

He wanted to pry his eyes away, not wishing to reignite the emotions from before, but his body refused. He watched her glide past his home, not even a glance in his direction with a smile painted on her face. Her laugh now echoed through the walls of his home, breaching his cherished silence. As much as it pained him to admit, he felt a strange pit in his stomach as she walked out of his view. As her sound began to fade into the night he tried desperately to focus on his breathing again, but it was labored. His fists clenched as he willed the feeling to pass, but he couldn't stop himself from indulging it.

He strode through the door, careful to move in the shadows. He knew better than to reveal himself, she would only be frightened. He followed closely behind them as they made their way to a house just a block away from his home. He hated that she was so close, this would only worsen his newfound addiction. It seems Haddonfield had found a new way to torture him.

He turned his gaze to the second story where a light flickered on. He watched their shadows move about the room as they settled in, blissfully unaware of the Shape's prying eyes. His trained ear could just barely make out their voices. He didn't care much for whatever conversation they were having, he just wanted to hear her. Not only was her appearance something he was intrigued by, her voice stirred up something in him too.

He could tell they were alone. Now was his chance to end this. He fought with himself as he stood in place, knowing he could easily put a stop to this game his mind was playing with him. Maybe draining her life with his hands around her neck would satisfy this desire he had. But that thought seemed to pain him. He was growing irritated with how weak he felt not being able to will himself through her door, when she opened her window. He could feel his pulse quicken when she looked in his direction, half hoping the shadows would keep him covered but also longing for her to see him.

She stared for a moment, that same curious expression from the woods playing on her features. Maybe she had seen him, but he stayed where he was.

"What is it?" Her friend questioned.

"I thought I saw someone," she said absentmindedly as she looked through the shadows.

"Someone?" The other girl poked her head through the window, quickly checking over the yard. She shook her head, "What is up with you lately, now you're seeing men in bushes?"

She pulled her back in and shut the window. His rage returned. He allowed himself a few more moments to gaze at her window, but began to peel himself away. He needed a release. His pace was swift as he glided through the streets of his home town desperately searching for a fix, his grip on his blade tighter than ever. It had to be bloodlust that she was making him feel, he knew he wasn't capable of anything other than that. He spotted a jogger who was conveniently out of sight from any other passersby. He approached silently from behind, grabbing her by her hair to crane her neck back before he wielded his blade. She barely had time to scream. He felt her blood pour out onto his hand as he held her in his grip. His fist clenched in her hair, forcing her last moments of life to be spent looking at her killer. He waited for satisfaction to wash over him as he watched her life fade. Before long, she was gone. He looked over her corpse, his anger only building. Nothing. He threw her down and continued into the night.

It went on like this for months as he watched her. Nothing satiating his hunger. He only felt some relief in the brief moments he would see her walking past his home. But it was never enough. This desire was different and unknown. Nothing made sense to him. Why did he feel this way about her and what was it he was feeling? It was all so strange to him, he did anything to keep himself away as he impatiently waited for the moment to come where he felt the urge to kill her, but it never it did. Victims faces blurred with thoughts of her, ruining even his most powerful moments. He couldn't rid himself of her.

The longer time went on, he allowed himself to learn everything, which wasn't difficult given his proclivity for stalking. Her name was no longer a secret, her job, her friends. Every moment that he wasn't trying to satisfy his urges was spent studying her. Maybe he would never understand what exactly it was he was feeling. He had gotten used to it, even finding some peace just watching over her. She enjoyed life, something he could never do. She loved music, the outdoors and she really loved talking. He spent countless hours listening to her daydream about future adventures she hoped to have to her friend. He wanted to badly to be the one she spoke to but he wasn't going to kid himself, he knew he couldn't never make himself known to her. He had learned to accept that. That is until she met him.