🔪𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔉𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗🔪

𝕹𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘

Michael Myers doesn't have a lot to say, but there's more behind those eyes than pure evil. Especially when he's looking at you. 

Michael Myers x GN!Reader, no touching, just looking.  Sometimes looking is enough.

Rating:  Mature

Length: 921 words

CW:  stalking, obsessive behavior, knives, Michael being Michael

Michael Myers POV

The first time I saw you, your eyes slid right past me.

That's okay. I prefer it that way.

It was October 30. Afternoon. You were coming back from the grocery store. Walking with your arms full, maybe a little too full. You dropped a box and swore, bent to pick it up. You were less than thirty feet from me.

I have seen beautiful people before. Beauty does not shield you, not from me. Beautiful people bleed like everyone else.

But you.

Something about you.

Not your body, not your face. There is more to a person than that. Something vital that leaks out through the eyes. Yours is irresistible.

I watched you walk home. Noted the house. I had other obligations, but I came by after dark.

You keep your blinds open and your lights on in almost every room. You shouldn't do that. It makes you a beacon. You live alone. You shouldn't do that either.

From your backyard it was easy to track your movement through the house. People in their own spaces are like little animals. So busy with so many small, meaningless tasks. But I could not take my eyes off you. You played loud music and I watched the way your mouth shaped the words. Your hands on that kitchen knife were fascinating.

I think you think the tree outside your bedroom gives you privacy. You are wrong. It gives me cover. I watched you undress. I inspected the angles of your limbs. The small of your back intrigues me. So does the hollow of your throat. So much hides beneath the skin.

When you turned off the lights, I moved closer to the window. You look small in your bed. You keep a lot of soft things around you. It's funny, what people think will protect them. You fell asleep fast. You often do. I envy this. You must be very tired, or feel very safe.

I couldn't stay, but I wanted to. You were radiant in the darkness. I wanted to watch you breathe.

The following night, I know you went out. I watched you lock up just before dusk and set off down the street to a Halloween party. I saw the way you scanned your surroundings. I know you were looking for me. You didn't look hard enough. You had nothing to worry about. I didn't know your name then, but your face was at the very bottom of my list.

I watched the darkness fall around you. I know there are other things in the night besides me. That night, you had to face them yourself. You will never need to face them again. They will not get past me.

I did not think of you while I took my yearly offering. People need many things they don't have names for. Loomis always asked me why. I did not have the words to describe to him the tearing of flesh. How violence feels like breathing. The way fear nestles into a space in my chest where nothing else fits.

Even if I did, I wouldn't have wasted them on him.

People see with different eyes when they are about to die. I don't like to be seen, but I am comfortable in that gaze. There is nothing else to say.

The window in your living room doesn't lock like you think it does. I fit through it easily once I had my fill. I spent some time examining your space. You have a lot of things. Most of them seem to serve no purpose, but they told me a lot about you.

In your kitchen, I washed off my knife in the sink. I inspected your knives. There was one that was almost the same size, so I took it. I left you mine. You will never know.

I stood at the foot of your bed. I watched the pulse in your throat. I thought about how it would feel, your heart pushing against my hands. I wanted to suck your blood from under my nails. I stayed until that desire passed. You turned over once in your sleep.

While I watched you, I felt a sensation in my chest like something was pushing my ribs apart. I've decided that you are mine, but if I am honest, it doesn't feel like a decision at all. It is a need like food, like rest. People need things they don't have names for.

I am never far from you. I am in your bedroom now. You are asleep. You are almost snoring. Your hands are limp on the pillow.

You are beautiful.

I wonder how your skin feels. It looks soft.

I want to watch you die, but the knowledge that I could only do so once frustrates me.

Loomis says I cannot understand the normal human experience. He is wrong. I understand it better than he does. It is not so complex as he thinks it is. It is just wanting, over and over again.

I want to know what makes you tremble with rage. I want to taste your tears. I want to know what makes you ache. I want to know what you want.

I wonder how it would feel to plunge into you with my body. With my blade.

I wonder how you scream.

You will wake up tomorrow. Maybe you will use that knife. Maybe you will see my footprints in your flowerbed. But you will not see me, not yet.

All in good time.