Michael Myers x Male!Reader

Chapter 4

He looked at his surroundings, the big building they were parking in front of immediately falling into his sight. Where the hell are we? He opened his door, to his luck it wasn't locked, and swung his legs over the rim of his seat, carefully placing them on the ground in front of him.

The pain in his back wasn't as bad as it had been that morning, so it was easier for him to get out of the vehicle. With confident steps (he was scared shitless) he walked towards the stone building, noticing a giant sign that spelled 'open' in bright neon letters. Looks like a workshop, he thought to himself, nervously playing with the fabric of his shirt; why were they here?

"Hello? Anybody in there? Michael?" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence so he cleared his throat before he stepped through the open entry. No one seemed to be in sight, in fact it seemed like y/n as the only soul around. He grew suspicious with every step he went further into the shop, his paranoia starting to kick in.

The sign said it's open. So where the hell is everyone? Those thoughts kept him on his toes; there had to be at least one person around to take care of the shop, right?

His eyes wandered over the stored resources; rusty cans, full of out expired meat, filled the iron shelves and a thick layer of dust hugged their cold bodies. Opposite of the unappetizing meals was a row of tools which hung loosely on plastic hooks.

His eyes followed the shelf to it's end; that's when he noticed something at the end of an aisle, though he couldn't make out anything but a vague form.

His brain screamed at him to just turn around, to go back to the car and wait for Michael there, but his legs seemed to move on their own, bringing him closer to whatever he saw.

"Hello?" His voice was quiet, yet if there really was someone they had to have heard him, right? His heart was beating loud and hard against his rib cage, so hard that he feared for it to jump out of his chest any second.

Y/n reached the end of the aisle, his eyes slowly gazing down to what he had seen. They widened and he stumbled back, a scream stuck in the back of his throat. The scene in front of him was the last thing he had expected; the body of a mid-aged man leaned against one of the shelves, a shovel dug deep into his torso.

One hand still held it's grip onto the wooden handle, looking like he had tried to pull it out within his last few breaths, while the other rested under the wound, holding on to his spilling organs. He was lying in his own blood, the once white fabric of his shirt was soaked from the dark red liquid. Y/n couldn't help but look right into the man's lifeless eyes; the pain and fear he had felt in the last seconds of his life were still written all over his face.

The urge to throw up grew and grew the longer the boy looked at him, yet he couldn't take his eyes off the scene. But when he heard rustling behind him, coming from the counter next to the exit, he jumped slightly. He turned on the back of his heels, nearly losing balance, and stared in it's direction.

He was sure that it had been his imagination, playing games with him once again. Though how could he be so sure about that? He really couldn't, and that was the problem; with cautious steps he walked towards the exit, but not without glancing over his shoulder once in a while.

As the car got into his sight again he let out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding; leaving the building and aiming for the vehicle he was sure that he would be fine and that, if he would just keep his mouth shut, Michael would never know he had been walking around on his own.

The vehicle, to his relief, was still empty. His eyes gazed over the metal, which was already showing a few rusty spots under the peeling paint.
He opened the door on his side, the smell of burning leather and something foul he couldn't quite identify blew into his face, making his nose twitch for a split second.