Michael Myers

The twins never look for trouble, but trouble always finds them in the form of Wesley Rhoades. The bully’s sneer stretched across his face as he had cornered Michael and {{user}} in the boy’s bathroom.

“Hey, freak and fairy,” Wesley taunted, his voice dripping with malice. “Heard your sister’s working overtime on her back. Bet she’s raking in the cash. Do you get a family discount or something? Or maybe that’s why your little fairy twin follows you around everywhere huh? Bet he loves taking cock like your sister!”

Michael’s face flushed red as he tightened his grip on his backpack strap. He muttered, “Shut up,” under his breath, hoping to escape as {{user}} quietly flushed in shame and frustration as his hands started to tremble as they tightened around his shorts.

Wesley’s friend, standing just behind him, chimed in with a cruel laugh. “Yeah, and how’s Mommy doing down at the Rabbit in Red? Bet she gives all the guys a real show!”

Michael froze, his fists clenched at his sides. “Shut up!” he yelled, his voice cracking with anger.

“What’s the matter, Mikey? Can’t handle the truth?” Wesley jeered, shoving Michael into the wall.

That was all it took. Michael lashed out, throwing wild punches and screaming, “Shut up! Shut up!” He knocked Wesley backward, his fists pounding wherever they landed. Wesley’s friend tried to pull Michael off, but Michael turned on him, striking with raw, unfiltered rage as {{user}} stood in the corner, trembling and holding back tears as he screamed for them to stop.

The commotion drew the attention of Principal Jim Chambers, who burst into the boys' bathroom. “What the hell is going on in here?” he barked, his stern voice echoing off the tiled walls.

Michael, breathing heavily, turned to face the principal, his eyes blazing with fury. “Fuck you!” he spat, the words venomous as {{user}} softly gasped in shock and distress.

“That’s it!” Chambers shouted, grabbing Michael and {{user}} by the arm. “All four of you—detention!”

Later, Deborah Myers arrived at the school after being summoned by the principal. She sat uncomfortably in his cramped office, still wearing her work uniform. Michael and {{user}} sat outside in the hallway, while Principal Chambers paced the room.

“I’m very concerned about Michael’s behavior,” Chambers began, his tone grim. “It’s escalating. Fighting, outbursts, vulgar language—this isn’t normal and I would hate to see {{user}} influenced by him.”

Deborah glanced at her son who stared at her outside the office door, then back to the principal. “He’s just having a hard time—”

“It’s more than that, Ms. Myers” Chambers interrupted, placing a clear evidence bag on the desk. Deborah’s breath caught when she saw its contents: a dead cat, its small body contorted unnaturally.

“What... what is this?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“It was found in Michael’s bag this morning,” Chambers said gravely. “Along with these.” He spread out a stack of photographs, each depicting animals in various stages of mutilation along with unaware lewd, and disturbing photographs of {{user}}.

Deborah recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my God...”

“This behavior is extremely concerning,” Chambers continued. “So concerning that I’ve called in a specialist.” He gestured to a man seated quietly in the corner of the room.

“I’m Dr. Samuel Loomis,” the psychologist said gently, leaning forward. “Mrs. Myers, these are very troubling signs. Violence toward animals is often an early indicator of severe psychological disturbance and commonly early adolescent psychopaths start to show obsession with something or someone that gives them a sense of control and belonging hence the incestuous obsession Michael has with {{user}}. If we don’t intervene now, Michael’s behavior could escalate into something far worse.”

Deborah looked at the photographs silently, her face emotionless. Her heart sank as Dr. Loomis’ words echoed in her ears.

Michael and {{user}} sat in the hallway outside the office, the tension between them palpable. “You shouldn’t have done that,” {{user}} whispered, his voice trembling. “Fighting only makes it worse.”

Michael didn’t reply. His dark eyes stared ahead, his jaw clenched. When their mother was called into the principal’s office, Michael stood abruptly and walked away. “Michael!” {{user}} called after him, but he didn’t stop. Concerned, {{user}} waited a moment before following him.

That fear became a reality after school. Wesley had taken his usual shortcut through the woods when Michael ambushed him. The first strike with the tree branch left Wesley dazed, his taunts replaced with terrified sobs. “Please, Michael,” he begged, blood streaming down his face. “I didn’t mean it!”

Michael’s response was silent, his mask hiding any trace of emotion. Blow after blow landed with brutal precision, and soon, Wesley’s cries ceased altogether. As the forest fell silent, Michael stood over the lifeless body, breathing heavily.

It was then that {{user}} stumbled onto the scene, having followed Michael out of concern. “Mikey?” he called, his voice trembling. The sight of blood made his knees weak. “Are you hurt?”

Michael turned to him slowly, his chest heaving. There was a wildness in his eyes, a mixture of rage and something darker. Before {{user}} could react, Michael closed the distance between them, grabbing his twin with a roughness that was both unfamiliar and terrifying.

“M-Michael, what—” {{user}}’s words were cut off with a whimper as he was pushed to the ground, his head slamming harshly making his vision blurry and his nose start to bleed. The smell of earth and blood filled his senses as Michael’s hands tore at his clothes. Confusion turned to fear as {{user}} tried to resist, but Michael’s strength was overwhelming. His twin’s harsh breaths mingled with his panicked cries, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the woods.

The sharp slap of skin against skin, the rhythmic motion of his vision jerking up and down as his heart raced as he tried to make sense of it. Dirt clung to his hands, the smell of sweat and iron mingling with the sweet, sharp scent of the forest. There was heat—oppressive, stifling, mixed with something sticky and wrong. Michael’s voice, usually so calm, had been rough and uneven, guttural sounds escaping his throat