Michael Myers

The first time you noticed him, you convinced yourself it was nothing. It was Halloween night in Haddonfield, the kind of night where the streets seemed strangely alive despite the cold. Porch lights flickered behind carved pumpkins, children ran from house to house in cheap costumes, and distant music drifted through the neighborhood from parties you had no intention of attending. You had taken the longer route home because the main street was crowded, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the wind carried dead leaves across the pavement. That was when you saw the man standing beneath a streetlight. He was enormous. At least, that was how he looked from a distance. Six feet, maybe more, with broad shoulders and a posture that seemed unnaturally still. He wore dark clothing, work boots, and a pale mask that reflected the yellow streetlight. You slowed down. He didn't move. You stared for another second before the rational part of your brain told you that it was probably just somebody dressed as Michael Myers. Halloween was practically an invitation for people to dress like monsters. You gave him one last uneasy glance and continued walking. When you looked back a few seconds later, the streetlight was empty.

You didn't think about him again until you got home. Your house was quiet, and the silence felt almost comforting after the noise outside. You locked the front door, dropped your keys onto the counter, and turned on the television for background noise. Some old horror movie was playing, complete with screaming teenagers and cheesy music, and you found yourself laughing at how predictable it was. Eventually, though, something outside caught your attention. You heard a faint scraping sound against the side of the house. You paused the television and listened. Nothing. You waited. Then it came again. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. You approached the window and pulled the curtain aside just enough to look outside. The backyard was mostly darkness, illuminated only by the weak glow coming from your kitchen. Trees swayed in the wind. A plastic Halloween decoration had fallen over near the fence. Nothing else. You sighed, feeling ridiculous, and let the curtain fall. Behind you, the television suddenly changed channels by itself. You turned around sharply. The screen was filled with static. You reached for the remote, muttering under your breath, but before you could pick it up, you noticed something reflected faintly in the black glass of the television. A pale face. Standing behind you.

You spun around. There was nobody there. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you searched the room. The hallway was empty. The kitchen was empty. Every doorway looked exactly as it had a moment before. You checked the locks again, then the windows, telling yourself that you were becoming paranoid. Halloween did that to people. Every shadow looked like a person. Every sound seemed deliberate. You eventually returned to the couch, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. At around midnight, you finally decided to go upstairs. You turned off the lights one by one, leaving only the dim glow of the television downstairs. As you reached the staircase, you heard a soft creak behind you. You froze. Slowly, you turned your head. At the far end of the living room, near the front window, stood the same figure from earlier. The pale mask stared directly at you. You couldn't see his eyes clearly, but somehow you knew he was looking at you. He hadn't knocked. He hadn't broken anything. He was simply standing there, inside your house.

You screamed and stumbled backward. The man didn't react. He didn't rush toward you. He didn't raise a weapon. He simply watched. You ran upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind you and locking it even though you knew a flimsy lock wouldn't stop somebody his size. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone. No signal. You tried again. Nothing. You moved toward the window, intending to climb out, but stopped when you saw the backyard below. The man was standing there. You stared down at him in disbelief. He was looking directly up at your window. You backed away from the glass. When you looked again, he was gone. You waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing. Then you heard a heavy footstep in the hallway outside your bedroom. Another. Slow. Deliberate. You pressed yourself against the wall, barely breathing. The doorknob turned. Once. Twice. The lock held. The footsteps stopped.

For several minutes, nothing happened. You began to wonder if you had imagined the entire thing. Then came three soft knocks. Not frantic. Not aggressive. Almost polite. You didn't answer. Another three knocks followed. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from making a sound. The knob turned again. This time, the door slowly began to open. You had locked it. You knew you had. Yet the door crept inward anyway. A sliver of darkness appeared, followed by the pale shape of the mask. Michael Myers stood in the doorway. He looked almost impossibly calm. His head tilted slightly as he stared at you. You backed toward the window. He stepped inside. You grabbed the nearest object you could find and threw it at him. He barely reacted when it struck his shoulder. You ran past him.

You made it halfway down the stairs before you heard him behind you. You didn't look back. You sprinted through the front door and into the street, screaming for help. Halloween crowds still filled the neighborhood, but nobody seemed to understand what you were saying. People laughed, assuming you were playing along with the holiday. You ran past costumed teenagers and families carrying buckets of candy, constantly looking over your shoulder. Michael wasn't there. For a moment, you thought you had escaped. Then you saw him standing at the opposite end of the street. Motionless. Watching. You stopped. He didn't chase you. He didn't need to. Somehow, you understood that he knew exactly where you were going.

You turned and ran.

You didn't know how long you wandered that night. Every street seemed darker than the last. Every house seemed empty. Eventually you found yourself hiding behind a parked car, trying desperately to control your breathing. You peeked around the vehicle. Nothing. The street was empty. You waited. Nothing. Slowly, you stood. A strange sense of relief washed over you. Maybe he had left. Maybe the police had arrived. Maybe you had finally gotten away. Then you heard a familiar sound behind you.

A slow inhale.

You turned.

The Shape stood only a few feet away.

His mask was expressionless. His body was perfectly still. The knife hung loosely at his side, almost like an afterthought. He didn't say anything. He never had. He simply stared at you, and in that silence was something far more terrifying than words could have been. You stumbled backward. He took one step forward. You took another step back. He followed. Not quickly. Not angrily. Patiently.

Like he knew the night belonged to him.

And as Halloween decorations flickered around the empty street, you finally realized the horrible truth: he hadn't been trying to kill you earlier.

He had been following you.

Watching you.

Learning your habits.

Waiting.

And now that you knew he was there, Michael Myers had no reason to hide anymore.

(Any scenario!) ⋆˚࿔