devil became.

WHY WON’T YOU DIE  ?  ,  it almost says  .    /    @motherfckngroundhog  .

she’s in illinois for a funeral. former co-worker. she wouldn’t call them friends, but he bothered to care about her, which nobody else in the building did. so it feels weird to travel all this way and attend a funeral for someone she barely knew, but it feels wrong to stay in gotham while it’s happening. weird and wrong. a thing is always that when she’s involved, isn’t it.

she’s outside a hotel, cheapest place she could find that didn’t look like she’d get murdered in it, struggling a little to get up the stairs after hours of sitting still or standing around at the service. her polished funeral shoes, old but unworn so they’re still uncomfortable, aren’t making it any easier. getting dark and cold out here. ideal environment for someone to think they’re being followed.

– that’s a stupid thought. she shoves it out of her mind, angry with it for following her so far from home. finally gives in to the pain and inconvenience of her situation, turns, sits on the third stair so she can take those goddamned shoes off. her hair falls all over the place when she bends down for it.

it’s only when she’s done, still sitting and with her shoes in her hand–

– that she looks up and sees the shape.

let a sleepy town lull one into a sense of complacency  .  ignore the horrors that have been undergone in haddonfield’s streets  ;  such a sleepy  ,  small town couldn’t possibly befall such evil  ,  such acts of violence  .  the shape  ---  no  ,  MICHAEL MYERS  ---  is notorious  ,  an anomaly that doesn’t sit well in the soft stomachs of the residents  .  a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit in the picture being solicited to its contributors  ;  he is the odd man out  ,  the odd horror out  .  it is easier to ignore than to know  ,  let horrors pass for they’re unlikely to happen again in the same place  .  how the boogeyman proves them wrong  ---  time and time again  .  

how many souls before it ends  ,  pleads the townspeople  .  the shape doesn’t answer  ,  he never does  ,  but the townspeople already know his answer  .  all of them  .

he becomes the nightmare which everyone seeks to avoid  ,  it’s why he’s after you  !  another oddity in haddonfield  ,  only because she doesn’t belong and he knows that  ,  knows everything and everyone  .  out of place  ,  no one to run to  ,  she won’t last very long  . 

allyson’s so exhausted that she has no more struggle left in her when michael hefts her up into his arms,  all of the energy used to fight before completely drained.  her eyelids feel heavy and she feels woozy,  like she’s left her body and she’s gone somewhere else far,  far away.  lithe fingers find their way to michael’s lapels as she clings onto him,  eyes burning but no tears falling,  all out of tears to cry somehow,  and she sighs against him.  there is no safety in the boogeyman’s arms but she can delude herself into thinking so,  somehow,  because michael came to save her instead of killing her and he hasn’t left her to die yet.  there’s something there,  there must be something there,  and she won’t allow her thoughts to stray elsewhere about that because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he leaves her.  her mother and laurie were so faithful to her,  so loyal,  but she knows somehow that if they knew about this —— she can’t even bare the thought of that,  not at all,  not of them knowing of this awful, ugly force inside of her. only he understands,  somehow. 

there’s a long time where she blacks out,  doesn’t see anything at all,  and comes to once michael takes her up the back steps of the apartment building and into the door she seldom uses for her bedroom.  she steps onto the carpeted floor and braces herself against the wall to dig blindly through her drawer to find underwear and pajamas,  flicking the switch on to the bathroom to be blinded by the harsh light above.  she peels off her blood soaked scrubs and lets the tub fill up with scorching hot water.  closes the door behind her belatedly before she steps into the tub and starts scrubbing and scrubbing,  scrubbing until the water is pink with her blood and red when she scrubs at her scalp.  the brush rips strands out of her hair when she forces it through,  even when she basks her scalp and hair in conditioner and oil.  she leaves the shower with her long hair braided,  a haddonfield university sweater,  and worn sweatpants.  even the smell of jojoba oil and dates and sea salt from her favorite lush scrub doesn’t help get rid of the smell of blood from her nose.  she looks at herself for a long time in the mirror after she brushes her teeth,  wetting a cloth and coating it with honey-scented soap.

she steps out into the living room and finding him there,  the chill from an open window making her shiver.  with a towel spread on the loveseat for michael to sit on,  she gestures to the spot,  not touching him as if she’ll relive it all with more blood on her hands.  as if cleaning herself raw cleansed her beyond her skin —- as if she’s cleansed her core,  her very soul,  when she knows she’s as damned as him. 

“ um, ”  she says articulately when they’re sitting and she’s cleaning his hands of blood,  the fingers of her other hand tentatively moving up the clean place on his chest to touch along his mask,  tentative and slow and making sure he can see every move she makes.  with a shaky hand,  she touches her own eye. can’t fathom looking into his eyes like this,  can’t stand it.  wants to see him,  or what she thinks is him,   because the shape is different than her uncle beneath.  or something like that.

soft,  pleading,  hearing her voice crack before she realizes her eyes are burning again.  no tears,  but she feels them anyway. 

 “ let me see.  please. ”

what does allyson hope to accomplish by asking for the ghostly mask  ?  does she believe that revealing the man underneath will change the outcome of the night  ?  that  ,  if instead of a face wracked with increasing wrinkles and a blind eye to match  ,  the face underneath proves to match the actions then her own cannot be held against her  .  these foolish notions of monster’s looking the part only found in fairy tales  ,  after all the truth undoubtedly hurts  ,  and fiction always proved easier to fathom and associate with then reality  .  so again  ,  what does she want  ?

there wasn’t even a gesture from him when they reached her apartment  ,  instead michael let the girl go off and do whatever it is she does  ---  her mental state far from being perfect  .  eventually she’ll get used to it though  ;  as desensitized as allyson is to the appearance of blood on his coveralls  ---  the undeniable tell tale sign that he was the cause of someone’s last breath  --- she’ll come to a point where she won’t mind it on herself either  .  or  ,  she’ll just have to get used to it  .  there is only so much one can expect when harboring a murderer  ,  and a family member at that  .  she tries and tries to do better  ,  this sense and necessity to be a better person  ,  but she’s a STRODE AND A MYERS  .  laurie tried to run away from the inevitable  ,  and there is an unforgivable rage tied between them two  .  as if the cosmos set them up against each other  ,  forever raging at one another until they both seamlessly die  .  where one boogeyman must go  ,  so does the other no matter how hard laurie tries to fight her fate  .  why would it be any different for allyson  ?  the only difference being that the shape hasn’t taken her life yet  ;  a curious turn of events  ,  but as much as they like to believe that he is not aware  ....  michael would know himself anywhere  .

so they wind up back here again  ,  allyson scrounging for any inch of humanity left whilst michael watches as she steadily loses her grasp with normalcy  .  the shape has survived for sixty-one years  ,  does she truly believe the attentions of his bird boned niece is going to change who he is  .

quietly  ,  he watches her clean the blood off his hands  ---  he recalls her annoyance at the few times he’s failed to do so  ;  sticky  ,  bloody fingerprints scattered about her apartment  .  allyson’s hesitating  ,  this he knows by simple body language  ,  by the way she’s plain avoiding  .  she can’t complete a task when he has the mask on  ,  it’s why he keeps it on  .  she speaks  ,  implores him to remove a fundamental piece of his being  ---  of being THE SHAPE  .  no  .  signs it with one of his bloodless hands  ;  let mask tilt curiously to the side .  

she is afraid  ,  she is afraid  .  

comically,  allyson’s gaze follows the path of the blunt from her hand to his hand, to where it falls out of the window and into the rain.  she looks back up at him,  mouth agape,  and doesn’t think of how to react for a few beats.

and then,  she points out the window,  feeling annoyed,  of all things.   it helps her forget just who she’s talking to.

‘ you know, that was like twelve dollars, michael ?  can i not have anything when you’re around ? ’

no  ,  you can’t  ,  his gaze all but says  .  she wouldn’t partake in such activities if she knew that’s how her friends died  ---  how they ended up being gutted  .  though it wouldn’t have mattered anyway  ,  they were easy  ,  and they were a nuisance to his end goal  .  gawk all you like  ,  there is no sympathy from the boogeyman  .  

gesture vaguely  ,  mask sweeps from one side of the room to the other  .  all but a bloodhound in his own right  ,  if allyson tries to hide anything from him  ---  well  ,  he’ll find it  .  expectations sated for right now  ---  she’ll inevitably get over the loss  ---  ghostly mask looks at her for one  ,  two beats before he walks away  .

except for one  .

        𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄.  allyson had always thought that was something she’d heard in a movie,  that it couldn’t possibly be real,  but it’s proven true so far.  it’s proven true for sartain,  begging desperately for michael to say something before ultimately meeting his fate —— it’s proven true for duke elam,  who was too distracted by his desire to see the boogeyman responsible for his disfigurement wiped out to notice the REAL THREAT literally under his nose.  and it’s true for cameron elam,  who finds his name written in blood on the wall and simply stands there,  staring with wide eyes frozen in the threshold at the sight of them.  allyson can only imagine what she looks like —— covered head to toe in blood that is and isn’t her own,  with only the whites of her eyes and whatever inches of her bright blue work scrubs aren’t covered in blood —- and she knows michael’s terrifying.  even with the way she leans into the palm over her cheek,  she trembles in fear of him,  in fear of what she’s done ——  in fear of what he plans to do,  especially when he pulls away from her.  her gaze flicks quickly to the curly haired boy in the threshold and she knows there’s no stopping the shape,  not with all of the blood and carnage around them that only serves to make her sick —— so she backs up against the wall and crowds herself against it,  closing her eyes and covering her ears.

even then,  his screams are something not from this world.  she’s never heard a noise like it before,  and she feels her body wracking with sobs as her nails claw at her scalp.  she leans against the window pane to make sure she doesn’t fall and hurt her fucked up knee anymore,  or her torn rotator’s cuff.  he screams,  and screams,  and screams —— over the sound of flesh tearing,  over the sound of blood and intestines,  until he’s gurgling with nothing left in him.   she only opens her eyes when she hears his body fall to the floor.

it takes a few blinks,  to get the sting of tears out of her eyes enough to see from the dismal yellow streetlights that bask the living room,  and she covers her mouth when she sees cameron —— so mutilated that she doesn’t recognize him.  she inhales sharply,  smelling only blood and metal,  which only serves to make her even more sick with that white hot pain from where she’d  been hit —— and chances a step toward the shape.  he is a shape in this light,  somethng more than human,  something out of this world that makes her tremble and wrack with sobs.  still,  that same pull that’s gravitated her toward him since they were trapped in the back of that police cruiser a year ago —— it’s still there,  stronger than ever,  and she steps toward him with shaky knees like a doe.  sniffling,  tasting blood in the back of her throat with her post-nasal drip —— she reaches for one of his hands and ignores the blood there. 

looking between her battered ex-boyfriend and michael,  allyson is quick to make her choice.

“   michael.   ”    allyson breathes,  entwining big coarse fingers with lithe digits,  pulling him gently.  nothing behind it.  god,  she’s going to faint,  thinking of the sounds,  of knives entering flesh,  of screams.  in that way,  they’re both the same,  and that fact will follow her to sleep tonight and beyond that.   she’d never thought she would beg him to stay,  to come with her,  but she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she steps out of that door so she knows she needs him with her more than ever before because how else is she going to do this   ?    how else is she going to get through this,   besides with the only person who understands.

I KILLED HIM.  I KILLED HIM.  I KILLED HIM.  

“  we have to —— we have to go.  the —- the police are coming.  we have to go.  please.   ”

there’s only an exhale of breath , and then the tearing of flesh and the fresh warmth of blood that begins to coat his hands ; drip through his fingers until they’re sticky and he has to tighten the hold of the blade within his grasp . the shape watches curiously as the life flickers in and out of the boy within his grasp -- the pain of living drawn out just for him , just for the boy that decided to play with the boogeyman . if one were to look close , they would dare state that the shape looked bored -- for his lack of being verbal -- at the task at hand ; almost as if , instead of taking a life , he was simply chastising . he needn’t glance over at his niece to know that she’s cowering -- her fear practically palpable from where he stands in gore . most would run at the sight of him , at what he’s doing , but she hasn’t anywhere to go now , does she ? no mommy to hold her hand and tell her everything is going to be okay , and no grandmother to reassure her of that fact ; no , SHE ONLY HAS THE BOOGEYMAN NOW .

the shape’s mouth twitches --- call it a smile .

only when the shape’s satisfied with his work does he drop the boy’s body , head tilting and admiring his work . the shape exhales , straightens up and the tension releases from his body . a quiet shuffle , then allyson is practically plastered near his side ; her fear of being in close proximity to him slowly dissipating . monsters have to stick together . he pays no mind to the fingers that lace with his own , or the hesitant tug towards the exit . haddonfield cop’s are all but useless -- their presence a nuisance at best -- but the girl’s afraid of being caught red handed , literally . to be branded a murderer , oh , it would break the little bird’s heart ! the shape allows the bird boned girl to lead him away from his crime , their crime . wiping the knife off on his pant leg , its tucked safely back into his pocket . there’s no use leaving a perfectly good weapon . sighing , it’s the closest he’s gotten to acknowledging her words , instead allowing her to drag him along . what a skittish girl ! they’re encased in darkness , still she acts as if they’ll be spotted any second -- they might with the rate she’s shaking , looking around as if someone’s out to get them . well , maybe , but typically it’s he that’s out to get them . 

he slows his pace ; almost wants to laugh at the state the girl is in with her insistent tugging on his hand , as if that’s really going to change his pace . the shape stops just to see how the girl will react , and he doesn’t have to wait long to be amused . she tugs , tugs , and pleads at him , but he just cocks his head in response . allyson’s limping , and she has the nerve to think he’s the one slowing them down . releasing her fingers , he gestures to her leg . you’re injured , his look states , and slow .

stepping closer , the lighting all but obscuring his figure , he brings his hands up . carry . one word signed , but he doesn’t give her a choice before bloodied hands find themselves lifting her up . fidget and protest all you want , the shape’s patience is thin . tug him here , tug him there ; implore a monster and run him around like you’re his puppeteer , but in the end he’s still his own and the best bet is to leave him be . after all , the shape is not the one that lied where he was going -- let the boy live he did , until tonight , but all she had to do was ignore him . it was for her own good , and now look at where they’re at . a blubbering mess , and he had to clean up after her .

    𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐘.  allyson should’ve known better,  in retrospect —- remembered a vague story told over a plastic cafeteria table about his uncle duke’s eyes being gauged out or something equally horrific by a young michael myers,  and it’d earned a nervous laugh from her at the time.  she never expected it would’ve ended up with her here,  taken by force from cameron’s place and dragged forcibly to the upstairs bedroom of the half-renovated myers house,  sat trembling at a vanity with a brush clutched in her clammy hand.  she’s terrified of the reputed men of cameron’s family standing around her,  keeping watch and holding guns —- but she’s even more scared of what she knows is inevitable.   wherever she goes,  the shape follows.  it’s like fate. 

duke,  cameron’s uncle, tries to talk to her but she doesn’t listen to him,  breathing shakily and darting her gaze between her reflection and the sidewalk outside.  a long time passes,  and she’s staring into nothing when she hears telltale bangs and gunshots and shouts downstairs.  duke drags her bodily by her arm and she nearly falls down the stairs, struggling against his grasp until he hits her,  breath smelling like vodka and cigarettes.   blood trickles down her nose as she gets her nails into his face,  aiming for his eyes where michael had already scarred him long ago,  before he hits her with the blunt end of the gun and sends her down the steps.  allyson groans when she crashed into the landing with her breath knocked out of her,  and barely has time to register duke coming down the steps before she’s standing and running on her freshly irritated ACL,  she has no real idea where michael is in the dark house,  with construction tarps and drywall everywhere,  and doesn’t know the layout well enough to run out of an exit while she’s so dazed from being hit in the head. she hears duke yelling obscenities at her while her blood pumps through her ears. 

she enters what must be the living room when duke finally grabs her by the hair, earning a groan when she registers she’s bleeding from wherever a splinter had stuck into her scalp on her tumble down the stairs,  and her shoulder throbs when she tries to reach to dig into his hair.  he twists her arm until she lets up,  and it’s not until then that she registers the shape,  mask stark white in the iron dark of the room.

“ michael —- ”   she sounds relieved and feels it,  almost,  until duke shoots him and laughs about it.  she screams when michael falls and he shoves her down onto him,  making her land harshly on the concrete floor on her shoulder.  she moans as she rolls onto her back beside her uncle,  where her finger touches along the handle of his knife.  duke must think she’s harmless,  just some kind of pawn,  and maybe that’s all she is —— to michael,  to everyone,  but she grips the knife and barely registers running toward him with it when he raises the gun to shoot again,  registers only the gun going off and her landing on top of him and stabbing,  again and again,  until he’s coughing up blood and she’s wheezing too,  dropping the knife and rolling to the floor.  his blood,  the blood of everyone in the room including her own,  is pungent and metallic,  and she feels even more lightheaded with it. 

crawling,  just barely,  she ends up at michael’s side,  grasping at the front of the coveralls,   where she finds a bullethole.  knows she looks even worse than she feels as she cries. 

“ michael —— ”   she wheezes again,  lying her head against his chest,  blood matted hair and all.  hears his heart,  she thinks,  or that’s her own heartbeat between her ears.  she doesn’t know.  sirens wail in the distance and she knows,  innately,  that they’re for them.. feeling even more pathetic,  wishing she could call her mom to get her out of this situation but she can’t because this is all she has —— she curls up to him with her long legs and arms,  pleading softly.   she killed him.  she killed someone.  and she’d done it for him.   what does that make her  ? 

 “ please,  michael,  i —— i need you,  i need you to wake up.  please. ”

fate is a fickle thing ; a nuisance that the shape doesn’t care nor actively believe in . yet life in haddonfield proves to become more interesting with each passing year , each passing second . how was the shape to figure that gouging out another’s eyes all those years ago would bring them full circle once again . oh , fate is a fickle thing , the shape knows that now . knew ever since his eyes fell upon the elam boy , the ilk of another but he’s still too close in that bloodline for comfort , with his obnoxious presence hovering around his niece’s . almost akin to a puppy , following at the heels of another until it grows up , and learns how to bite --- 

he hates dogs .

toleration is the only word he’d use when explaining the boy’s continued breathing ; the shape is many things , but merciful has never been any of them . try as hard as she might , allyson’s insistence on the boy’s survival wore his patience thin , but he relented --- once . the shape is not merciful .. until he was for a brief moment . ( isn’t it unnatural how she’s able to control the shape -- like a puppeteer . it reminds him of days long past . cults and promises , and an unhealthy obsession with the supernatural . ) her bird bones would break eventually , the shape remarked , and it would prove fatal due to her stubbornness . bird boned with a bad taste in company , whether he’s speaking of himself or the elam boy , well --- her blind trust in people will be her downfall . this he knew , this he saw as the elam boy presumed to do his niece harm . where the girl goes , the shape follows , and follow he did . a shadow that watched the procession of men ; those assuredly out to get him , revenge can be a dirty business . this is why the shape doesn’t tolerate nor act as if he has some type of empathetic bone in his body . all the shape knows is the end , and allyson’s attempt to curb it due to some sense of duty because she’s of his blood --- look where it’s gotten her .

so he followed and he watched , knife poised in a white knuckled grip . bird bones , bird bones , bird bones . how they’ll break eventually . revenge is a dangerous proposition that can be successful , yet how foolish of them to think that they’d get far with him . michael myers , the boogeyman of haddonfield -- to seek death so readily ... if he had any emotions he would pity them . pity the fact that they’re so easy to gut .

blood slick on his fingers , the shape takes cover once more in the shadows . where they heard his entrance and the squeals and screams of carnage , the shape cocks his head at the stumble of feet , of a voice that makes his shoulders stiffen . duke never was cautious . the next moments are a blur : a bird boned girl relieved , the splatter of his own blood soon comforted by the presence of the floor against his back . the shape feels no pain and has no end . there’s a gentle touch , a gasp and the knife that lie dormant near him finds its way into flesh once more . the shape would know the sound of death anywhere . it is the clattering of steel , the pressure of a body next to his that jostles him out of his stupor ; bloodied fingers finding themselves atop a brown head , brushing through once before dropping his hand to his side . her gaze catches the glint of light behind his mask ; she cannot see him , but his look is almost chastising . allyson knows better than to think him gone so easily . she remains a child with her teary hiccups , with the way she clings to a murderer’s side . he exhales , raises to see duke’s body sporting oozing knife wounds . his gaze travels back to his niece , cocking his head as if to say you killed him , are you satisfied ?

with a fluidity that belies his countenance , the shape takes to his feet ... gazes down at his niece -- stretches out a hand to bring her to her feet . bloodied knife finds its home in his hand once more , and the other found pressed against her cheek . it’s obvious she hates the stench and feel of blood . his look is piercing -- you’re just like me .