Kiwi Pt.2

Every child grows up hearing the story about the Boogeyman. What many consider to be an old-wives tale that serves to trick young children into obeying their parents, the reality of the situation can be much more sinister. Terrified at the prospect of being stolen out of their beds in the middle of the night, they learn to obey their parents, set the table, and have good manners. Haddonfield, however, is plagued by its very own boogeyman, those knowing the story refusing to even mention his name out of fear of summoning him and invoking his wrath. Michael Myers; a force that many can only describe as the essence of pure evil. 

Still at large, Myers’ kill count only continues to soar after his untimely escape from the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, leaving countless detectives baffled at his ability to evade law enforcement. The nature of his crimes, although gruesome, begs an unanswered question to his motives: Why? Was Michael Myers a forgotten member of society that snapped under the pressure of household stressors? Was he simply “born evil”? Or is there a deeper rooted cause for his bloodlust for violence? The seemingly intimate nature of the unspeakable crimes seem to point to a forgotten theory: What if Michael Myers was a sexual deviant, the thrill of the hunt better than any orgasm intercourse could provide? 

You paused, leaning back from your desk riddled with papers, empty coffee cups, and almost illegible notes. Rubbing your eyes, a frustrated sigh huffed from your lips as you scanned the words again, the bold text of your introduction glaring back at you.

Something about that final sentence– it wasn’t right, not compelling enough to capture the intensity of your theory. Leaning forward, you deleted the sentence, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as you typed: 

The undeniably intense nature of these crimes are marked with a chilling, hands-on approach, raising a disturbing possibility: for Michael Myers, the thrill of the kill transcends primal violence, serving as a perverse substitute for human connection.

Brows furrowed, you gnawed on your bottom lip. It was better– but not quite there. Grabbing a red pen, you glanced at your to-do list, the bullet points feeling a mile long as you jotted down: Fix Introduction– final sentence? Groaning slightly, you looked upwards, the words:  Dissertation Defense: one month! staring back at you from a neon post-it note taped to the corner of your clunky macintosh computer.

Your chest tightened, anxiety spiking at the almost unending list of corrections, evidence gathering, and typing required in the next few weeks. Your pen clattered against the desk as stretched, joints popping from the pressure, a tired yawn escaping. You needed coffee– desperately.

Eyes shifting through the introduction for one last measure, you highlighted the final sentence as yet another reminder to tweak your work. Before you could finish, however, your swirling thoughts were crudely interrupted at the jolt of your door swinging open, accompanied by your roommate’s dramatic entrance.

Kimberly waltzed into the small bedroom, permed curls bouncing as she balanced a concerning amount of Chinese takeout containers. “Jesus, you need to open a window in here– it smells like a library.” She cringed, ruffling her nose as she hurriedly dumped the takeout containers on your floor.

You rolled your eyes at her theatrics, pushing away from the desk before plopping onto the shaggy carpet, unpacking the haul. “Says you, beaver lady, every time you come back from the lab you reek of pond water.” You teased, and she huffed.

“That’s so not true! And stop calling me that, once you read my totally rad argument, you’ll never look at them the same!” She defended, offended at your jab, sitting in front of you and grabbing a box of lo mein from the takeout pile.

You grinned at her antics, perfectly manicured hands struggling with the wooden chopsticks as she shoveled the noodles into her mouth. “Okay, okay fine– just stop calling me Hitchcock and I’ll call it even.” You joked, stomach growling as you grabbed your own pair of chopsticks, rummaging through the pile for your kung pao chicken.

Kimberly was not only your roommate, but best friend from highschool, with both of you deciding to apply to colleges together during your senior year. Now, almost six years later, you were joined at the hip while you worked towards your Masters Degrees.

Your mouth watered as the comforting taste of chicken and tangly vegetables invaded your senses, stomach growling as you devoured your meal. Kimberly shifted, lo mein sauce dripping down her chin.

“So… how’s the paper? I swear if I write anymore my brain will literally explode.” She pouted, glancing at the whirlwind of papers dotting almost every surface of your room. You shrugged, choking down another bite, chopsticks still gripped in your hands. 

“It’s going well… I just feel like it's missing something. There hasn’t been a killing pinpointed to him in months, and I’m getting tired of reading over the same reports and crime scene photos–” “Ew, I’m eating. No gore, please.” Kimberly shuddered, and a tired chuckle escaped you at her squeamish nature.

She paused, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking again, the friendly atmosphere in the room hardening. “Do you… think he will be back?” She muttered, and your smile fell. Pondering, you set the container onto the carpet, wiping your hands on your bell bottomed jeans.

“Probably,” You voiced finally, “–why? Are you scared a big bad killer will come after you?” You mused, shoving her arm playfully, causing a startled squeak to escape from her. “Uh, duh. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman.” She retorted, nose scrunching at the prospect of the masked psychopath. 

“With my research, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be within 100 feet of me, scared I'll finally prove my theory.” You joked, falling backwards onto the floor and staring at the ceiling, food abandoned. “Ugh, I’m pooped. I feel like I could sleep for years.” You complained, joints stiff and mind heavy.

Kimberly slammed her plastic tupperware onto the floor, the noise jolting your gaze towards her as she stared at you with newfound conviction. “No can do, missy, we have to go out!” You groaned, pushing yourself upwards by your elbows.

The last possible thing that you needed was to be pressed up against other students at a dive bar drinking your night away, much rather preferring a hot cup of tea and a good night’s sleep. “I can’t, I have to wait for a call from the police station to get more files-” Kimberly let out an exasperated sigh at your statement, silencing you.

“C’mon… Halloween is a few days away and Fowl Play is hosting their annual costume party. I swear if you stay in this room any longer you’ll fade away. Mr. Slasher can wait.” Kimberly persisted, standing abruptly and turning to rummage through your closet, throwing random articles of clothing onto your bed as she searched for a costume.

You began to protest, but she cut you off. “I’ll buy your drinks,” She mused, voice full of mischief as she pulled a lace bra from the pile of clothing, holding it up to her chest and striking a lewd pose, causing a smile to break out on your face. “It’s late anyways, the detectives can call you in the morning… please?” She begged, those brown doe eyes pouting as she bargained with you. A defeated sigh escaped you, and you shuffled upwards, padding over to her and snatching your bra from her grasp. 

“Two drinks,” You stated, fighting off another yawn, and she squealed in delight. “You’re the best, you know that? I promise it will be fun. Now go figure out a costume! We leave in ten minutes.”

Kimberly called over her shoulder, rushing to the door and heading to her room, the whirlwind of movement just as chaotic as when she arrived. The door slammed shut, and you grimaced, dropping the bra back onto the bed. Glancing back to your desk, you sighed, rubbing your temples.

Just a few hours, and then you would be back to work. What could possibly go wrong?

__

“What on earth are you dressed up as?” Kimberly questioned, voice barely audible over the thumping synth at Fowl Play. Tugging the thin strap up your shoulder, you glanced down at the now-ruined satin dress clinging to your skin. Pulling your costume together took sheer willpower and luck, finding a half used canister of fake blood from one of your Sociology projects hidden away in the kitchen cabinets.

“I’m Carrie White, duh.” You mimicked her iconic catchphrase, gesturing to the plastic crown on top of your head. She rolled her eyes, shoving a Tequila Sunrise into your hand. “Always so morbid, you creep.” She teased, tattered sleeve brushing against you as she showcased her zombified cheerleader costume. 

Fowl Play was the place to be in Haddonfield, usually packed to the brim with college students throwing down shots under the illumination of neon lights after a long school day. Today was no different, a colorful glow cascading through the crowd decked out in ripped jeans, leg warmers, and hair teased to the ceiling.

Only a few days before Halloween, the theme did the holiday justice, with faux spider webs dripping from the ceiling, swaying under the breeze of the fog machine. The room was covered in a hazy atmosphere, blue lights making the plastic skeletons hanging from the rafters glow an eerie green. You eagerly sip on your drink, trying to block out the stench of sweat, cigarettes, and hairspray coating the room.

Kimberly sways her hips to the beat, head rocking as she downs her drink, grimacing at the strong taste of alcohol. “Ohmygod, I love this song!” An excited shriek escapes her, the sound of the Bee Gees’ Night Fever tearing through the speakers. Tugging you further onto the dancefloor, you squeeze past an intoxicated Frankenstein, who glowers at Kimberly’s antics.

Unphased, she pulls you across the floor, and you laugh at her easy going nature. Suckling on your straw, you quickly set your empty glass on the bar as you passed by, catching the eye of the bartender apologetically as you were dragged along. Finally reaching a suitable dancing place, Kimberly stopped, spinning you around as she settled into a groove, feet kicking and hands shaking.

Stomach warm from the alcohol, you threw your head back, surrendering to the music. The dance floor was littered with costume-clad classmates, all swaying to the beat in various stages of intoxication. Glancing at a cardboard cutout of Nosferatu, you shook to the beat, eyes darting over the crowd. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you needed the distraction.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went off campus for anything not school related, and you relished in the feeling of the stress washing away with every shake of your wrists. A vampire and mermaid tried to do the robot, causing Kimberly to burst into laughter, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and you gripped her hands, spinning her.

The music cut out suddenly, causing the crowd to groan in annoyance. The DJ, perched behind a booth lined with cassette tapes and records, huffs into the microphone at the rude reaction. Kimberly grips your hands in excitement, realizing the votes on the costume contest were in. 

“Alright, alright, I know you all have been waiting for this moment. The winner of this year’s annual Spooktacular Showoff is, drumroll please–” The sound of rumbling thundered around the room in anticipation, people stomping their feet while waiting for the news. You braced in anticipation, excitement coursing through your veins.

“ –Carrie White! Get on up here, you cool cat!” Your jaw dropped in shock, ears ringing as Kimberly screamed in excitement, practically shaking you like a ragdoll and dragging you to the DJ booth. Applause roared through the crowd, spare a few disheartened grumbles of disappointment. The DJ presents you with a purple wristband, the words Free Drinks sharpied onto the paper material.

You paled, embarrassed under the spotlight, hands clammy as you gripped your prize. The DJ turned to the crowd, microphone hissing as he spoke again. “Better luck next year, everyone! Now, who’s ready to boogie?” Shoving another cassette tape into the player, the speakers thrilled to life once more, and you were left to escort Kimberly to the bar, pushing through the sea of bodies in your way. 

Kimberly leaned on the chipped wood of the high top counter, batting her eyes at the bartender before proudly pointing to your wristband. “Two Alabama Slammers please, extra strong.” She shouted over the music, and you grimaced at the high pitch. Kimberly quickly grabbed the glasses, winking at the bartender before turning to you.

“See, fun right?! Now we have to stay, it’s not every night you get free booze!” She mused, gulping down her drink, other hand gripping onto yours as well. You sighed, chuckling at her inebriated state. “How about some shots? It’s time to party!” She squealed, chugging the rest of her beverage before sipping on yours, not that you were complaining.

You cringed internally, quickly realizing you were responsible for her actions for the rest of the evening. It was going to be a long night…

__

After what seemed like hours of music and infinite drinks, you finally were able to pull a now very intoxicated Kimberly out of the bar, narrowly avoiding her elbow as you peeled her away from her sloppy makeout session with a football player. The cold air bit into your skin as you stepped outside, goosebumps spreading across your arms.

Slipping an arm around Kimberly to steady her swaying form, you shuffled down the sidewalk, eyes scanning for a cab. Behind you, the bass from the bar thumped faintly, your drunken counterpart bobbing her head to the beat, hiccuping mid-step.  “Pshhh… that was– sooo much fun.” She slurred, breath reeking of vodka. You cringed at the smell, silently cursing yourself for not cutting her off sooner.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You muttered, trying to ignore her whining protests to go back to the bar. Sweat dotted your hairline as you pulled Kimberly along, the damp fabric of your dress sticking uncomfortably to your back. You were in desperate need of a hot shower and a good night’s sleep after a night like this, and you groaned at the thought of the mountain of work you had waiting for you upon your arrival.

Kimberly stumbled, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, almost pulling you down with her. You steadied her, bracing against her dead weight as she babbled about the Halloween decorations lining the street. Glancing around your surroundings, you silently admired the quaint houses dotting the sidewalks, pumpkins and foliage adorning their porches.

“Heyyy look, it… it’s mister boogeyman….” She spewed out, grip tightening on your arm suddenly. Her words made your stomach drop. Following her gaze, you froze, Kimberly nearly bumping into you as your feet locked into place. A towering figure stood ahead on the sidewalk, clad in the unmistakable mechanic suit and white mask you had seen countless times during your studies. Your heart seized in your chest, details from case files and crime scene photos flashing through your mind, apprehension winding in your gut.

It’s just a prank, you reasoned with yourself, knowing the streets were full of replicas of the killer during the Halloween season. But as you stepped closer, unease churned in your gut. The figure stood perfectly still, like a statue, the faint flow of jack o’lanterns casting eerie shadows across his masked form. Kimberly laughed, sticking out her tongue at the male before you could stop her. “N-nice costume, creep.” She called, pointing at him.

Your nails dug into her wrist as you quickened your pace, keeping your gaze forward, though you couldn’t help but spare him a glance as you passed by.The void of the eye holes in the mask burned into you, your mouth instantly drying at the sight. “Sorry…” You squeaked out over your shoulder, hating the tremble in your voice. He didn’t move, but you could feel his gaze, heavy and chilling as you continued walking.

The headlights of a taxi cab crested over the hill, and you stopped abruptly, frantically waving your hand. Relief washed over you as the car squeaked to a halt in front of you. Throwing open the car door, you  practically shoved Kimberly in, ignoring her drunken protests before climbing in behind her. The taxi driver glanced out the window, brows furrowing at the Michael Myers impersonator on the sidewalk.

“He with you?” You whipped your head around.

The masked man stood in the same spot as before, watching. Shaking your head quickly, you turned back to the driver. “No. Just drive, please.” He grumbled at your command, putting the car into gear and tearing away from the sidewalk. 

Your gaze creeped to the back window, leaning against the glass as you watched the masked man fade into the distance behind you. Only when he disappeared from view did you relax, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Kimberly slouched against the seat, tracing her knee with her fingertips, mumbling to herself.

You could practically feel the disappointment wafting off of the taxi driver, but you didn’t care, wanting to get back to the safety of your room as soon as possible. The rest of the taxi ride went smoothly, the outline of your apartment building entering your vision after a short time. 

Leaving the taxi driver a generous tip, you dragged Kimberly from the car bed and led her towards the building. Balancing Kimberly against you, you fumbled with your keys, pushing the door open and maneuvering her carefully up the flight of stairs, trying to avoid any safety hazards as you went. Hauling Kimberly into your shared apartment, you quickly dumped her onto her bed before rushing to grab her a glass of water.

By the time you returned, beverage in hand, a passed out Kimberly met your gaze, snores filling the room. Begrudgingly, you set the glass on her nightstand, pulling a blanket over her costume clad body before turning away, shutting the door behind you. 

As the door shut, exhaustion hit you like a wave. Kicking off your shoes, you head to your room, skin itching for a hot shower. Ripping the tiara from your hair, your fingers scratched your scalp, a satisfied groan escaping you as you massaged your skin.

Picking up a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, you shoved the pile of clothes Kimberly left on your bed onto the floor, mentally noting to pick up your room in the morning. You turned, arms full of clothing as you headed towards the hallway for the bathroom.

The phone rang, the shrill landline tearing through the silence, and your blood ran cold. 

Snatching up the phone, you pressed it to your ear. Who calls this late at night?  “Hello?” You grumbled, irritation seeping into your tone at the delay of your pursuit of a hot shower. “Detective Langley speaking.” A gruff voice answered. A rustle of papers sounded out through the telephone, noise grainy against your ear. “... Is this miss (l/n)?” Your pulse quickened.

“This is she.” “I know you’ve been working with Detective Harmon for months now,” Langley said abruptly, voice sharp with urgency and something else you couldn’t quite place. “If you were anyone else I wouldn’t be calling, but–” He paused, seemingly debating whether to continue. “... I have something better than case files for you. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I’ll have a cruiser parked at campus.” Another pause, this one more heavy.

“We think… He struck again.”

Blood pounded in your ears, shower forgotten as the words echoed in your mind. Excitement coursed through your veins as you dropped your pajamas onto the counter. “I’ll be ready in eight.”

__

Hair still damp from what was probably the fastest shower of your life, you shoved your keys into your bag, beelining towards the patrol car parked at the curb. Fumbling with the passenger door, you glanced at the officer inside, who you could only imagine was Detective Langley.

The older man sat in his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel, dark eyes meeting your own. You clambered into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt before shutting the door. Detective Langley shifted the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and moving towards an unknown destination. He glanced at you expectantly, and you quickly pulled out your small voice recorder from the bag, items shuffling around as you pressed the record button.

“Log seventy eight. Thursday, October 29th, 1980. Time is–” You glanced at the dashboard for the time. “–Eleven forty-five.” Setting the device in your lap, you waited for the officer to speak, mind swirling with possibilities. 

Adrenaline began to pump through your veins, heartbeat quickening as you were possibly being escorted to a live crime scene. After pestering detectives for months, attending multiple press conferences and participating in many ride-alongs, this could be your big break for new evidence. You would be experiencing everything first hand, the prospect sending your head spiraling.

Officer Langley shuffled uncomfortably at being recorded, pausing slightly before speaking. “Victim is a 19 year old babysitter. Distress call came in at eleven fifteen from the victim’s employers who arrived back from dinner to a silent house. The child she was caring for was unharmed, but–” He faltered, eyes flickering to your own before finishing “... but the victim was found dead on scene.” Your heart dropped at that, the reality of the situation quickly setting into place.

Someone was murdered, and you were going on scene.

“Suspect is still at large, with many indicators pointing towards Myers. Same MO, same timeline.” Langley finished, clearing his voice suddenly. You took that as your queue and pressed the pause button on your recorder, staring at him expectantly. “Look kid, this is nothing like the crime scene photos or briefs you’ve seen. This is an active crime scene, and there’s a few rules you have to follow.” Your spine straightens, and you wait for instruction.

Langley sighs, eyes steely as he cruised down the road. “You are a civilian, remember that. No touching, no pestering, and god no puking. You watch, take notes, and maybe ask some questions.” Your heart flutters, eyes trained forward as the telltale red and blue peeked over the horizon, illuminating the dashboard. “Thank you, Detective.” You whisper, nerves leaving you giddy as the car slowed, crime scene tape blocking the street. “Don’t mention it, kid. I’m doing this as a favor.” He said gruffly, and you didn’t question further. 

Police cars lined the street, officers swarming the house as a terrified family stood in the front lawn. A press van idled against the curb, a newscaster speaking to the camera with the house in the background, trying to flag down an officer for questioning. You swallowed thickly, watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

Detective Langley parks the car, and you jolt out of the seat, grabbing your notebook and pen. Popping the trunk, the detective quickly pulled a blue vest over his chest, grabbing a bag before circling the car to the passenger side. An identical vest was shoved into your hands, and you quickly slipped it on.

Detective Langley moved towards the lawn, pulling the crime scene tape upwards and allowing you to slip underneath. As you stepped forward, a hand quickly grabbed your shoulder, halting you in place. “Remember, no touching. And for the love of god, no recording.” You nodded, hands gripping the notebook tighter. 

The air felt heavy, tainted with the prospect of death. You meekly followed the detective in front of you, trying to ignore the puzzled looks of other officers brushing past you. Reaching the front porch, the flash of a camera within the house illuminated through the windows. A rush of officers moved through the front door, and Detective Langley pushed forward, stepping into the house. You ducked in behind him.

Immediately, the bag dropped to the floor, and he pulled the zipper open. Realization hit you like a wave, you were suiting up. Mimicking his movements, you quickly pulled booties onto your feet, covering your shoes. Slipping a plastic poncho over your head, the fabric crinkled as it settled around your knees. Detective Langley paused, fishing something out of the bag before handing it to you. A ponytail.

You quickly bunched your hair on top of your head, not wanting to interfere with the investigation. Pulling on a pair of sterile gloves, you straightened, covered head to toe in anti-evidence attractant. Detective Langley moved forwards, and you silently trudged after him, dwarfed in the billowy poncho and booties. As you walked, a foul odor hit your nose, causing your face to scrunch ever so slightly, brows furrowing at the smell.

The smell was metallic, mixed with an earthy scent that made your stomach flip. The scent of death, you thought, pushing past another officer before entering the living room of the house, trying to steel yourself as you braved onwards. Another flash blinded you momentarily, and you blinked.

The temperature dropped with every step you took, as if you were walking into a grave, goosebumps settling across your skin. Something horrible happened in the room ahead of you, and you glanced at the wall of the living room, stomach dropping at the bloodied handprint streaking against the yellow wallpaper. 

Stepping into the kitchen, you froze, blood turning to ice. A few mere feet in front of you, was a body. The first thing you noticed were her eyes, open so wide with only one expression, the sight making you falter: terror. Her face was frozen in a moment of raw fear, mouth gaped open, eyes staring back into you, unmoving, unyielding. Her blue sundress was covered in blood, the crimson pooled around her and soaking into the tile below.

Skin deathly pale, covered in gashes, no doubt from a knife. You grimaced, glancing at her stomach, naval cavity torn open so feverishly you could see the yellow of her ribs, organs poking out of her, intestines spilling onto the floor. And the smell, a mix of blood and raw flesh so putrid the singular drink curdled within your stomach. You paled, head reeling as you gaped at the body, fingers gripping your notebook so tightly your knuckles turned white. 

Officers moved around the body, unphased by the gruesome sight as they tried to collect evidence. You stood frozen in place, ears ringing as you imagined her final moments. A terrible struggle. A desperate attempt to escape. A knife raised in the air. A blood curdling scream. Then, silence. You squeezed your eyes shut, the imaginary scream rattling you to your bones.

The black and white photographs of the crime scenes you were used to were nothing compared to the live scene, the nature of it all leaving you feeling light headed. Detective Langley approached the body, and you weakly followed him, swallowing thickly. Crouching over the body, he glanced at you trying to avoid the pool of blood creeping towards your bootied feet. 

“See this?” He gestured, finger extended above the body, tracing the laceration on her stomach. The closeness of her body was worse, you could practically feel the terror radiating off of her, final moments ingrained permanently into the house. You trailed his movements, trying to ignore the view of the ruptured liver engorged on the tile floor. “One laceration to open her up, then short, quick stabbings. That’s why her organs look like mush.” Langley muttered, and you grimaced at the crude words.

“A rage killing…” You said, mind flickering to the countless pictures you had seen in the past, frozen in time. The detective nodded, standing once more. “What do you think, kid? Your theory still make sense?” You faltered at his words, staring back at the mutilated body in front of you. Pausing, you exhaled sharply, pushing yourself into research mode. 

Flipping through the pages of your notebook, your gaze met the detectives once more, emotion seeping from you as you got to work. “The MO is identical; babysitter around Halloween found in the wrong place, wrong time. Her wounds are strikingly similar to–” You flipped through another page, wracking your brain for other victims.

“–Bob Simms, who also had severe lacerations to his abdomen. This however… seems more personal. See the ligature mark around her left wrist?” You gestured to her arm, confidence quickly invading your senses, the buzz of gore falling from your mind. “He tied her up, and she escaped. He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control.” You paused, before muttering, “– Like an enraged lover.” Detective Langley pondered your explanation, nodding.

“I’m surprised. You know more than I expected.” Another blinding flash of the camera, and you glanced down at your notes, quickly flipping to a blank page to sketch the basic layout of the body, marking points of interest.

“What’s the civilian doing here?” An officer grumbled out, and Langley shot him a deathly glare.

“She’s with me, working to crack the case. What are you doing?” He bit out, and the younger officer paled, stammering out an apology before moving back to investigate. Turning back to you, Detective Langley huffed. “Take some time to jot down some notes, I have some paperwork to fill out. Good work, kid.” Brushing past you, Langley disappeared into the sea of officers, leaving you alone.

Thoughts whirled through your mind, and you stared at the body once more, lips pursing at the sight. The more you stared, the more confident you became in your theory, the hands-on approach towards the violent killing meaning only one thing:

Michael Myers was a predator.

A sexually deprived, anger driven force of nature that sought pleasure within his obsession for violence. The one thing he craved to invoke being the last thing his victims ever feel: terror.

Your mind clicked, and you scribbled the sentence down in your notebook, writing: introduction? before circling the passage. Tucking the notebook under your arm, you quickly slipped out of the suffocating house, desperate for fresh air. Stepping into the night, you peeled the poncho over your head, discarding it in a marked bin on the lawn.

Stripping the protective layers from your body, your breaths greedily drank in the fresh air, savoring the scent of pine and freshly mowed grass. Around you, the crime scene continued to bustle with life– flashing lights, murmured voices, the crunch of boots on gravel. Your gaze drifted past the chaos, drawn to the dark treeline sprouted behind the house. Dense shadows swallowed the foliage, faint outlines of pine branches drifting in the chill October breeze. 

A shuffle in the distance caught your attention. You squinted, zeroing in on the movement. Settled in between two bushes, something shifted– a figure, still as stone, blending in against the trees. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you as you gaped forward. Another patrol car rumbled down the street, the headlights cutting across the line of trees as it curved around the bend.

For a split second, the light caught something. A flash of white.

Your mind flickered back to the bar, to the masked man who stood motionless on the sidewalk. Horror churned in your gut, the realization slamming into you full force. It wasn’t a costume. It was real, it was him. Michael Myers; waiting, watching. 

The sound of gurney wheels squeaked against the gravel, tearing your eyes from the scene. The body bag, black and heavy, was escorted by two officers to the waiting van, enticing you. It was only a second, your gaze shifting before moving back to the treeline, where the figure had been.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the bushes, the bushes empty. You scanned the treeline, eyes straining for any movement. He’s gone. Pulse quickening, you glanced down at your notebook, tucked in your grasp. Had you imagined it, the tension from the grizzly scene making you see things?

The flash of white, the outline of his silhouette against the treeline— it felt so real. 

Detective Langley reappeared at your side, the sudden presence startling you. The older male chuckled at your jumpy state. “Crime scene jitters?” He mused, gruff voice teasing. You hesitated at the question, debating telling him of your discovery, but the words died on your tongue. “Yeah… I guess so.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the treeline. He patted your shoulder reassuringly, calling over another officer.

“Get her back to campus,” He ordered before turning back to you. “When the pictures are developed, I’ll send them your way. If you have any more ideas or theories, give me a call.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a card, his number written on it. You thanked him, taking the small piece of paper and tucking it into your notebook. Another officer led you to the cruiser you arrived in, and you shakily slid into the passenger seat, dumping your notebook into your bag.

The ride back to campus felt like a blur, the events of the past few hours burned into your skull. Exhaustion weighed down on you in a vice-like grip, but sleep never came, leaving you tossing and turning, mind going a million miles a minute.

Each time you closed your eyes, the image of terror on the butchered girl’s face stared back at you, sending bile rising in your throat. You stared at the ceiling, imagining the treeline. The rush of lights, the flash of movement. The white of his mask, watching silently.

You wondered if you would ever sleep again.

__

You tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, but something felt off. Your body ached from long nights of restless sleep, terrorized by vivid nightmares that jolted you awake, drenched in sweat and goosebumps covering every inch of skin. Images of the crime scene burned into your brain, the hollow eyes staring back at you in the woods.

Your room was a chaotic mess, papers, notebooks, maps, photos, and almost illegible handwriting covering every surface. The few days after the crime scene had sent you down a rabbit hole, with you spending every waking moment hunched over your desk, typing away at your computer screen. Each bump in the night, each shadow cast along the wall somehow traced back to him. Your masked killer invaded your life, even outside of your research. Walking back from the library one night, the streetlights cast unnatural shadows against the sidewalk, shifting under your gaze. The quiet was deafening, broken only by the patter of your footsteps in the late hour. But it was always there– the subtle noise of shuffling behind you, always watching. Always waiting. You had whirled around, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing.

Yet the feeling was always there, the sensation of being followed coating you like a second skin, creeping into your bones and sending your brain spiraling. You had picked up speed, terror gripping your chest, only relieving slightly when you reached your apartment, locking the door behind you. But as you turned to shut the curtains, your stomach dropped. Under the faint glow of the streetlight in your peripheral vision, a figure stood there, the white mask catching in the light.

But as soon as you shifted your gaze to the movement fully, it was gone. 

The days began to blur together as you poured over your work, trying to settle the feeling of constant dread in your stomach. But no matter how fast you typed away at your dissertation, no matter how long you engrossed yourself into your research, the feeling remained.

Even Kimberly began to notice the shift in your behavior, cautiously leaving food at the foot of your door, begging you to relax, to take a break. But the dissertation had you in its hold, demanding you continue onwards, pushing you to the brink. As the deadline to your dissertation approached, so did the inexplicable things that began to haunt you.

Your door would slightly be open when you returned from class, ajar and leaving a crack of light into your room when you were certain you had locked it. Your papers would be shifted, unorganized chaos jolted as evidence would be stacked differently than when you had left it.

Pieces of information would be underlined or circled, even though you were sure you hadn’t touched them. It was always worse at night, faint creaks and heavy breathing seeming to come from outside your window, even from the second floor. As time passed, though, things began happening that you couldn’t chalk up to paranoia, something real.

You had been stewing in your room, shuffling through papers and editing your final draft of your dissertation when the phone rang. The shrill sound had startled you so badly you almost dropped your coffee mug, the liquid dangerously close to spilling from your mug. Thinking it was Detective Langley asking for progress, you had picked the phone off the receiver quickly, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?” But there was no answer, heavy silence on the other line. You almost ended the call, confused, when you heard it. The breathing, rough and oppressive, was very same that you could practically feel pressing down your back during sleepless nights. “Who… Who is this?” Your voice had trembled, fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline as you strained for an answer. 

The line went dead.

You slammed the phone on the receiver so hard the plastic had cracked, blind panic tearing through your chest. Kimberly’s words rang through your head from that fateful night, taunting you. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman. But now, you knew. He was like a shape in the dark, a creature of the night feeding off your fear, growing bolder as your paranoia began to take hold.

And that was the most terrifying part of all. 

 The murders hadn’t stopped, either. Almost nightly, Detective Langley would summon you at ungodly hours, desperate for your input on another case. The bodies began to pile up, a mountain of evidence continuously being added to your work as your point was all but proven. The scenes became all the more violent, crimes of something you could only describe as passion rattled you to your bones, each victim becoming more mutilated, more disfigured.

The last crime scene had finally broken you, vomit spewing from you as you ran from the house, stomach twisting at the decapitated body of another unfortunate babysitter. Haddonfield was put under curfew, children were shuttled home in groups, and parents refused to let their teenage daughter babysit for others. But nothing could stop the carnage. You were spiraling, and fast. Tension began to build within you at your heightened stress, lack of sleep, and the deadline hanging over you like a death sentence. 

The apartment door slammed shut behind Kimberly, rattling against the cheap metal frame so loudly you jumped. Lifting your head from the kitchenette table, you glared, bloodshot eyes worn from pouring over your notes. Kimberly dumped her book bag onto the floor at your feet, smushing a stack of papers that you gingerly grabbed off the floorboards.

“Jesus girl, you need to calm down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kimberly groaned, shrugging off her jacket before reaching into a cabinet, grabbing a mug and a handle of vodka before making herself a drink. You glanced behind you, staring out the window into the pitch black. “I saw him again,” you bit out, voice tight with nerves. “–He was right there, outside the window. Just standing there.” Kimberly rolled her eyes, a sharp laugh escaping her, although it sounded forced.

“Him? You mean Mr. Boogeyman? You have got to be kidding me.” She took a gulp of her drink, grimacing at the bitter taste before turning to you. “You’ve been obsessing over him for weeks, certain he’s ‘after you’”, she said, airquoting her words snarkily before adding, “–You’re just paranoid.”

You grit your teeth at her words.

“I’m not paranoid.” You snapped, practically snarling at her. “I know what I saw. He was there.” Kimberly sighed, worry settling into her frame as she smiled pitifully at you, as if you were insane. It made your blood boil. “Look, I get that you’re super into this whole true crime thing and want a shot at being Miss Detective, but you’re letting it get to you. I mean, really?”

She scoffed, throwing up her hands. “You think some infamous killer is stalking you because you want to prove that he’s a pervert? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”You swear you see red. “I’m not crazy.” You seethe, stomach churning at the word.

Crazy– she thought you were crazy.

Kimberly sighed, brushing her hair out of her face before speaking, chewing at the bottom of her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just– I’m worried about you. If it’s bothering you that much we can call campus security. Do you want some tea or something?” Her voice wobbled, and you rolled your eyes. Security wouldn’t stop him, if anything it would only make him more angry. You ignored her, turning your attention back to your work, going through highlighted passages and making changes.

The sound of glass shattering had your gaze shooting to Kimberly, whose mug was in pieces on the tile. “Damn it!” She cursed, dropping to her knees. You stood, rushing over to the paper towels before kneeling across from her. You padded at the liquid silently, tension thick between the two of you as you cleaned her mess. Kimberly slowly picked up the pieces of the mug, and you finally noticed her shaking hands. 

__

The ear-splitting sound of your alarm clock jolted you from an uneasy night’s sleep. Groaning, you tore yourself away from the bundle of sheets, blindly slapping your hand down on the clock, silencing the noise. You yawned, rubbing your tired eyes as you stared at the clock. The glowing red numbers read 6:00AM. Your breathing hitched, nerves crackling in the air of your bedroom. Today was dissertation day. You sat frozen in your bed, anxiety weighing you down against the sheets.

Months of research, sleepless nights, crime scene tours, and the questioning of your sanity have led to this moment. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or terrified, but you were too tired to care. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stretched, trying to shake the exhaustion that clung to your skin. Things will finally settle down after today.

They had to. 

Creaking open your door slowly, you peeked into the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted to your nostrils as you stepped into the shared space, however Kimberly’s usually boisterous presence was absent. You glanced at the counter, an array of empty bottles of liquor staring back at you, and you sighed. You hesitated outside her closed bedroom door, deciding against waking her to apologize for your behavior.

It looked like she had a long night. Opting to not start another fight, you grabbed a mug, pouring the liquid gold that you considered to be your lifeline into the cup, warmth seeping into your hands. You sank into a chair, pulling out your prepared stack of notecards, flipping through them absentmindedly as you drank. 

After what felt like the longest hot shower of your life, you steeled yourself to your fate and began preparing for the day. The dissertation defense was scheduled at 11:00, and by 10:00 you were dressed in business professional– pressed shirt chafing against the material of your blazer. Fiddling with the tailored sleeve, you checked your appearance in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time, smoothing out your slacks nervously.

The overall look screamed professionalism and sophistication, though you spent at least 15 minutes deciding between heels or loafers. Sighing, you chose the heels, slipping them onto your feet for the extra mile. Running a hand through your hair, you grabbed your notecards, speech recorder, and a printed copy of your dissertation, taking one last look in the mirror.

“You can do this.” You breathed out, forcing a confident smile.

The walk to the campus building was brisk, heightened by the bundle of nerves churning in your stomach. Shivering against the October breeze, you pulled your blazer closer to your body, braving onwards. Passing students chatted happily, their carefree nature buzzing in the air as you brushed past, running possible scenarios through your head.

Muttering to yourself, you tried to pinpoint your key phrases as you walked, the telltale brick of the graduate student conservatory cresting the horizon. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the smell of old books and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and you took a deep breath inwards. Approaching the small conference room, you tried to shake the nervous tremble in your voice, professionalism quickly overtaking your form.

Glancing into the conference room, a board of five suit clad figures discussed your work, each having meticulously read your dissertation in the previous days. Doctor Strigler, the head of the Sociology and Human Behavior department, relaxed in his swivel chair, waving you inside. Swallowing thickly, you entered the room, settling behind the oak podium and flipping through your notecards.

“Good morning, miss (l/n). Take a moment to prepare yourself, and then we can begin. After a standard presentation of your findings, you will be cross examined, followed by a final Q+A, and then you are free to wait outside until the decision is made.” Doctor Strigler smiled fondly, adjusting his spectacles. You nodded, palms sweaty as you pulled out your printed dissertation. Clearing your throat, you settled, pushing your nerves away before starting.

“Good morning gentlemen, it is my honor to present my findings on what we consider to be one of the most prolific, yet mysterious serial killers in our great state of Illinois–” Your voice trembled ever so slightly.

“–Michael Myers.”

For the next two hours, the room was a blur of academic rigor and prowess. You presented your findings on the masked killer with practiced confidence, taking the committee through multiple recorded pieces of evidence, showing crime scene photos, and more. Occasionally, questions interrupted your presentation, some easy while others required you to contemplate before responding.

During the cross examination period, you defended your points passionately, citing your mile-long list of sources and evidence. As you talked, the nerves melted away, replaced with a calculated sense of confidence that highlighted your almost obsessive nature towards your theory. After what felt like centuries, the committee called time, thanking you for your presentation and excusing themselves to deliberate.

You paced the hallway, wracking your brain for any mistakes you may have made in the heat of the moment, wringing your hands nervously. 

The door to the conference room swung open, Doctor Strigler stepping into the hallway to wave you down. You halted your movements, almost skidding across the floor. This was it– the moment that decided your fate. You swear your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you had the sudden urge to retch. The anticipation hung over you like a death sentence, and you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders before approaching the older male.

Smiling warmly, he extended his hand towards you.“Congratulations, Doctor (l/n).” Tears instantly welled in your eyes, your body feeling a thousand times lighter, the unforeseen weight lifted from your shoulders. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling, and you quickly grabbed the Doctor’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

Stammering out your appreciation, you rushed back into the conference room, thanking each of the committee members and picking up your extensive collection of files scattered along the desk. Practically sprinting out of the room, you fought the urge to skip out of the building, arms full of paperwork, feedback, and your research materials.

The walk home felt surreal– the sun shining brighter, the birds chirping joyfully, and the breeze carrying a newfound lightness with it. You thought of all the ways you would celebrate with Kimberly after a sincere apology, bracing yourself to the possibility of spending the night at Fowl Play again. The thought alone made you smile, your pace increasing as you hurried home to break the good news.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were giddy with excitement, the afternoon beginning to fade into the evening with the October chill setting in. Practically bouncing up the stairs in the apartment building, you rushed into your bedroom, dumping the stack of papers onto your desk.

Kicking your heels off, you shrugged off your blazer, hanging it in the closet before heading back into the kitchen. “Kim-bear, I’m home! Come on out, there’s something I’m dying to tell you!” You half expected Kimberly to pounce on you at your words, squealing and shaking you like a ragdoll. Instead, silence was your only response, lingering heavily in the air. 

Opening the overhead cupboards, you grabbed two wine flutes, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in. “I did it…” You whispered, setting them down carefully on the counter before turning to the fridge. The bottle of white wine glared back at you, unopened– you and Kimberly using it as a milestone market, not opening the bottle until one of you passed your respective dissertations. Digging through the cupboards for the wine opener, you called over your shoulder. 

“Kimberly, you’ve been in there all day.” The telltale pop of the cork echoed around the kitchen, but still, there was no response from your roommate. Your frown deepened as you poured the sauvignon blanc into the glasses. “Look, I know I’ve been an ass recently,” you admitted, tone softening as you glanced at her closed door. “–But I did it, so we’re celebrating whether you like it or not!” 

Nothing.

Setting down the bottle with a hollow thunk, you grabbed the glasses, padding over to her room. Although closed, the crack under the door flooded with light, signaling she was home. Irritation prickled at your skin, but the longer you waited, the more it was outweighed by unease. “Kim-bear?” You called again, knocking against the door, wine sloshing in the glass. You pressed your ear against the wood, straining for any noise.

No footsteps, no sound of her hushed voice, even the telltale noise of music playing non-stop on her vinyl player was absent. Just silence. Your palms grew clammy, glasses balanced in one hand as your fingers hesitantly brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Kimberly.” You urged, panic beginning to set in, voice barely above a whisper. You gritted your teeth, worried you’ll run into a very hungover roommate who was not in the mood to chat. “I’m coming in…” You warned, twisting the doorknob and pushing into the room.

The sight inside stopped you mid stride.

The bedroom was a mess– mirror smashed against the carpet, shards of glass covering almost every inch of the floor. Papers, photos, and cassette tapes were strewn across the room, desk chair overturned, legs shattered into splinters. And there, draped against her bed, was Kimberly.

At least, what was left of her.

Blood stained feathers coated her skin, pillows torn to shreds at her side. Shirt cut clean open, a nasty gash sliced through her midriff, ribs protruding from the open cavity of her chest. Her organs were on full display, liver ruptured and pressing against the gnarled entrails of her intestines. There was so much blood– pooling from the open carcass, staining the sheets in a deep scarlet, covering every surface within its reach. And the smell, the metallic scent of blood mixing with her open cavity in a way that made your stomach flip.

The wine glasses slipped from your fingers, shattering against the floorboards. Your stomach lurched at the gruesome sight, throat choking on a scream that refused to come. You dry heaved, bile rising to your throat as you suffocated on air, blind panic tearing through your skin. The world tilted around you, spinning as your knees wobbled, the sight of her glassy eyes staring straight into your soul. A gargled sob finally tore through your throat, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries, the horror of the scene sinking into you.

Blood dripped from the edge of her bed, winding down her limp leg before dripping onto the wooden floorboards in sickening plops. Your breathing hitched, suffocating you under the weight of realization. Her wounds were fresh– gaping, raw, and impossibly brutal. Her last breaths were probably moments before you walked in the door, a flash of horror sending white hot fear stabbing through your chest.

You had just missed the act, meaning her killer was still here. 

A faint clatter came from behind you, the sound subtle– like the scrape of metal against wood. Your heart seized within your chest, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. The all too familiar feeling of being watched settled over you like a wet blanket, heavy and suffocating. You turned slowly, worried about any sudden movement resulting in your certain demise.

Your gaze landed on the bathroom across the apartment, the doorway an ominous void of inky black. Your brain screamed at you to look away, to run, but you were frozen in place, legs bolted to the floor. The darkness seemed to shift, alive and writhing, a figure emerging from what you could only describe as hell.

First, the pale mask appeared– eerily blank, followed by the navy of the mechanic suit, fabric soaked with so much blood it looked black. His broad shoulders shook with the same ragged breaths that kept you awake so many nights before. He tilted his head just slightly, examining you. The light caught the knife clenched in his fist– your roommate’s blood still dripping from the blade, and your knees wobbled.

You leaned against the doorway, bare foot crunching on shards of broken glass, needles of pain slicing up your leg. But you couldn’t move– no matter how much you screamed at your legs to run, your body betrayed you as it remained rooted to the floor. The only thing you could do was stare– gaping at the legend you had spent the better part of a year dissecting, eyes tracing the inhumane shape of a man who had spent a lifetime dismantling lives.

Michael Myers had finally come for you, the devil paying his due. 

Your brain wracked with silent begs of mercy, but all that escaped your lips were broken sobs. You knew nothing could save you now, any pleads of salvation useless against him. And as much as the terror short circuited your brain, you couldn’t deny the curiosity pooling within your stomach. The specimen you had been obsessively studying for what felt like a century stood just feet away, the probability of your theory practically proving itself as an image of Kimberly’s disfigured corpse flashed through your mind.

He took another harrowing step forward, and the inquisitiveness bolting you in place shattered, replaced by the primal urge to escape. Legs faltering, you propelled yourself forward, sprinting towards the door leading into the hallway. Pain shot up your legs as the glass embedded deeper within the flesh of your feet, but you refused to stop. Practically launching around the kitchen counter, you stumbled over your discarded heels, almost crashing into the wall. Breaths coming out in frantic puffs, your hand stretched towards the door, your only saving grace. Your voice finally returned, a scream so raw with emotion it rattled your ears. “HEL-”

A hand too large to be human clamped down around your mouth, yanking you backwards by your jaw.

Immediately, you dead weighted– pressing downwards as you clawed forwards, fingers desperately trying to reach for the door. Wailing screams pressed against the meaty palm, the noises almost completely silenced as you tried to wrench yourself from his grasp. Flailing your limbs, you struggled like your life depended on it, clamping your jaw down so hard into the palm of his hand that you drew blood.

Michael huffed, pulling you backwards with such force you lost your footing, bloodied soles of your feet slipping against the wood. Your back hit the hard expanse of his chest, blood– Kimberly’s blood– instantly soaking through your thin blouse and pressing into your skin. The blade of the knife was pushed against your throat, and you grimaced at the cool metal biting into your skin, the sharp edge slightly drawing blood. 

The mantra you confidently spouted all those weeks ago echoed in your head, chiding: He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control.

You stilled at that, heart in your throat– life in the hands of your own personal boogeyman. Those horrid breaths wafted from his mask, fanning over the top of your head, ruffling your hair. He smelled like death– rather, he was death, dragging you into the depths of hell. Your research told you he liked fear, practically basking in it– but was it more than that? Was the gratification in the initial scare itself, or the control he asserted over his victims?

You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your brain– constantly analyzing, dissecting. Your heels dug into the floorboards as he stepped backwards, head craning into his chest to try and alleviate the sting of the blade against your neck. He maneuvered you with ease, pulling you towards your bedroom. 

A small part of you flushed, stomach dropping– your room.

Your research papers were still scattered across the desk, the walls coated in notes– like an obsessive stalker, about to be unveiled by the subject of your research. Every detail of his history, every violent act, every conspiracy documented with extensive detail. You mentally cringed in his hold, wanting nothing more than to curl into yourself from the embarrassment, the irony of it all.

Michael kicked your door, the wood splintering beneath his boots as he pulled you into the room. The pressure of the knife against your neck alleviated, the deadly weapon clattering against your desk, splattering droplets of blood across your printed dissertation. Hand still holding your mouth under his bruising grip, he pushed you into the desk.

Sparks flew across your vision– the world spinning as your skull cracked against the wood, disorientation rattling your brain. Your right temple felt like it was burning, a warm gush of blood dripping down your eyebrow, filling your eye with stinging pain. You moaned weakly, blinking as your dazed vision began to clear once more.

Vision settling, a crude sketch of the mask in the bushes that fateful night stared back at you, taunting you. You wanted to die– not from his knife, but from the mortifying realization that your work was on full display. Your hands were forced behind you, tearing you from the self-deprecating spiral, a hand pressing them against your back, holding you flat against the desk. Your hip bones dug into the edge painfully, breasts uncomfortably squashed beneath your weight as you wriggled against the hard surface. 

You protested immediately, desperate noises sounding too lewd for comfort pressing against his palm. His hand released your jaw, teeth audibly clattering together as you begged, “Please, don’t look–” frantically before something was shoved into your mouth. You choked slightly, the taste of worn clothing coating your tongue. He gagged you– you realized, aching jaw throbbing.

The research you had worked tirelessly on shifted beneath you, and your eyes shot upwards to the collection of polaroids, crime scene photos, and police sketches of the very man holding you down. Your room looked like an obsessive shrine, theories connected with red twine pinned along the entire expanse of drywall.

You swallowed thickly, humiliation churning in your gut like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. You weren’t his typical MO, but your research must have hit a nerve from the masked killer. He was going to kill you– you had delved too far within the rabbit hole, and now you would pay for it with your life.

You squeezed your eyes shut, heart hammering within your chest as an eerie sense of acceptance washed over you. 

You half expected him to rip your heart from your chest, feasting on your flesh before he fled the scene, but you knew he would use that god forsaken knife. You knew him too well, the months of research proving just exactly how he would kill you– slowly, intimately.

The smallest voice inside of you revelled in the fact that you were right, aware all along just how deep he had fallen from grace. You braced yourself, expecting the blade to tear through you– instead, a torn paper was slammed down onto the table next to your head. You jolted from the sudden movement, quickly reading the crumpled paper.

Your eyes widened, breath faltering as you writhed against his grip, twisting your wrists so vigorously that you were certain your skin was rubbing raw. The scribbled line you had written for your final introduction glared back at you, a cruel reversal of your own research being used against you:

Michael Myers was a predator.

You weren’t just terrified– you were transfixed, the idea of him actually reading through your notes… was it a sign of acknowledgement? The hand that wasn’t pinning you to the desk brushed your hip, and your breathing hitched, silencing your analyzing thoughts. Cheek scraping along the wood of the desk, you met your captor’s gaze– peering into the void.

Fingers curled around the waistband of your slacks as he stared back at you, challenging you. The blood drained from your face as your slacks were tugged roughly down, catching at your knees. Goosebumps erupted along the exposed flesh, bare ass hanging off the edge of the desk– a harrowing realization tearing through you.

You weren’t just an unlucky researcher who got too close to the sun, you were prey– and the boogeyman finally came to collect. The rough pads of his fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, kneading the skin so curtly your stomach somersaulted.

You should want to scream– to run, to pound your fists into his chest and claw at his skin– but all you could do was watch his exploratory movements. He was studying you, just as you had done towards him for the better part of a year, curiosity stilling you against his touch. This was so wrong– you were supposed to be dead by now, blood pouring from your skin as life drained from your eyes– not sprawled half naked over your own research.

Your thighs clenched as the scratchy material of the jumpsuit brushed against your skin, hips meeting his. Gaping at that devilish mask, you refused to avert your eyes– even as your panties were ripped away from your body you stood firm, entranced. Was he experimenting with you before ending your life, or was he finally, finally cracking under the pressure from the lack of intimacy? The beast of a man behind you jerked forward slightly, hips grinding against the fat of your ass– but you were too focused on your inner ramblings to care. 

A ragged huff escaped the male hovering over you, breath fanning your back as realization slammed into you. He wasn’t doing this for him– he was doing this for you, giving you the concrete evidence you were missing in your theory.

The thought made your head spin, warmth pooling in your stomach– Michael had read your research, combed over the countless theories with meticulous detail, and now he knew the perfect way to make you pay for your pitiful investigation. The knife haphazardly draped against the dissertation was lifted, and a pang of fear stabbed into your chest.

Was this it? Were you going to be found half naked and covered in bloody handprints over your own research? You tried to track the weapon with your eyes, but Michael quickly ducked out of view behind you– leaving you in the dark. 

A cool sensation fluttered over your left asscheek as a finger brushed over the skin, wet and slimy. You cringed at the feeling, trying to arch away from the mysterious liquid as it— your eyes widened— dripped down to your lower thigh. The finger trailed lower, through the crevice of your ass and coating your inner folds, smearing your skin with the liquid.

The telltale scent of iron invaded your nostrils as the thick fluid clung to your skin, sticking to your folds. Your stomach fluttered in betrayal at the action, the finger lazily dipping into your folds to smear more– your stomach tightened– blood onto your pussy. He was using your best friend’s blood to prepare you, to ruin you.

The thought made your lip quiver, your own juices mixing into a concoction of dizzying sin and lust. The air was thick with tension, a sense of anticipation and shame quickly washing over you. The object of your obsessions was teasing you, somewhere inside making the darker parts of your mind swoon. 

Michael’s finger pushed inside of you, testing the waters. You shivered at the feeling, clamping your jaw shut so as to not expose your thoughts. The finger curled within you, and with it, your stomach flipped. Michael grunted, seemingly pleased with the warmth coming from your folds, and quickly withdrew his finger. The rustling of fabric tore you from the daze, and you strained your head above the desk– barely able to make out the monster of a man unbuttoning his mechanics suit in your peripheral.

Your breath hitched. This couldn’t be happening– it was all just a fucked up dream you were having, the obsessive nature of the killer finally manifesting itself in the darkest of ways.

Yet the warm press of bare hips against the fat of your ass was very much real, the outline of his cock nestled dangerously close to your blood tinted folds. You screwed your eyes shut, fuck you were not prepped enough for this– mentally or physically you couldnt decipher. A deep huff sounded out behind you, Michael’s patience wearing thin, and his cockhead caught against your folds as he pushed forwards– coating himself in your juices. 

You whimpered as his free hand gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into your flesh while he steeled himself, inexperience radiating off of him as he finally aligned himself to your core. You tried to relax, a shuddered breath escaping you at the prospect that this was going to hurt, and badly. Your captive hands curled into fists, digging into your palms as your bit into your inner cheek for comfort. And without so much as a warning, Michael sunk inside of you.

A choked gasp spilled from your lips at the stretch, feeling as if you were being torn in two by the almost inhumane size. Tears welled in your eyes, teeth gritting against each other as Michael stuttered forward— inch by inch. Helplessly, you clenched around him, body screaming for relief, but your silent pleas went unanswered.

Cockhead dragging against your gummy walls, his tip dug mercilessly into your cervix, causing a flash of white-hot pain to erupt within you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, drawing blood, and you sucked on the metallic taste for comfort. God, you felt like you were dying– stabbing pain encompassing your lower half as you tried to arch away from the onslaught. 

Michael shuddered, hips stilling once he was fully submerged in your warmth. Tears streamed down your cheeks onto the wooden desk as relief washed over you, the burn of it all settling in the pit of your stomach. You were so full, stuffed to the brim to the point where the pressure was unbearable. Any solace of comfort was ripped away as he moved, pulling out quickly before slamming his back into you.

Black spots shot across your vision– a broken moan tearing from your throat as your cheek dug into the wood. The hand gripping your wrists tightened, your fingers tingling from the lack of blood flow as Michael settled into a deep, grueling pace. It was too much– too rough, the force of his thrusts causing the wood of the desk to clatter against the wall.

Papers crumpled beneath your weight as you were forcibly rocked to the movement, wood splintering into your cheek as you chafed against it. Your body barred down, staccato pants spilling from your mouth as you laid there and took him. If this had been anyone else, you would have been embarrassed at the way you could barely breathe, but with every sharp thrust you fell further from sanity.

He was ruining you, seemingly pushing so far you could feel it in your throat. Michael bottomed out suddenly, and you swore you saw stars, body spasming as he kissed your cervix. Any shame that you had been gripping onto seemed to vanish into thin air with every thrust, your hips pressing so hard against the wood you were sure there would be bruises.

Fuck it felt like you were being dragged into hell itself, the devil reincarnated destroying you for all others.

Sweat clung to your hairline, the room burning as Michael fucked into you like a man gone mad. Involuntary grunts, gasps, and moans bounced off the room, raw with emotion– and you finally realized they were coming from you. It was so wrong, so lewd to be tainted by the very person you had obsessed over, but it felt too good for you to care. The underside of his cock brushed against that oh so sensitive spot so sinfully your toes curled.

You were consumed with it– taboo and all, stomach tightening as Michael’s hips rocked into you.

Brows furrowing, you abandoned any semblance of control or consciousness, chasing the high that sprouted in your stomach. You felt like you were going to break, stomach fluttering at the sting of his sheer size. You were practically milking him, clenching down so hard you swore you could have heard him hiss from behind you. The hand that was gripping onto your hip like a lifeline tangled within your hair, yanking you upwards.

You gasped, pain needling your scalp as you arched to meet his demands. Refusing to let up, Michael continued his merciless pace, using your hair as an anchor against his thrusts. The cool material of his mask brushed against your shoulder, causing another gargled moan to seep from you at the action. You were a mess– button down clinging to your sweaty skin as you subconsciously angled your hips to accommodate the shift in position. 

The outline of his cock was much more evident now, scraping against your walls so brutally your heart caught within your throat. Your body tensed, praying– begging to find release. Practically teetering on the edge, you wrenched your head from his grasp, turning to meet his gaze.

You just wanted to see him, the monster you had spent countless nights studying.

The hazy light of the bedroom caught his mask; the devil staring back at you. A sea of blue met yours, pupils so dilated they looked black. Those eyes– not the animalistic thrusts, not the churning of your insides– but those eyes threw you over the edge.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, body spasming as you came around his cock. Michael’s hips stuttered against your at the sudden shift, a deep groan invading your senses as you fell from grace. Your eyes rolled to the back, head hanging weakly as you gasped for air. Electricity jolted through you like a live wire, and you shuddered, fluttering around him. Michael huffed, composure quickly falling away as you clung to him like a lifeline, his own orgasm fast approaching. 

He shoved you forwards once more, pressing you so hard into the desk you felt as if you were going to melt into the woods. He pushed forward– once, twice before finally, finally he finished. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides, and you subconsciously fluttered at the feeling. Michael stilled, hips flush against the fat of your ass, cock throbbing as you both struggled to come down from the high.

You sank into the wood, exhaustion weighing you down, head still spinning from your orgasm. Michael slowly withdrew from your sputtering form, the void quickly overtaking you as he tucked himself back into his jumpsuit. The ache of his cock quickly overtook you, and you winced, fear beginning to settle into your stomach.

Michael had gotten what he had wanted– now what?

You squirmed against the hand still pinning you to the desk, babbling utter nonsense in the hopes it would spare your life. The knife that rested just inches from your face was lifted, and your eyes screwed shut, waiting for the final blow. 

But it never came.

The hold on your wrists eased up, and you quickly fell backwards, knees weak and legs trembling. You quickly whipped your head around, trying to shield yourself from any attacks, but you were met with nothing. Your room was empty, door wide open as your personal boogeyman seemed to flee into the night. The knife was nowhere in sight, seemingly vanishing into the air. Your frantic gaze scanned your room for anything out of place, any secret hiding places he could have gone to, but everything was the same as you had left it this morning.

Your knees gave out at that, and you crumpled onto the shaggy carpet. Tears of relief, fear, shame– and something else you couldn’t quite place dripped down your face. You were alive, somehow spared. The events of the day quickly came crashing down: your dissertation, Michael, and– your eyes flicked to the open door once more– Kimberly. You pushed yourself upwards once more, knuckles gripping the desk as you rose to your feet. Wobbling slightly, a blank patch on your desk caught your attention, stopping you in your tracks. 

Your printed dissertation– it was gone.

Your breathing hitched, stomach knotting at the sight. Somehow, you already knew where it had disappeared to. Lip quivering, you stumbled into the kitchen, mind still reeling. The sensation of him lingered, thick and heavy, the evidence of what he had done to you– with you still dripping down your thighs. You cringed at the feeling. Kimberly’s door remained open, and you sucked a breath through your teeth, refusing to look.

Hands fumbling for the receiver, you quickly punched in Detective Langley’s number, gripping the kitchen counter so hard your knuckles turned white. The line rang, and you shifted your gaze to the window. The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon, painting the sky in a crimson hue that made your skin prickle.

It was the same red that was smeared on your skin, the same red that pooled beneath Kimberly’s lifeless body– the color of blood. 

The dial tone droned in your ear, and for a moment, everything blurred, the phone shaking in your hand as the horrifying truth gnawed at your stomach. You had spent months dissecting the mind of a killer, and he had finally come for you.

And yet, you were alive– untouched yet violated, unscathed yet completely undone. The phone continued to ring, and a thought flickered in your mind, wrapping around your heart like a vice. You had never been the observer, you had always been the subject. 

Chapter 2 ●

Suns in a Black Sea is an original work written by remedyx. Unauthorized use or reposting of this story on any other platform besides Tumblr, Wattpad, or Ao3 not under the username (remedyx or Remedy_X) is plagiarism and will not be tolerated.

Chapter 2 ● Chapter 3 ● Chapter 4 ●

Chapter 5 ● Chapter 6 ● Chapter 7 ●

Chapter 8 ● Chapter 9 ● Chapter 10 ●

Chapter 11 ● Chapter 12 ● Chapter 13 ●

Chapter 14 ● Chapter 15 ● Chapter 16 ●

Chapter 17 ● Chapter 18 ● Chapter 19 ●

Chapter 20 ● Chapter 21 ● Chapter 22 ●

Chapter 23 ● Chapter 24 ● Chapter 25 ●

Chapter 26 ● Chapter 27 ● Chapter 28 ●

Chapter 29 ● Chapter 30 ● Chapter 31 ●

Chapter 32 ● Chapter 33 ● Chapter 34 ●

Chapter 35 ● Chapter 36 ● Chapter 37 ●

Chapter 38 ● Chapter 39 ● Chapter 40 ●

Chapter 41 ● Chapter 42 ● Chapter 43 ●

Chapter 44 ● Chapter 45 ● Chapter 46 ●

Bonus Chapters~

Thanksgiving Special (M)

Mingi's Coronation (Suggestive)

The feeling of someone reaching for my headphones drags me out of my mind space causing me to instantly grab their wrist in a tight grasp leaving my knuckles white. I look up and meet the stern eyes of my uncle telling me to let him go and allow him to speak to me. Hesitantly I let go of his wrist and allowed him to stop my music and pull my attention onto him, still doing my best to ignore anyone else who might be in the room. “Next time, and I hope there won’t be, don’t lock your door like that.” He leaves no time for me to respond, making sure I know it’s not a request but an order while putting the headphones back in my ear. I keep my eyes down as I hop down from the island countertop and make my way back to my room ready to clean up my mess.

The second I walk into my room I’m hit with the smell of cleaning products still lingering in the air and no reminder of what happened not too long ago. I don’t have to relive my breakdown by picking up the broken pieces of my mind in the form of a mirror. I don’t know who did it, but what I do know is when I find out I will do everything I can to thank them. They saved my mind from another breakdown, one that would be much smaller but still there. I take a moment to walk into my bathroom and make sure all of the mess is gone, a mirror no longer hangs on the wall. In its place a note sticks with some clear tape.

You deserve all the good things in life. You deserve to feel. You deserve to express yourself. You deserve to be cared for. You deserve to be loved.

No name is written to let me know who left me the affirmations, and I’m grateful for the lack of one. It allows me to say the words myself without hearing someone else’s voice. I can remind myself that I am deserving. I speak the words under my breath a few times until a small smile pulls at my lips. The smile reminds me that I do have control again, my life is mine, and my emotions are mine. I turn back to my room and finally look around, multiple times. It’s then I notice something on my made bed, a little stuffed animal with a note sitting on its head.

Next time you feel alone with your thoughts, hug him tight. His name is Shiber. -San

This handwriting is different from the other note telling me that the person who wrote the affirmations isn’t San. I stare at the little dog while trying to process the information. Someone I hadn’t spoken to once has gone out of their way to give me a piece of comfort through their stuffed animal. Another smile tugs at my lips as I pull Shiber up from my bed and into my arms to hug him tight just like San said. I had to admit the comfort I gained from the interaction was something I never felt before. I felt cared for, seen, and understood just by one small gesture. 

“Thank you.” I whisper into the stuffed animal as I hug him tighter while falling back into my bed to enjoy the moment of peace and clarity. Music still floods through my mind but the extra comfort helps to make the moment feel less like a distraction and more like an outstretched hand for me to hold on to.

I don’t know how long I laid there hugging Shiber, but I do know it was long enough for someone to come knocking on my door loud enough to break through my music. I stand up holding the stuffed animal in my arms to open the door while removing my headphones from my ears. “Yes?” I ask when I open the door to see who knocked. I can’t tell if my face has returned to its bored expression or if it has changed but when I meet the eyes of Mingi he pulls me into a bone crushing hug. “What’s wrong bub?”

He hugs me tighter to his body making sure I don’t slip away from him. “I was so scared, when I heard your screams. I couldn’t get in to check on you. God I was so scared.” He confesses into my shoulder letting tears slip from his eyes onto the thin fabric of my long sleeve shirt.

I pull away from the hug to tug him into my room and close the door to give our conversation some privacy. He looks at me in confusion while tears roll down his face. I just try to make a small smile form on my face while I pull him to my bed so we can sit together in a comfortable place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re smiling.” He notes letting me know that my emotions are showing.

I smile a little bit more at the fact I can show some emotion. “I broke free.” I look around my room remembering a cute little plushie that is no longer in my arms. I see Shiber on the ground and quickly pick him up to return him into my hold for comfort once again. 

“Is that what happened?” He asks, smiling through the tears.

“Uh yea. At first, all the negative thoughts were winning until I had enough. I had nothing to hide from anymore. No one was actively hurting me anymore.” I admit hugging Shiber tighter while burying my face into the soft pillow. 

Mingi moves to wrap his long arms around me letting me still hold on to Shiber while he also comforts me in the vulnerable moment. “I’m proud of you. You went through a lot and you managed to come out stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. I hope you know I’ll always be here even when you’re annoyingly happy all the time. Which is the goal.”

“What goal?” I ask pulling out of the hug again to meet his eyes.

“My life goal is to make you happy, I never cared if you showed it but I just wanted you to be happy truly. And that’s why I was so scared when I heard you breaking down. Your screams sent my body into fight mode, I wanted to break down your door so badly. I was ready to tackle anyone who got in my way.” The way his eyes shine with sincerity makes tears form in my eyes. I have never felt so loved and cared for before by anyone other than my uncle. Mingi unknowingly became one of the most important people in my life just by being here.

I pull Mingi into a hug without Shiber between us, my arms wrap tightly around his shoulders as his go around my waist. We keep close for a while just enjoying the moment together to know we are both okay and we are both happy.

“Kai di- oh sorry.” Wooyoung quickly pulls away from peeking in the door and slightly closes it leaving a slight crack. 

“Yes Wooyoung?” I simply ask not feeling any negativity due to his presence.

He pops his head back in through the door with a sorry smile on his face, “I was just wondering if you still wanted to eat some pizza?”

I let out a small chuckle and I watch as Wooyoungs face goes from embarrassed to surprised quickly and before I know it he is tackling me onto my bed in a bear hug. He laughs in the hug ignoring Mingi scolding him for invading my personal space. “You just laughed!” He leans up on his arms hovering above me with a stupid big smile on his face. He is in disbelief at what he just heard and what he sees. Me smiling and laughing at his face and I can’t help but life my hand up and poke his prominent cheeks.

“I did.” We chuckle together and he slaps my hand away in a joking way before pulling me back into a strong hug. “You’re crushing me Woo.”

“Woo!? You just called me Woo!” He freaks out again now completely sitting up above me looking at me as if I just committed arson on his favorite clothing item. I nod and smile as much as I can, which is only a little bit. “WAIT! You… you’re smiling and laughing!!!” He yells absolutely losing his mind.

“Quiet down!” Mingi hisses at his younger friend, he knows everyone has now heard. And telling by the loud footsteps coming up the stairs they are all coming to see what all the fuss is.

Wooyoung looks apologetic and starts to say his apologies until he is interrupted by the rest of my housemates running. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“What happened?”

“Is Kai okay?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“What’s going on?”

So many questions asked, causing me to laugh at the chaos ensuing in my small room. This shuts everyone up as they all look at me in confusion. No one says anything just listens to me laughing uncontrollably, they all looked to worried when they walked in and now they hold nothing but confusion on their faces.

I awaken to the sweet smell of fresh wood and newly cleaned bedding. We have been fixing up the building for months now and we were reaching the end. The moment we could open the doors and bring life back into the building. I have been anticipating this moment for a long time. The workers we have hired worked diligently and made sure everything was up to code but also perfect. I of course went back behind them just to be sure because I wanted this place to be better than what it was before. 

“Good morning Dear.” I hear from behind me and feel arms pulling me in closer to their body surrounding me in warmth, comfort and love. 

“Good morning Honey.” I snuggle into him for a moment before trying to make my way out of bed to start the day. Key word, trying. His arms pull me in tighter, preventing me from leaving his hold. “Honey, we have to get up.”

“Not yet.” He mumbles burying his head into my neck and placing soft kisses against my sensitive skin. Involuntarily I giggle from the feeling causing him to turn this cute moment into a tickle fight. He turns me on my back and straddle my hips to tickle my sides and keep me from running away. I lose my breath quickly and the second he notices my hands are pinned above my head while we laugh together and regain our composure.

“Sannie, you know we still have things to do today?” I ask once our laughter turns to silent breaths and longing looks that I know will turn into much less innocent actions. He groans and lays his head on my chest while squeezing his arms under my laying body to hug me close.

“Just one day for us only please?” He whines and I can’t help but fall ever harder for him, that is until I start to feel sick.

“Baby let me up now please.” He hears the urgency in my voice and moves away instantly allowing me to run to our bathroom as fast as I possibly could. Before I know it I’m dry heaving into the toilet and hugging my new best friend.

San runs in and pulls my hair back away from my face while also rubbing a hand on my back to soothe my pain. “Was it the tickle fight?” We both chuckle at the question knowing that definitely isn’t the reason.

I start questioning the reason in my head. Food poisoning? No, my mom made sure I knew to only eat fresh food. Flu? I feel my head and notice I’m not burning up, I can’t possibly be actually sick. I’ve only been in this building and no one sick has been allowed in. Period symptoms? Oh my god. “Hey Sannie, what's the date?” I ask between breaths.

He pulls out his phone I got him a while ago, “uh it’s the 19th?” He questions and as the words leave his lips my skin runs cold. There’s no way. We have used all kinds of protection. Of course we agreed we were going to spend our lives together, but we just wanted a little more time to just us.

“Okay I’m fine, can you go make us breakfast? I’ll be out soon.” I try to get him out of the room for me to take a test, I don’t want to worry him if it does end up negative.

He stands up from his kneeling position beside me, “Will do honey, call me if you need anything seriously.”

“Aye aye captain. I love you.” I say turning away from the toilet.

“I love you too baby, now clean up and make yourself feel beautiful, even though you always are in my eyes.” He says with a loving smile turning to walk away.

“Even right now?” I ask loudly to his retreating figure. I know his answer but I do enjoying hearing it.

He laughs, turns around to face me again, and responds, “always means even right now when you’re hugging a toilet and not me. I definitely won’t hold a grudge.” He laughs while he leaves and I can’t help but laugh as well. He will honestly hold a grudge, he’s the type to feel jealous over a blanket touching more of me than him, it’s honestly the cutest thing ever.

As soon as I hear the bedroom door shut I run to the cabinet and thank whatever being possessed me into buying pregnancy tests even when we aren’t trying. I do what the instructions say and place the test on the counter face down while I wait. Instead of standing there doing nothing I do some hygienic tasks to occupy my mind. Then start to do some makeup when my timer goes off. Instead of racing to see the results I take a breath and finish my makeup. 

There’s no need to stress, if it is positive, I’m with the love of my life, the person literally made just for me. If it is negative then it’s just not the right time and I can figure out why I’m sick later.

“Alright you can do this,” I whisper to myself as my hand hovers above the test. I notice my shaky hand and take in a deep breath to calm my nerves. “It’s gonna be okay.” My whispers fall on deaf ears as I turn the test over and see the two lines clearly on the test. I throw the test away from me as if it were the plague and stare at it in complete and utter shock. 

This can’t be real.

This can’t be happening.

I’m too young.

I’m not ready.

What if I’m not a good mother.

What if I can’t teach my child the way my parents taught me.

I can’t do this.

I can’t breathe.

Oh my god I can’t breathe.

I fall to the floor with a crash as I try to catch my breath, there’s no way he didn’t hear me. He’s coming here right now. I wanted to tell him in a cute way. I have so many ideas. It’s all ruined. Everything is ruined.

I’m having a panic attack.

“BABY!?” San yells from outside the door and I can hear him running towards the room I’m currently feeling stuck in. “What happened!? Baby!!” He yells and bursts the door open to see my body curled up against the side of the tub rocking back and forth as my eyes stay locked on something across the room. Though he doesn’t follow my sight and instead sits next to me to pull my body against his and start to calm me down.

He tells me sweet nothings, reminding me that I’m safe and with him. He tells me how much he loves me and how much he wants me in his life. He tells me that nothing could possibly ruin what we have. And that’s when I let it slip in the moment of panic.

“I’m pregnant.” I whisper into his chest that he has me cradled against. It’s as if all time stops around us, and there’s nothing but the panicked breathing from me and his multiple deep breaths.

He starts placing kisses all over my head and face before he gets up and starts jumping, in my confused state I just stare at him like he’s crazy. “We’re having a baby, baby!!!!” He yells and can’t stop bouncing, the excitement in his voice heavily contradicts the anxiety and panic swimming through my body. He crouches down to my height again and kisses me like his life depends on it.

“Sannie?” I ask once he pulls away and wears the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.

“Yes baby?” He pauses, then looks at my stomach, “and other baby.” He finished with a giddy smile that makes a small one tug at my lips.

“Why are you so happy? How are you not worried? I mean we are so young and it wasn’t planned?” I start to ramble before he covers my mouth with his hand and stares at me with nothing but love and excitement.

“I’m not worried, I’m not scared, and I’m more than just happy. I love you with my entire being and we get to bring into this world someone made of both of us? I couldn’t be more happy and excited. I couldn’t be more in love with you and the idea of our own little family starting. We are going to be the best parents ever, I mean look at us. We just built a five star hotel from dust. We love each other more than we ever thought we could. And we are the power couple of the century. We got this baby.” He finishes with a sweet kiss on my lips that sends my heart racing from something other than panic but from an overwhelming amount of love.

“What the fuck would I do without you?” We both laugh.

Yawning, I tidied the table in front of me the best I could before picking myself up off the floor in search of coffee and a fresh change of clothes. Absentmindedly, I turned on the news, ignoring the morning greetings and traffic segments while waiting on the day’s weather report. The sky outside my windows was still dark, the black only barely beginning to bleed into a navy blue as the sun attempted to rise above the horizon. Normally, I would take the time to appreciate the sight a bit more, sunrise was one of my favorite times of day, but I was terribly exhausted after only managing a couple of hours of sleep in and the only way I would be able to keep myself from diving under the covers for another hour of sleep was to start my day now.

My bare feet didn’t make a sound padding towards the kitchen. I rummaged through my cabinets, finding one last mini cup of grounds to pop into my machine. With a soft sigh, I tapped brew and grabbed my phone to add coffee to my shopping list before I could forget. The red dot above my messages stopped me short, indicating I had one unread message. Clicking on it, I almost wished I hadn’t when I saw who it was from.

Ian: Come straight to my office when you get in.

A strange sense of restlessness settled deep within my gut. Ian almost never sent text messages. As a boss, he prided herself on professionalism and while he had everyone’s phone numbers, he usually opted to send emails instead, believing that texting should be reserved for personal schedules outside of work or extenuating circumstances. By the nature of his message, I would classify this instance to fall into the latter. Attempting to mentally prepare myself for what may be in store for me today, I locked my phone and headed for the shower.

“Good morning Dr. L/N.” Lindy greeted me brightly as I passed the front desk.

“Hey Lindy. Have you seen Ian yet?”

“Maybe an hour ago? He was with a group of people from LSR.”

That piqued my interest if only slightly. LSR didn’t usually associate with researchers, but that didn’t mean it never happened. Although you had to have extensive knowledge in a given field for them to reach out to you to begin with. As if on que, one of their techs rounded the corner, badge proudly labeled Live Specimen Resources on display. His head nodded towards me in greeting, my own returning it out of habit even though I had no clue who he was or what he wanted.

“Dr. L/N?”

“Yes?”

“The head of our department and your Lab Coordinator are waiting for you upstairs.”

“Okay, thank you.”

A quick bow and he turned on his heel, feet carrying him back the way he came. Confused, I turned an inquisitive gaze towards Lindy who looked just as lost as I felt.

“Any ideas?”

“Maybe you’re getting a promotion?” She shrugged unsurely, offering me an unsettled smile. “Fill me in later? Over lunch maybe?”

“Sure. You’re picking.”

She groaned, reluctantly reaching for a stack of to-go menus she kept at her desk for times like these.

“I better start looking then.”

Fighting back a smile, I hid it with my coffee, taking a ginger sip while making my way to the elevators. If it weren’t for the ominous text from Ian and knowing that it also had something to do with LSR, it would feel like any other morning arriving for work. While I was made to stew in the uncertainty of what I was about to walk in on, everyone else carried on with their duties like they always did. Taking some small comfort in that, because it at least meant whatever was going on wasn’t a department wide issue, I stepped off the lift. My heels clicked obnoxiously on the linoleum, my feet already begging for me to swap them for the tennis shoes I used while working in the lab. Unfortunately, they would have to hold out until this impromptu meeting was over with.

I passed a couple of straggling researchers on my way to the Lab Coordinators office. Most of them looking like they could use a few more hours of sleep like myself. Hoping I at least looked a bit more presentable than the zombies wandering the halls, I stopped in front of Ian’s office, hardly giving myself time to chicken out as I knocked. The voice bidding me entry was familiar, but upon entering, the first face I saw was anything but. He stood quickly, bowing in greeting before holding his hand out for me to shake. Glancing quickly at Ian, his expression was unusually stiff, his own form rising slowly to his feet upon my arrival. Finding my courage slowly deflating I took the offered hand.

“Good morning! You must be Dr. L/N, it’s nice to meet you. My name is James Watkins, head of the LSR department.”

“Mr. Watkins, a pleasure.” I replied stiffly, attempting to retract my hand that he still held tightly.

“Please, call me James. Mr. Reich was just telling me about your achievements in clinical practice. I’m rather impressed.”

“Ah, I appreciate that, but Ian has a reputation for flattery.” I said politely, finally extricating my hand from his sweaty palm, trying to fight the urge to wipe my hands on my skirt.

“I doubt that.” He beamed, not deterred in the slightest. “Forgive me, but I looked into your background myself. You have a lot to be proud of. Not only for your work as a prior clinician but as a researcher too. It’s a large part of why I insisted you be on our team for this next project.”

“As a researcher?” I spluttered, my eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes and no. While we may appreciate your help in the lab, I’m more interested in your clinical skills.”

Unconsciously, my gaze turned to Ian, his brows furrowed in confusion and lips pinched together. Briefly, his eyes met mine and I could tell that although he was asked to be a part of this meeting, he was just as much in the dark as I was currently.

“Mr. W- James…” I corrected myself, ignoring his widening smile. “I’m thankful for your offer, but I’m afraid my clinical skills may be lacking for your area of expertise. I’m no veterinarian.”

He chuckled, as if my worries were amusing, one hand waving between us like he were physically brushing them aside.

“It is true that we normally work with animal specimens, but for this particular project, I believe your knowledge of human medicine will prove more beneficial. However, we can talk about the particulars at a later time, this specific undertaking is rather private. I actually came here to speak with you and Mr. Reich about allowing you leave from your current studies to work with us for the foreseeable future.”

“You’ll want her transferred?” Ian asked, surprised.

“Temporarily. Unfortunately, I can’t authorize her working on anything else while she’s on this team. Confidentiality and non-competes and the like, you understand. If you require someone to fill her shoes until she returns, my department is willing to fit the expenses for a new hire.”

“How long exactly are we talking?” Ian interrupted albeit as politely as possible.

“Hard to say.” James shrugged, taking his seat once more and reclining in it comfortably. “Six or seven months? Maybe longer. It really isn’t up to me exactly. My higher ups determine the time and money they want put into it.”

“And the people?”

Both pair of eyes landed on me. Ian’s filled with a flicker of concern while James’s lit up as if I were the present under the hypothetical tree come Christmas morning.

“They ultimately have the final say, you’re correct, but I, personally, requested you. Rest assured.”

Luckily his attention turned back to Ian before he noticed my expression twist into one of distaste. Rest assured? As if I’d be clinging to him as my safety blanket during this unusual situation. Or maybe he expects a thank you for him thinking of me in the first place. Either way, he would be sorely disappointed.

“You’d be fairly compensated in taking this job. You’ll be paid double what you make now and your position with Mr. Reich won’t be compromised in your absence. After the team is disassembled, you may return to your work here.”

“And my role would be, what exactly?”

“General health observations mostly. Lab work should we need assistance with that as well. We can give you specifics when you sign the agreements.”

“Agreements?”

“One will be a non-compete, like I said, we can’t allow you to work on other projects in the meantime, even within the same institution. Second is an NDA of sorts, just stating that you won’t disclose any information you receive to do with our team and study with anyone not specifically involved with it. It’s all very basic.”

“Do you usually require contracts?”

“When working with specific entities, yes.” James nodded. “Plus a few mandatory safety and handling protocol seminars.”

Those, I wouldn’t be new to. I’ve sat through my fair share of debriefings when it came to research ethics. Everyone had to. It was the only thing James had said in our time in this office that remotely made any sense to me. James leaned into the space between us, hand reaching inside the bag sitting there and pulling out a stack of papers before giving them to me.

“These explain what we’ve already gone over in a bit more detail. Look it over and let me know.”

I accepted them, mumbling a thank you. James stood, bidding Ian and I goodbye although I didn’t notice, my eyes glued to the letterhead over the papers I was given.

I couldn’t entirely disregard the offer. Admittedly, I was intrigued by the project though it didn’t seem I would be used as a researcher. Even then, the idea wasn’t totally undesirable. And the money… I dropped the stack of papers on my coffee table, sighing loudly as I leaned back into the couch. It had been a few days since meeting with James. Shortly after he had left, Ian asked me what I thought about the offer. At the time, I genuinely didn’t know, but the longer I ruminated on it, the more I found myself wanting to accept. Ian was kind enough to tell me my place with his team would be waiting for me if I did decide to do it.

The only thing that was super off-putting was the degree of secrecy surrounding it. Sure, I’d been a part of projects that asked for confidentiality, but none to the point James had taken it. At least those past endeavors told me exactly what I would be doing. Here, I could only assume. They wanted me as a doctor, that much was obvious, but why? General health observations? Were they testing a new drug and are taking it to human trials? Whatever it was, I wouldn’t know unless I signed. Pushing myself up, I snagged a pen on the far side of the table, flipping the chunk of papers I’d been thumbing through the last three days to the back page and bringing the pen to it before I could talk myself out of it again. My hand signed my name easily, the motion a habit after spending so many years signing off on patient medical files.

Somehow, the weight of this signature felt heavier than usual…

To say James was ecstatic to hear that I’d agreed to assist with the project would be an understatement. The minute I’d stepped through the doors of the new research institute he was there to greet me.

“Dr. L/N! It’s so nice to see you again! How was the drive over? Hopefully security didn’t give you too much trouble.”

Unless he counted trouble as them having to verify my identity using two different types of identification and having to call to make sure I was on the guest list, then I guess not. If their team was anything, it was thorough. The thing that surprised me the most though was how many people were here. The front lobby we currently stood in was bustling with activity. Bodies in and out of elevators, front desk beginning to form a line, and a lounge area on the far side of the room was full. The large ceiling to ground windows allowed enough natural light that the overhead fluorescents probably weren’t even necessary. James pulled my attention back to him, hand held out. Not wanting to be rude, but not necessarily wanting a repeat of last time, I gave him a polite nod instead, gesturing to the coffee and contract in either hand.

“The drive was fine, thank you, and your security team take their job very seriously.”

“Ah, well, it won’t always be like that. Once we have you in the system and you’re given your badge, they’ll lighten up. For now, though, let me show you to the conference room and get your paperwork in order.”

I tried my best to tune James out while following him and paid more attention to where we were going. This place was massive. Easily five to seven times bigger than the lab I worked in with Ian. It didn’t take long for me to start forgetting my way around. Though, I blamed that on James’s excessive drive for conversation rather than my poor sense of direction.

“This is Bryce. She’ll go through all the paperwork with you and bring you to the downstairs lab when you’re finished so you can meet the rest of the team.”

A middle-aged woman stood upon our entry, giving me a stiff smile and offering her hand to shake.

“Dr. L/N, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it since James told me he had recruited you.”

“Oh? You know who I am?”

“I do. I’ve read several of your papers. Your work in blood disorders has been particularly fascinating.”

Finding myself a bit embarrassed, I thanked her, taking the seat she offered right across from her.

“I’ll leave you to it.” James grinned, giving the two of us a nod before slipping back out the door.

Bryce wasted no time, in debriefing me. She sorted through a host of folders next to her, sliding the first my way.

“We’ll start with the NDA and non-compete. It’s exactly how it sounds. We ask that you keep any information gathered for the duration of this project between the team and the team only. You won’t be allowed to participate in other research while part of this project. This one goes into a bit more detail about what we expect from you. To be frank, you’ll be working directly with our patients performing general observations about their condition and maintaining their health while in our custody. There’s a total of eight of them, you’ll be deemed their primary care doctor for as long as we need you.”

“Then they’re undergoing a new treatment of some kind?”

“Not exactly. Our information regarding them is limited. We’re not entirely sure what is considered within normal medical limits when it comes to their kind and, as far as I know, none of them have communicated with anyone other than each other.”

“Wait…” Her wording gave me pause as I stopped looking over the documents in front of me to meet her eyes. “You said “their kind”? What does that mean?”

“They’re something we’ve never encountered before.”

“Like a new previously undiscovered species?”

Bryce slowly nodded. “Yes, but ones not found on our planet.”

My brows nearly hit my hairline. I stared at her, waiting for her to crack a smile or otherwise tell me she was just joking with me. That this was some kind of prank they pulled on every new hire, but none of that happened. Sensing my disbelief, Bryce nodded again, gaze never wavering from my own and echoing with more sincerity than I could have imagined from someone who’s lips uttered her next words.

“They’re extraterrestrials.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m quite understanding. You’re telling me that you’re wanting me as a doctor for… aliens?” The last bit was a whisper, too afraid for someone nearby to overhear.

The word sounded absurd coming from me, but Bryce didn’t even miss a step as she continued leading me through the building. The rest of my paperwork was a haze of sloppy signatures and genuine bewilderment. The extraterrestrial bomb she had dropped on me hadn’t fazed her in slightest, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. They had a group of aliens here? As test subjects? Had I unknowingly walked right into some sci-fi movie? I couldn’t help but think back to my assumptions over what James could have possibly been hinting at when asking me to be part of this project and could have laughed in my own face now. I thought I would be working with people. I was a human doctor. How the hell was I supposed to play doctor for eight beings that no one even knew what they were?

“That’s correct.” Bryce affirmed, gesturing for me to board an elevator before entering behind me and selecting one of the bottom floors.

“I’m not sure I’d be much help in your case. I’ve spent my life studying human medicine. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I relayed my concerns, already feeling stressed at the thought of performing basic medical procedures on something I’d be essentially working from ground zero on.

Bryce shot me a tight-lipped smile. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised to see that although they’re not human, they’re remarkably humanoid.”

Still not convinced, I hesitantly shook my head, mouth opening to express my worries once more before she cut me off.

“Oh, one more thing. For the sake of privacy and for your safety, we’ve developed an alias for you to go by while you’re working with them. Everyone on the team has one in the event they’re working in close conjunction with patients. They’ll know you as Aurora.”

“Aurora?”

“Please use it when introducing yourself or communicating with them. We’ve explained to them who you are and what you’ll be doing. Aurora is who they know you as.”

“They’re familiar with our language?”

The elevator dinged with our arrival, opening into a spacious hallway that looked like something straight out of a movie. Paneled metal walls, bright white fluorescents overhead, no windows or people to be seen as Bryce exited with hardly a motion for me to follow.

“At least one of them that we know of can understand us. None of them speak except to each other, but it’s not in a language we recognize. We’re not sure how much they understand, but so far they have seemed familiar with the concept of what a doctor is.”

“You said they’re humanoid. How humanoid are we talking?”

She stopped to tap her card over a keypad, entering a quick five-digit pin right after before answering.

“Apart from a few odd nuances here and there that you wouldn’t see in people, nearly identical. At least on the outside. We’re hoping you’ll be able to provide some more clarification on how their bodies work. Our lab will be at your disposal. Any test you need, you can request for it and our technicians will have it done. You can think of this place as your personal hospital. It’ll work much like what you were used to when in practice.”

The lab was much larger than I expected it to be. Multiple desk spaces and bays sectioning the large room from one end to the other. I recognized several pieces of equipment like extraction hoods and centrifuges, but others I didn’t and though I was curious, I figured it would probably be devices I wasn’t allowed to operate without having been trained on them. As packed full of equipment and inventory it was, there was a glaringly obvious lack of people to run a lab of this size.

“Dr. Park?” Bryce called out.

Her voice carried throughout the room, a quiet clatter drawing our attention to one of the bays located on the far end as a body stumbled into the main aisle.

“There he is.” Bryce’s face split with what I would consider the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her since our meeting upon setting eyes on the man. “Dr. L/N, this is Dr. Park Jimin. He’s our head of biomedical science research here. He’ll be spearheading the project with you. Dr. Park, this is Dr. Y/N L/N.”

Unlike Bryce, Dr. Park’s smile came off a lot more natural as he quickly stripped himself of his nitrile gloves before offering me his hand.

“Dr. L/N, it’s a pleasure. I was hoping James would be able to convince you to join this project.”

His brown bangs looked as if he had attempted to brush them back, but at some point during the day they had fallen forward again, several strands covering his forehead while the rest framed the sides of his face. His features were small, but profound, almost angelic. Brown eyes nearly disappearing entirely as his smile widened. He was cute. Easily the prettiest man I’d ever seen.

“Dr. Park is the one who introduced me to your work initially.” Bryce supplied.

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever published and co-authored.”

I found myself turning a bit shy under his blatant admittance. His own cheeks coloring a cherry red when he realized how his statement sounded.

“I-I mean, your work has been so interesting.”

“Thank you Dr. Park. I’m flattered.”

“Please call me Jimin. Dr. Park makes me feel like I’m older than I actually am.”

“Feel free to call me Y/N in that case.”

I could practically feel the tension rolling off Bryce. The way she shifted uncomfortably before clearing her throat and moving to make sure my attention turned to her instead of Jimin made me curious as to whether there was more between the two of them than simply work colleagues.

“Dr. Park will be in charge of running the lab primarily although he’s been temporarily performing your duties until you got here. Your patients know him as Siren, so please refer to him as such when in their company.”

“You’ve worked with them already?” I asked, surprised and eager to know more.

“Doing what little I could. I’m no doctor, so my clinical expertise is rather limited. My observations are rather bare I’m afraid, but if you would like some help with them, I’m more than happy to.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take you away from your staff here.”

“I’ll be spending most of my time in here anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to get out every once in a while.” He chuckled.

The click and whir of the door behind me had all of us turning to see who was entering. He was intimidating, dark green military uniform stretched over a tall frame and broad shoulders as he ducked into the room. His expression was void of any semblance of kindness even as he took notice of me and headed in our direction.

“Excellent timing General Baek.” Bryce’s tight smile was back as she gestured between me and the newcomer. “This is Dr. L/N, the one James requested specifically.”

“I’ve been informed.” He gave a curt nod before shaking my hand. “Dr. L/N, I am General Jiho Baek. I’ll be in charge of your safety and overseeing the progress of this endeavor.”

“General.” I nodded politely.

A familiar face rounded the impressive form of General Baek, his overly enthusiastic demeanor not dampened in the slightest in the face of the rather stoic General.

“I thought it would be as good a time as any to take Dr. L/N to see who she’ll be working with.” James grinned, taking in the faces around him. “I’ve put in a request for your badge and card access. Hopefully they’ll have it by the end of the day. In the meantime, General Baek and I will show you the rest of the facility.”

My curiosity was dying to be alleviated and though I tried to keep my composure, it didn’t escape my notice that my nod of agreement probably came off more excited than I intended it to. I was ready to see exactly what I would be getting myself into as doctor for eight extraterrestrials. General Baek turned to exit first, feet carrying himself back the way he came without another look behind him. James motioned for me to go first, allowing me to take the lead while he remained a step or two behind me until we entered the hall, and he could fall into step with me.

“How are you feeling? Did Bryce explain to you what we expect?”

“The best she could without actually showing me I suppose.”

“And? I’m all ears for questions or concerns. It means a lot to me that you find yourself comfortable while you’re here.”

Ignoring the last bit, I cast a nervous glance towards General Baek. He gave no indication that he was listening, his eyes were trained forward, and his back was like a wall between me and whatever he was leading me to.

“Is it safe? Working with them I mean?”

James’s mouth opened to answer, but he was cut off by the man I thought wasn’t paying us any mind.

“Your security is important to us Dr. L/N. As long as you follow our instructions, your safety won’t be something you’ll need to be concerned about.”

James nodded as a second to his words. “He’s right. General Baek and his team are the best soldiers we could ask for to help us with this. They’re efficient and careful.”

I hummed, opting to believe it when I see it. Or, I guess, see them for myself. I tried to count the number of doors and corridors we traveled through, but once again, I found myself losing track of my way around. James, looking rather amused, tried his best to point out what was where for me.

“It’s rather confusing trying to find your way around. I’ll have a layout printed for you to keep with you until you feel comfortable navigating the halls yourself.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“I noticed you met Dr. Park. Charming, isn’t he?”

I made a noncommittal noise, eyeing the two soldiers stationed outside a set of doors we were approaching.

“He’s a force to be reckoned with in his field. Everyone a part of this team is.”

“Is there anyone else here I should know?”

The two men saluted their superior, moving aside to allow him access to the door as James flashed his badge for one of them to look over.

“You’ve met the main players. Dr. Park will be manning the lab, you’ll be handling patient affairs, Bryce handles all legalities associated with projects involving live specimens, I’ll be making sure everything runs smoothly and acting as a direct line of communication between you and those in charge of this project, and General Baek is committed to keeping you and the other members of the team safe. Anyone else you’ll come across will most likely be under Dr. Park or General Baek. We’ve gone to great lengths to make sure we involve the least amount of people possible while maintaining policy requirements.”

James placed a hand at the small of my back, urging me through the first entry point right behind General Baek. There were two locked doors to go through it seemed. Both requiring card access and a pin number.

“I’ll make sure you have access to this hall. Apart from General Baek and you, Dr. Park also had access. We’ve limited the number of people allowed inside for security and privacy reasons. If at some point you’ll need someone who doesn’t have access to accompany you, you’ll need to file an order for it otherwise they won’t be allowed entry.”

“You and Bryce don’t have access?”

“Our job doesn’t require us to work with them directly, so our presence here won’t be required as often as it would be beneficial to be given access. If we need to, we’ll put in a request.”

The second set of doors buzzed loudly, announcing our arrival.

“Please refrain from using actual names from this point forward.” General Baek reminded me, pushing the heavy doors inward.

Almost immediately, the single hall split into three different directions. Two on opposite sides and one continuing straight. Both opposite halls were blocked by another door with two more guards each stationed outside of them.

“There’s a total of eight patients. Four in each hall.” General Baek explained, turning to the right and nodding for one of the guards to open the door. “You’ll find two rooms on either side, four in total each containing one specimen.”

I felt my heart beginning to pound harder as the doors slowly slid open. My nerves getting the better of me as my fingers started trembling and my palms felt hot. General Baek stepped in first without hesitation, only turning to look at me when I stalled in the doorway. James waited patiently behind me, his hand finding placement on my back again. The touch forced me forward, finding it a bit odd that he kept finding some way to keep in contact with me. Although the movement dispelled some of my fear as I walked over to meet General Baek in front of the first window.

“These windows are one-way. You’ll be able to walk the hall and observe without them seeing you. Some of them have shown an inclination of hearing you though, even through the glass and walls, so please know that they’ll more than likely be aware that you are here anyway.”

As if to prove his point, the patient inside tilted his head toward us. The fiery red hair was a bit unexpected, but that was probably no more shocking than how utterly human it looked. He stood from his perch on the bed, eyes roaming the glass in front of him as if he stared hard enough, the people speaking would manifest behind it. A lock of his hair caught on the piercing in his left eyebrow when he tilted it again, a little further this time. A flash of annoyance appeared to flare in his dark brown eyes before he quickly lost interest and moved back to his bed.

“Numbers 6438, 2641, 9485, and 9038 are in this hall. 1941, 9573, 1431, and 7753 are in the other.” General Baek explained, not fazed by my amazement at all.

He kept walking further down the hall and while I wanted to stay to continue my observation of the first alien I’d ever set eyes on, I figured my job would allow me ample time to do exactly that later. Reluctantly, I followed, eagerly glancing through the other windows as he stopped in front of another.

“Numbers?” I asked, eyes following his movements as he pointed at number plaques on the walls beside each glass pane.

“Identification numbers. Use them to keep track of your records respective of each specimen.”

“They don’t have names?” I inquired, easily finding the next patient within this room.

He was already standing right next to the window. He was incredibly tall, head almost brushing the ceiling above him until he bent over to see the glass better. Or rather, so I could see him better I supposed since he couldn’t see us.

“We haven’t asked. If they do, the chances of us being able to call them by their given names isn’t likely if their language isn’t one we’re familiar with. Besides, none of them speak. It’s easier and more convenient if you’ll just refer to them with the last four digits of their ID when speaking. Use the entire number for your records.”

“Understood.” I muttered, watching as the creature in front of me matched the head tilt of the first one we saw.

His two-toned brown hair looked incredibly soft. It fell into his big, brown, doe eyes gracefully. His eyes kept flickering from one end of the mirror to the other, straining to see who was there.

“Well then,” James chirped, clapping his hands together. “Dr. Aurora, I’ll show you where your office is and the medical bay where you’ll be conducting your health checkups.”

I nearly didn’t catch the use of my alias. My eyes were glued to the being in front of me as a flash of recognition lit his dark irises. Slowly, my gaze dropped to his lips as the perfectly plump red flesh moved to form the name for himself.

Aurora.

“Doctor?”

I blinked, yanking myself from whatever snare I had fallen into to look over my shoulder at James.

“Yes.” I nodded, bringing my thoughts back. “Let’s continue.”

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