#blakael

Haddonfield was foggy today. The first of October was a day of fear. The people in the once quiet neighborhood hidden away until October ended. No one wanted to risk a moment outside with Michael Myers stalking the streets. Who could blame them? Especially after Laurie Strode's unfortunate death in the hospital.

Still, there was one person outside.

A newcomer to the once sleepy little town, who made his own way as a masked killer. The pitter-patter of cat paws followed his every step as his little family of furry companions walked with him.

Blake, or The Painter, pointed the camera in his hand this way and that, capturing everything in the lense. The foggy place was hauntingly beautiful, like a horror movie, but oddly comforting in its silence and atmosphere. Painter wanted to capture as much of it as possible, his mind inspired by the sights. Perhaps he could use this inspiration for a piece? He'd need supplies for that, though.

As he walked, he heard footsteps just beyond the fog, making him pause. He raised the camera, tilting his head like a confused animal.

Then he saw it. A giant figure staring back at him from the fog, wearing a white mask and brandishing a butcher's knife. Many in this situation would yell, run, or maybe even fight back. Painter, however? He stood there, raising an eyebrow behind his white cat-like mask. He looked down at his right hand, which still held the serrated blade of a sharpened bread knife, still stained red with blood. Another man wearing a mask, brandishing a knife spattered in blood?

Painter hesitated, trying to analyze the situation, mulling over if proceeding was a good idea. He saw no aggression in Michael's body language, and the mask made it hard to see his expression. So it was hard to tell. Painter tilted his head again, unsure of this stranger's intentions.

After a moment, Painter snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground, and the cats obeyed, staying put while Painter stepped away, coming closer to the man in the mask, holding his knife tight in one hand and the camera in the other.

As he got close, he saw Michael tilt his head, which made Painter pause. "…Hello…?" He asked. Michael stared, not responding.

Painter was only a foot away from him, looking The Shape up and down. A thought crossed his mind. What if this man was like him? Was this masked man locked away by his parents as well?

"You… were locked away, too?" Painter asked, lowering the camera a little. Michael almost looked like he was about to act before Painter asked that, but he paused.

…They just stared at one another for a moment. It almost felt like hours they were staring at each other.

That is until they heard a voice. "Hello? Who's out there?!" The gruff voice of a man, the cocking of a shotgun sounding, as well. Michael turned his head for a split moment, turning toward the voice with murder on his mind. He turned back to look at Painter again, but… he was gone, along with the cats.