#haddonfled

𓊔﹒𓌹 𓂃 𓌺    “𝙷𝙴𝚈, 𝙿𝚄𝚂𝚂𝚈! 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙴?” it’s rare of frank to regret his actions, but when he does, it’s usually an immediate response. this time it’d been a slow burn. frank can see him in the distance, looming, as he does. frank grips the infamous captain kirk mask tighter in his fist, feeling his nose and mouth twist into a poignant sneer. michael is holding … something. something pink, so pink it shines through the ubiquitous mist of frost. the killer himself is but a vignetted blur from their perch on a snow drift. as if to retaliate silently, michael finally prowls forward. he seems far too fast for his pace, though that’s a given considering how hulking the man is. it’s then that the fear is asphyxia, & the cutting malice emanating from the mammoth form of myers is a beast peering out through the pits of matter that make up his skull [ & his skin, milk-white, like … hospital lightbulbs & sterile things as opposed to the pureness of the snow  ]. the frost brutally assails their cheeks— his, joey’s and and julie’s, their paper mâché masks presently hiked atop their heads — clouds of white stream from their mouths, smoke from three stationary chimneys collecting stray hail and frost. they’re still, anticipatory & hunched like they’re waiting for the ball to drop on new years eve.

and, finally, it does, & the chaos erupts around him in turn. michael myers releases what he’s clutching with an elastic thunk, and the flash of pink spins forward like a snowball, collecting flakes and twigs in its mass as it rolls. finally, it stills about a meter from their soggy sneakers. it’s only then that they, as a collective, finally accept what they’d all been dreading, like a sudden sob clawing at the back of an aching throat; it’s susie’s head, severed cleanly, lain out on the snow like a gash in the skin of some great white giant, drooling red from the wet end. she’s still masked, as if her murderer had intended not to preserve her dignity but had killed her regardless of it. 

"𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩." his head spins, and a dismal wailing rises— a roar, as if an army of voices had groaned in his ears. he capitulates to the horror. he falls into it like a booby trap, suddenly, surprising himself enough to gasp back the cry in his throat. of all the brash midnight promises made between their little legion, there had always been one that was universally agreed; never let susie out of your sight. she’s just a kid.  a sister, purine and occasionally annoying, but in the end, a treasure. come their missions of mayhem back home, she was the legion’s unspoken glass cannon; deft and easy to conceal, easy to blend despite her bright pink hair, just another sweet-faced kid. she’s always had that rapt tenderness. good fucking god. he’s going to throw his guts up onto the ground if julie doesn’t beat him to the punch. 

silent  is  she,  calculating  is  the  way  she  studies  him,  dark  stare  following  his  motion  quickly  and  it’s  there  she  barks  out  laughter.  short,  loud,  followed  easily  with  the  throw  of  her  knife,  rusted,  stained  fresh  with  wet  viscera,  up,  up,  only  to  be  caught  betwixt  pale  fingers  just  as  smoothly.  julie  wasn’t  one  to  converse  with  many  of  the  other  homicidal  freaks  that  served  as  mere  acquaintances  in  the  quiet  ‘tween  what  the  entity  commanded  and  what  free  time  they  had,  no.  that  was  all  frank   —   sometimes  joey  if  he  really  felt  so  inclined,  but  more  often  than  not,  frank  ran  the  show  legion  paraded  around.  

she  was  happier,  if  one  could  call  it  that,  more  invested  in  just  sitting  and  watching.  observing  them  and  their  habits  to  adopt  some  in  her  own  fashion  (  with  every  day  a  monotonous  hellfest,  she  needed  inspiration  SOMEHOW  ),  often  opting  to  fuck  around  with  a  few  of  them  (  steal  traps,  lay  them  down  in  the  brush  and  watch  from  a  distance  with  cruel  humor  ).  she  owed  no  one  anything,  if  they  wanted  to  fuck  around  with  her  to  pass  the  time  they  were  more  than  welcome  to,  but  she  had  no  business  making  friends  here  (  she  had  her  pleasures,  her  family,  and  that’s  all  there  was  to  it  ).  enemies  ?  she’d  welcomed  the  moment  they’d  stepped  through  that  fog,  amanda  especially  made  for  a  very  amusing  pet,  if  not  dangerously  annoying.  julie’s  entertainment  definitely  came  from  pissing  her  off  if  nothing  else.

still,  there  was  no  helping  her  own  interpersonal  intrigue  that  arose  from  HIS  approach.  ‘  the  shape  ‘  as  he  was  so  aptly  named  (  an  all  too  embarrassing  reminder  of  one  too  many  b  -  movie  horror  flicks  she’d  watched  in  ormond,  fuckin’  cheesy  as  all  hell  but  who  was  she  to  judge  ),  he  was  nothing  short  of  warning  sirens,  the  same  she’d  hear  back  home  when  shit  got  too  real  and  snow  storms  threatened  to  smother  all  in  their  path,  lay  waste  to  houses  and  families  alike.  she’d  found  the  resemblance  fitting  in  a  fucked  up  way,  laughed  about  it  with  joey  to  stave  off  any  lingering  nerves  (  serial  murderers  with  fucking  anxiety,  what  a  joke  that  was  --  no,  they’d  pave  their  path  like  promised,  julie  would  make  sure  of  it  ).  

maybe,  she  wondered,  this  was  what  nightmares  were  made  of,  the  survivors  all  seemed  pretty  damn  sure  of  it;  intimidating  auras,  unreadable  demeanor  that  she’d  study,  study  until  she  made  her  own  story  out  of  it.  for  that’s  all  killing  was  really,  copycats  upon  copycats  until  they’d  decidedly  made  their  own  brand  out  of  nothing  but  a  row  of  achievements  that  laid  neatly  beneath  the  earth. documentaries,  news  paper  articles,  folktales,  her  own  pen  scratched  notebook  she’d  managed  to  find  in  the  snow  one  day,  a  gift  from  the  entity  she  figured,  filled  with  ‘  tips  &  tricks  ‘  and  all  the  gory  details  a  young  homicidal  prodigy  might  best  equip  themselves  with.  at  the  very  least,  watching  him  in  the  silence  of  it  all  with  a  gaze  trained  too  steadily  to  be  entirely  without  life,  she  had  something  new  to  add  to  her  list.

❝   what  —  you  want  me  to  go  get  ‘em  ?   ❞   there  was  a  sliver  of  mockery  in  her  voice,  laughter  still  on  the  edges  of  it  as  she  shifted  her  head,  peering  down  at  the  familiar  blade  with  that  special  letter  scratched  into  the  wood  of  it,  handle  growing  warm  in  her  palm.

NO    REASON.      NO    CONSCIENCE.      NO    UNDERSTANDING.