Trick or Treat

Disclaimer: Michael Myers, Sam Loomis, and other assorted series paraphenalia belong to various other people who are not us. We are not making anything that could even vaguely be construed as a proft off this.
Anna is our own creation - steal her and we cry. Tears of BLOOD.

/words/ = italics

\words\ = thoughts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna couldn't believe she was doing this.

The house had loomed like a phantom since as long as she could remember; haunting the end of her street and striking fear into the heart of every person with enough sense to avoid it. Each and every child had heard the story of the boogeyman: how he had murdered his sister in that very house, been sent away to live in an asylum, and came back years later to exact revenge on his younger sister, Laurie Strode.
It seemed logical, then, that the house became the ultimate place of interest every Halloween. No one dared go near it, of course, but it still came up in every conversation. It was the one thing that people couldn't leave alone -- or rather, couldn't leave people alone.


Anna had a decent life. She gave her money to the Salvation Army at Christmas time, she did her chores (occasionally), she wasn't a skank like most of the people at her school... so why, then, was she cursed with such evil friends? She didn't deserve a dare like this, especially in the dead of night on Halloween.
The dare had been based entirely on blackmail. Fern and Kady had obtained pictures of Anna in her underwear -- she suspected they had been taken at her birthday party last year -- and threatened to blow them up and plaster them all over the school if she didn't comply. Of course she agreed to the dare... but that was before she'd had time to think it over.
She would go inside, remain for fifteen minutes (give or take), and then get the hell out of there as fast as her costume would allow. She was dressed like Freddy Krueger, a far cry from the Egyptian belly dancer she'd done the year before.


Inside the house was exactly how she'd pictured it. It was massive, due to the amount of missing furniture. What little furniture left was covered with white sheets and cobwebs. In fact, everywhere was covered in cobwebs in varying degrees. She shivered and, not wanted to look any longer, signaled out the window that she was safely inside. Across the street, Kady, Fern, Jon, and Kami waved in smug greeting.

She rolled her eyes. Happy assholes, she'd get them all soon enough...


A noise startled her, and she whirled around, heart thudding in her chest. A vase, full of age-old dirt, had fallen to the floor. Perhaps she had brushed against it.

She doubted that, considering it was across the foyer.

"Is someone there?" she whispered. Then, to lighten the weight of fear crushing her chest, she added in a mocking tone, "I have a Freddy glove and I will use it!"

No response. The silence seemed to give a little sigh.

\This isn't so bad,\ she thought with some chagrin. \No boogeyman. Just--\

She screamed, starting away from whatever brushed against her arm. A lamp. Okay. She was fine. She was alive.

Tentatively, she sat on a nearby chair. It gave slightly under her weight but fortunately didn't collapse beneath her. That was the last thing she needed at the moment. She checked her watch. Fuck. Another twelve minutes. With a groan, she decided to wait unmoving, twiddling her thumbs. Better to be bored than get in trouble with... well, with whatever was in the rest of the house.


She must've dozed off -- how she had done so in such a situation was beyond her, but she wasn't concerned with it -- because a few moments later, she seemed to regain her awareness.

This time, Anna was too scared to scream.

Standing in the entrance to the hallway was a tall figure, silhouetted by the moonlight behind him. She was aware of the taste of blood, possibly because of her tongue, clamped between her teeth in a terrified death-embrace. The figure didn't move, or speak, heightening her fear.

"W-who are you?" she managed to whisper after licking the blood from her lips.

He made no answer.

"Jon, if that's you, I will cut you, I swear."

A gleam caught her eye, and she realized with numb shock that she wouldn't be the one doing the cutting. She leapt from the chair, backing away.

"C'mon, Jon, this isn't funny," she said shakily.

He lifted his hand slowly, the knife gleaming. Her breath coming out in ragged hisses now, she backed away further, her back greeting the wall in foreboding contact. He followed, his full figure coming into the light. His face was covered by an eerily expressionless mask.

"Is this your house?" she whispered. "I'll leave, I promise, it was just a stupid dare--"

He swiped; she dodged just in time, her shriek muffled by the sleeve of her sweater as she fell to the floor. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, one thought registering in her head--

\The boogeyman\

-- before his hands were on her, seizing her by the waist and yanking her to her feet. She screamed and struggled valiantly to no avail. Then the knife was against her belly, and her screams turned to hysterical sobs.

"Please, please, I'll do anything--"

He tilted his head to one side, the only sign of humanity she had seen so far in him.

"Please," she continued. "J-just don't hurt me... please..."

He didn't do so, but at least he wasn't killing her. Yet.

Finally, after a few moments of bated breath and terrified silence, the knife was gone. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, tears filling her eyes.

He was close, painfully so. The mask revealed nothing of him; neither did the asylum suit he was wearing. These elements barely registered in her mind. She was too grateful to be alive to take much notice of his wardrobe.

His hand lifted slowly to her face, the charred flesh resting on her soft cheek. She trembled, the hysteria returning. But all he did was touch her.

\Anything...\

She shuddered at the thought and tried to shy away, but his grip on her arm kept her rooted to where she stood. He wanted to...

She did say anything. Maybe if anything was all it took...

It wasn't as though she was a virgin. Last year she'd had a boyfriend named Mark, who was very... demanding in bed. She knew precisely what she was doing. But not with the fabled boogeyman. Hell, that's what he was -- a fable. An urban legend.

Yet there she was, and he was asking something from her. She had two choices: fuck him and gain the chance to live another day, or have her intestines spilled across the dusty floor for her friends to find the next morning. It wasn't hard to make a choice.

"Is that what you want?" she whispered. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all his verbal response mattered, but his physical... well, that certainly spoke enough.

She was surprised when he began to touch her. She'd been expecting something brutal and quick, but then again, that was what she'd been used to after Mark. Not like... well, she supposed he had a name. Myers, was it? Michael Myers?

His name became irrelevant. His hands, surprisingly warm, slid underneath her red and green sweater and rested on her stomach, as if memorizing the plane. Then, without warning, he ripped the sweater from her body and discarded it.

Her arms, now crossed over her chest in an effort to hide herself, were pinned over her head in one swift movement. Her bra, unlike the sweater, was examined more closely. His free hand roamed over the satin cups, barely touching firmly enough to create any pressure -- and yet she shivered from something more than the cold.

\--life and death life and death life and death NOT SEXY NOT HOT DO NOT GET TURNED ON--\

However, like the sweater, the bra didn't last long. It too was torn off and tossed aside carelessly, which much to her chagrin caused a weird kind of excitement to build within her.

He gazed for some time at her bare breasts, made more pronounced by the heaving of her chest. Oddly enough, she didn't mind his scrutiny too much... perhaps because his mask hid his eyes. She felt like such a whore.

\It's just once. And only you find it embarrassing; he seems to be enjoying himself.\

Indeed, he was tentatively touching the side of her left breast--

\Shit, tentatively? Don't tell me he's a virgin.\

And yet, judging from his careful analysis of her body, and his fumbling mixture of rough and timid movements, virginity seemed to be very much the case. A brief surge of amusement, followed by the now-irritating excitement – \Damn hormones\ – coursed through her. The sooner she helped him, the sooner she'd be able to leave.

"Hey," she murmured, getting his attention. She pried a hand from his grasp and laid it on his chest, feeling the same warmth that seemed to permeate his fingers, then moved it down to his waist. He seemed to give a little jolt at that. Yeah, he was a virgin.

Deft fingers unzipped his suit, revealing a lean, muscular figure. Anna swallowed. Well, she certainly hadn't expected him to have a hot body at first glance, but here was something she'd never gotten from Mark -- the most beautiful skin she'd ever seen, made even more beautiful by the fact that it was real, not some cutout supermodel.

His breath hitched as she swirled a hand over his nipple, then down to his stomach. His skin was warm, adorned by scars. She paid extra attention to those. Most of them seemed to be burn marks, but some were made by a knife...

She started when he grabbed her hand and moved it aside. Okay, he was tired of that.

\Get it over with.\

Again to her embarrassment, a silken warmth had found its way between her legs through the course of events. She wasn't bothered by this, adding to her shock. Swiftly she unzipped her jeans and slid them down and off her legs, followed by her panties.

He followed her lead, discarding the asylum suit for good. Her eyes widened and she immediately looked away. He certainly hadn't lost any penis-size competitions at the loony bin while he'd been there...

His hands were back on her again, this time finding her breasts without hesitation and massaging them with more confidence than before. Her head lolled to the side, biting back a moan. She'd have to stay silent if this was going to work.

Without any sort of warning, she was in his arms, and he was carrying her to the sheet-covered couch in the den. He shoved aside the objects there irritably and dropped her. She let out a slight oomph but offered no more complaint. The couch was soft enough.

He climbed onto the cushions with her, his hands stroking her sides roughly. She grasped his arms, feeling the muscle ripple beneath his skin, and wrapped her legs around him. Gone was the pretense that she simply wanted to "get it over with."

She wanted him.

Caught up in the passion of the moment, ignoring the alarms blaring in her head that she was about to bang a murderer, she let out a harsh cry as he slid into her. Yes, he was definitely large, but in a very good way...

He hissed in slow pleasure as he pulled out of her and slid back in. Her nails raked his shoulders. He repeated the process, quicker this time. Then again, even faster. She had to struggle valiantly not to make any noise, hard as it was.

His rhythm gained speed, slamming into her with a grunt every time. The effort to keep silent was gone. She moaned loudly, too loudly for her own good, but she no longer cared. Euphoria was building.

She felt rubber on her cheek, and, confused, looked up at him. He was caught in rapture; the tightening muscles on his neck told her so. But she wanted to see his face. She pulled the mask away just as she came, yelling now in both surprise and pure ecstasy.

He was beautiful.

Moments passed in which pants died down into sighs, shuddering muscles relaxed and seemed to meld into one another, and aftershocks became dull aches. Her eyes never left his. They were empty pools of brown, leading her into his bottomless soul.

Then he reacted, leaping to his feet violently and seeking the knife. Her fear returned in waves, but this time she kept it in check, rising to her feet and crossing to him. She laid her hands on his face, much as he had done with her, and stroked his cheeks gently.
"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm not scared."

His eyes wide now, he gazed at her for a few moments longer before relaxing slightly.

She kissed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mass confusion was often an obligation amongst Anna and her friends.

"You okay?"
"You were in there for like forty-five minutes..."
"Damn, what happened to your sweater?"
"We heard you screaming."

"Fine," Anna began. "I got lost. My sweater got caught on a nail." She grinned. "Got you good with the screaming. Thought it was a nice touch."

Kady thwacked her on the head. "Don't friggin' scare us like that."

"Suppose we deserved it," Kami muttered.

"So, trick or treat?" Fern asked, heading off down the street.

"Treat," Anna murmured. "Definitely treat."