Trick or Treat

Anna stretched and yawned, blinking sleepily at the digital clock on her dresser. \Only 12:00… it seems like it should be much longer…\
It had only been a half hour since the Myers house. Since him… and it had not been a dream, as the pleasant soreness between her legs testified.

She examined herself in the mirror, searching for some sign: guilt, pain, /anything/ – she should have felt /something/, dammit. And wishing he were lying in her bed instead of her old stuffed animals did not count as a feeling!
Besides, she'd only done what she had to in order to survive. He'd probably forgotten everything, or would soon. It didn't matter: she was just a toy, right? What she felt didn't matter, never had…

Anna chuckled and ran a hand through her dark blonde hair, smiling slightly at her reflection. \Alas, self-pity, I know you well – a being of infinite jest, and of excellent fancy.\ She laughed out loud at her thoughts and climbed into bed, her good humour restored.
For a minute, before she allowed her exhausted body to drop off into sleep, she thought she saw a flash of white…


Michael watched her slid under the covers and settle, feeling his heart thud against his ribcage. She was so… different. He wanted her, and he wasn't sure why. He'd never felt the need for what they'd done together, not understood why humans were willing to go such ridiculous lengths for something that seemed so silly and left them so vulnerable…

Now he understood. Hoo boy, did he understand.

Some tiny part of him was trying to point out that this was not usual for him, that technically he should be /killing/ her for making him feel, making him human… but this was overwhelmed by a certain portion of his anatomy, which had a very different idea of what to do.
And Michael had never been one to ignore his instincts.

The masked killer crept silently towards her window. She was on the ground floor – it was easy for him to pry it open, with his strength, and crawl into her bedroom, pushing the curtains out of the way.

She slept facing away from the window, the streetlamp throwing muffled light across her face. There was something about her… and for the first time in his long career, Michael regretted his lack of a formal education. It was irritating, not having the names for things.
He stole closer to her bed, watching carefully. If she /did/ wake up, he wanted time to make sure she wouldn't scream. As it happened, he knelt at the side of her bed without waking her, reaching out a hand to touch her hair.

The hand hovered for a while before slowly lowering and coming to rest on her hair. His breathing sped up almost imperceptibly as his hand followed the curvature of her body, running underneath the covers. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that she was wearing very little in the way of pyjamas. She was soft and warm…
Touching her wasn't enough. Michael wanted what had happened before, but for some reason didn't feel quite up to it.

Anna shifted in her sleep and rolled onto her back. Taking advantage of her new position, he began tracing the mounds of her breasts almost contemplatively, wondering…
Eventually reaching some sort of inner consensus, he pulled his mask up a little – not much, just enough to expose his mouth – and bent to kiss her. Even this failed to wake her, and he felt a stir of pride that she was so tired out.
She tasted sweet. Michael very nearly lost his treasured control and took her again, nevermind if it would wake her up. He settled for kissing down the curve of her neck and the hollow of her throat, his fingers holding her sides. One hand slid under her, lifting her up slightly and allowing for easier access to her breasts. The other hand left her side and twined in her hair. He lost track of time, his world narrowing to her and everything he was feeling. If he'd been in his right mind he would have been horrified at his lack of awareness… but she had a way of putting him out of his right mind.

Finally he unwrapped himself from her and rearranged his mask, petting her one last time before standing and making for the window. As he was just about to climb out, he heard a noise behind him and turned swiftly, for a moment framed by the light from the streetlamp. Anna was awake, and staring at him. She rubbed her eyes, unsure of her own sight.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

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

The day was cold and bright, sunlight filtering down from a clear grey sky. Brown leaves swirled along the sidewalk, brushing against Anna's shoes.
Since it was the day after Halloween, and the night had passed with no obvious incident, the entire town seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She'd done a very good job of seeming to share in that relief, even to the point of reciting a falsified version of her adventures in the Myers house. Heavily falsified.
The truth was… she wanted to see Michael again. While she knew, intellectually, that he was responsible for dozens of deaths, she couldn’t reconcile the formidable boogeyman of legend with the hesitant, /needing/ man she'd encountered. He'd been so… human.

She shivered involuntarily, remember how very warm he'd been. He'd seemed to radiate heat… and he'd felt so right, moving inside her …
Mark had always seemed vaguely detached from the process, accepting sex as his due, his right as her boyfriend, but not really caring, overall. When all's said and done he could get laid by pretty much any other girl in the school. It might have been a simple consequence of Michael's virginity, but he'd been as lost in the act as she had. And then afterward, when she'd kissed him, he'd seemed almost afraid, stiffening for a beat before relaxing and letting his arms go around her. She'd felt something then, and couldn’t tell whether it came from him or her… but a sort of wonder had been there. As if praying it wasn't a dream.

Come to think of it, if it weren't for the lingering soreness she might very well think it had been, brought on by her fear of the house and lack of sexual activity for a little over a year. For some reason the idea that she might forget terrified her. She didn’t /want/ to forget – she wanted to remember.

He'd felt so right…

Anna turned into her driveway and walked into her house, not noticing the tall, white-faced figure across the street, watching her every move.


Once inside, she dropped her backpack on the floor and went to the kitchen for some water. The back door was wide open, swinging slightly in the autumn wind. Puzzled, she stuck her head into the backyard and seeing nothing, shrugged and closed the door.

A plaintive meow sounded from somewhere around her ankles and she looked down to see her cat, Mistoffeles J. Krueger, sitting on his haunches and doing his best to look like an African famine victim. She chuckled and got out his food.
While Misto ate, Anna stared out the window and wondered if she was insane for thinking he'd maybe come to see her. She knew it was him she'd seen, standing against the window. Then again, he's vanished so quickly…

If it /had/ been him – if Michael had come to her room – what did it mean? Could he…?

Anna shook her head and gulped water quickly, fighting her rising flush. \I'm not gonna think about that. I'm not.\


She managed to get all the way to her room and through her homework before the darkening sky brought her thoughts back to last night. She shifted irritably in her chair, suddenly restless and uncomfortable. This led to her rapid pacing around the room, not noticing her closet door swinging slowly open.
Finally she decided the source of her discomfort lay in her clothing – she hadn’t changed from her fairly formal school clothing to the casual, half-shredded clothing she wore around the house. Retrieving said garments from the floors by her bed, she wiggled out of her jeans and pulled on sweatpants, then yanked off her shirt and put on a baggy green one with the Ninja Turtles logo. It was when her head emerged from the shirt that she noticed who was standing behind her.
Reflexively, she screamed.
Equally reflexively, Michael clamped a hand over her mouth and wrapped one arm around her waist. Anna bit off her muffled scream and stared wide-eyed at their reflections. \Oh god… Michael… he came back…\

She relaxed into his embrace, not really thinking about it. \God, he's so warm…\

Feeling her relax, Michael dropped his hand down to waist and pulled her close, liking the way she felt against him. Anna covered his large, calloused hands with her own small ones, stroking them gently. He choked back a groan and picked her up, backing up until he was able to sit down on the bed, drawing her across his lap. Anna curled against him, completely passive, and the power he had over her was… well, exciting.
She let out a little sigh and pressed closer. Deciding that sitting upright was a hassle, he shifted so that he was lying prone on the bed, Anna pressed to him. To his slight chagrin, he discovered that Anna's bed was a few inches too short and had to shift again, this time propping himself up on the headboard.

Anna laughed softly, raising herself up a little, and stroked his masked cheek. Michael grabbed her errant hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across her palm, caressing it. Anna gasped and felt herself melt, letting herself fall back onto his chest. Her earlier tension was forgotten… this was right. Somehow just lying there, being held by Michael Myers, felt more real then all the roses Mark had ever brought her.


How long they stayed that way, occasionally touching, but mostly just being with each other, neither knew. Sadly, their peaceful reverie was shattered by an angry scream from upstairs. Anna bolted upright, accidentally elbowing Michael, who almost took umbrage and was stopped by the frozen look of horror on her face. The scream was followed by muffled cursing and incoherent, furious shouts. There were two voices – one male and one female – then the sound of something shattering.
That was what broke Anna's terrified stillness. She buried her face in his chest, murmuring something he had to strain to hear over the screaming upstairs. It was only when he felt moisture soaking through his jumpsuit that he realized she was crying, and that the voices upstairs must be her family.

He tensed, wanting to get up and stop the noise, by any means necessary. Anna felt him trying to get up and sat back on the bed, face streaked with tears.

"Please don't go?"

It was the hopelessness in her voice that made him stop. She seemed to expect him to leave, which frankly puzzled him. Why would he leave her? Anna was /his./
He put out a hand and wiped the tears off her face. She bowed her head.

"I… you wouldn’t want to stick around while they're fighting, I guess."

Michael blinked behind his mask as realization dawned. She thought…
Not having the words to reassure her, he settled for pulling her into a tight embrace. She nestled gladly in his arms, clinging tightly to his jumpsuit. He felt the old, familiar rage bloom inside him… only this time, a little different. The rage was directing itself at everyone except the small figure he held in his arms. His grip on her tightened, just a little, just barely near painful, and his thoughts focused down to a single word.

\Mine.\