Trick or Treat

Afraid that everything remains unchanged
In this fragile dream
Ashamed of the shattered remains
Of promises made...
~HIM

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

School was a throng of countless adolescents trying to find some sort of meaning in life. This effort would consummate in the distant land known as "college," but for now, their two-second musings were enough to keep them satisfied. Any other mental activity was sorted underneath school drama, drugs, or pseudo-relationships that involved heavy groping and angsty breakups.

Anna's breakup with Mark went under all three categories.

She stood in the school parking lot, tears in her eyes. She had tried to forget Mark Withers, of course. Her brief experience with him wasn't something she was keen on remembering. However, like most things people care to forget, he remained an integral part of her thoughts, ingrained with her emotions in a way that made her feel less than secure. They'd managed to avoid each other for a year, Mark becoming one of the "in-crowd" and Anna remaining one of the girls who sat at home watching Friday the 13th and laughing at the goofy deaths.

But Mark was never one to give up a conquest. He'd seemed to realize that Anna was no longer fawning over him the way that she used to, and began to argue with her that day in the lunchroom. She'd left him to her friends. She didn't want anyone to see her cry.
And cry she did, silent streams of tears making their way down her face to drip onto the pavement. What made the situation even worse was that Michael was nowhere to be found. It had been a week since he'd come to her room, and she'd neither seen nor heard of him in the space between.

She didn't understand her relationship with him. It made no sense to associate herself with the man who'd killed countless innocent people. Yet every time he was near her, all logic disappeared, and there was only the strange attraction left which felt perfectly normal to her only when he was near. She automatically melded into him whenever they touched... and yet she'd been so wary of physical contact with Mark.

\Maybe you should push aside those pesky morals for a change. Just go back in there, tell Mark to go fuck himself, and move on. While you're at it, tell him you fucked Michael Myers. That oughta get his attention. It'd certainly get everyone else's.\

She was so absorbed in herself that she didn't notice the black pickup truck pull up to the curb at the corner.


Michael studied her for a while, the being that had kept him restless all week. How he'd wanted her again, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft flesh beneath his. He'd tried desperately to ignore such weakness, but to no avail. He therefore had preoccupied himself with a bit of... research.

Humans engaging in such physical activity weren't hard to find. He'd found them in bedrooms, kitchens, even porta-potties. They all varied with how they went about the task. One couple was harsh, violent, even. Another pair was soft and slow. Another had even incorporated the use of food, a concept Michael found confusing but acceptable. That woman had screamed so loudly that Michael had been tempted to kill her but he restrained himself, wanting to see what came next.

He wondered if /she/ would make such noise.

The rest of the week had been spent preparing. He knew what he had to do now. If she was to stay with him forever, he would have to make sure that she'd never want to leave. She was his -- her leaving him was not an option. He wanted what she'd given him for eternity.

She stood on the sidewalk, cupping her forehead in her hand. This sign of distress was similar to the one she'd shown a week ago. He pulled the truck around and stopped in front of her.

She went to the passenger window. "What are you doing here?" she asked, a mix of surprise and relief on her face. When he gave no answer, she opened the door.

"Hey, Anna!" came a voice. A young male was running toward them. Michael stiffened considerably, reaching for his knife.
"Anna," the boy yelled again, reaching her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere," she responded coolly. "Nowhere that's any of your business, anyway, Mark."
"So cold, babe. I could get you in some deep shit for this."
"Likewise."

Oh yes, definitely likewise... Michael fingered the handle of the knife lovingly, longing to sink the blade into the boy's flesh. How dare he even look at her that way, as though he wanted her. She was /Michael's/ possession. Michael didn't share.

"Frankly," she added, "I don't care what you tell Principal Carpenter. You could tell him I made out with the Pope. Just leave. Me. Alone."

"You just keep up that smartass mouth, Anna!" he yelled as she got in on the passenger's side. "Keep it up! I love a challenge!"

"Just drive," she muttered to Michael. "Get me the fuck out of here."

He complied, though his instincts told him otherwise.

He would deal with this "Mark" later.

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

When they arrived at the Myers house he led Anna to a room dimly lit by candles, the flames casting shadows across the walls. It had taken him forever to prepare the area. It had been very easy to break into the homes of unsuspecting people and steal their belongings, but it was difficult moving large items -- such as the bed and the bedside table -- from house to house. The large drapes he'd taken from a clothesline. They were a deep, rich maroon. The little sunlight that filtered through them added to the moody effect.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Anna turned and looked at him, as if to ask whether it was true or merely a dream. He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation and allowed herself to be drawn to him. He held her for a moment, feeling the small curve of her body melding into his, before beginning to caress her face.

She wouldn't want to leave him after this. She couldn't leave him after this.

His fingers brushed lightly over her cheekbones, following the curve to her neck and throat, where he felt her swallow audibly.

Anna's hands followed a similar pattern against his skin. However, before she reached his collarbone, she paused at his mask, fingering the rubber contemplatively. He wanted to push her away instinctively, but something held him back. She'd seen him once before. His eyes slid shut as she lifted the mask away from his face.

When she gave no immediate reaction, he opened his eyes. She was quietly studying him, as though memorizing every scar and curve. There was no look of remorse or disgust in her eyes, merely curiosity.

He kissed her.

The feel of her lips made him want more. Without ceasing to kiss her, he picked her up in his arms and set her down on the bed. Every inch of her body was pressed to his. He gave a shuddering sigh into her mouth.

Slowly, he began to undress her, pulling her shirt up over her arms. Her skin was white and creamy, soft to the touch. He brushed his lips over her shoulders, pulling down the bra straps with his teeth, then kissing the skin they hid. Anna's soft sighs and her hands on his back only served to make him harder in a specific region.

His hands slid under her back and lifted her up, fingers finding the clasp of her bra. He removed it and placed it in the growing pile beside the bed. Her breasts were revealed, the pink nipples growing hard under his gaze. Still holding her from behind with one arm, he brushed his other thumb over her right nipple. Anna gave a small whimper, and he did it again, harder this time. Her back arched, breath escaping her mouth in a cry of pleasure.

Pulling his arm out from beneath her, letting her slide back onto the mattress, he concentrated on removing her jeans next. They were tight around her waist, so after unbuttoning and unzipping them, he had to lift her legs to pull them down and off. He realized, with widening eyes, that she was not wearing any underwear.

Anna was completely naked now, lying beneath him in a very provocative way. He kissed her lips briefly before tracing his lips down her chest and belly, pausing just before the curls between her legs. He parted her legs and gazed at what they had hidden, a slight growl of pleasure building in his throat.

"You're not going to...?" Anna whispered, looking at him in confusion.

His finger on her inner lips clearly stated he was. She cried out in surprise and pleasure as another finger joined this one, parting the folds and stroking the heat there. The desire to taste her, however, far overrode the desire to merely touch her, and he knelt in front of her.

The first touch of his tongue sent her into a frenzy, her back arching again and her heels digging into the sheets. He traced it first over her clit, then down to her opening, using long, languid strokes each time. She was screaming now, apparently no longer caring if anyone heard. He picked up the pace, desiring to see more of her pleasure, and he was immensely satisfied when she came seconds later.

He rose, licking the taste of her from his lips as he unzipped his jumpsuit. He had to be inside her. The throbbing was far too much for him to bear any longer.

Michael settled over her, wrapping his arms around her in one fluid movement. Anna did likewise, short nails raking into his back. His eyes fluttered closed as he entered her, her silken heat surrounding him and her soft moans music to his ears. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, encouraging him. He thrust into her again, reveling in each centimeter of warmth. He kissed her before building the same rhythm as he had before -- only now, much more controlled. Her pleasure was the most important thing.

He made sure to stroke every part of her, from the entrance to the very depths of her, receiving a rewarding cry each time. Her noises became louder with each movement, but it seemed like eternity before he felt her muscles clench him as she came. Her head thrown back in ecstasy; her eyes shut; her cheeks flushed -- his world focused on her for the briefest of moments, his orgasm shortly following.


Anna couldn't do anything except lie there and breathe. She didn’t want to, either, which was a good thing. Michael had collapsed on top of her, his breath warm across her neck, and she closed her eyes, feeling utterly at peace.
She made a small, protesting noise when he rolled off her, quickly silenced as he pulled her against him, gently stroking her back. She pressed against him, feeling every inch of his skin against hers, and let his heartbeat drown out the rest of the world.

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

Michael didn't stir until after sunset. Anna had stayed the entire time – not that he'd given her much of a choice in the matter. He'd discovered all sorts of interesting things about her in the course of the afternoon: those particular places that made her react in all sorts of interesting ways, the proper kind of touching… all in all, a very fruitful time.
Now she was asleep, sprawled out on the bed in the moonlight filtering through the bay window. He looked at her for a long time, propping himself up on one elbow. During his research, he had heard a few couples complaining about growing bored. Personally, he couldn’t understand how this was possible. He couldn’t see himself as ever tiring of her. Not when she accepted him so fully, without reservation…

Disturbed by the sentimental turn his thoughts had taken, Michael deliberately closed down that line of thought and got out of bed, dressing and pulling his mask back on. Anna wouldn’t wake for a few hours, at least – he'd made sure of that. Which left him with plenty of time to kill that boy who'd dared to look at her like she was something he could possess. Michael would not stand for that.

Besides, he'd upset Anna. What was his name again? Mark?


Mark was not difficult to find. He and two of his friends were waiting in the school parking lot, passing around what Michael knew to be drugs. They were laughing, apparently uncaring and in good spirits. He parked the truck a safe distance away, watching them and listening to their mindless drivel.

"...Yeah, man, got into a truck and just drove off."
"Shit. You didn't stop her?"

Mark grinned. "Didn't need to, man. I've got a plan."

Their voices grew hushed then, but Michael paid no mind. What Mark said would never be important: not after tonight. He bided his time, watching, until the boys went their separate ways. He waited a moment for Mark to get around the corner before following.


Cornering him in his room after he got home was easy. So was seizing him by the throat, pinning him to the wall, and slicing the tender flesh of his belly. Mark's screams and pleas of agony were cut short by the death grip around his neck. After the evisceration, Michael removed the boy's eyeballs, leaving them and the entrails on the bedside table as a kind of morbid decoration.

Mark would be dead by morning, but as Michael had been extra careful to crush his larynx, not a soul would discover the grisly sight until it was far too late.