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Object of Obsession	By : Demona_Andariel Category: G through L > Halloween (All) > Halloween (All) Views: 1807 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Halloween movie series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
Michael paced in his room. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to regain his control. Regain the calm collected killer side of him that seemed to evaporate every time he entered the house and saw her. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.
With the morning clarity, he once again brought into question her and his reactions.
The walk back home, the night before, had taken a bit longer than he expected. By the time he’d gotten into the house, he was ready to just lay down and sleep. Somehow, exhausted.
Only, the moment he stepped inside and his eyes fell on her he had a slight change of plan. Sex felt out of the question, he was a bit tired. But, he was curious. She was standing up, by the dining room table, staring into the kitchen. Her whole body, her presence indicated that she was on alert. She didn’t notice him enter. Her face was incredibly schooled into odd determination as if she was ready to fight.
The moment he closed the door she relaxed and sat back down.
Although he clearly scared her, when she realized he was back, she looked relieved. It made him even more curious. Her comment and clear disappointment at him not killing people had amused him, to say the least. He didn’t bother correcting her. It wasn’t her wish that stopped him from killing people. It was just convenience.
As he had suspected she had a family. What had surprised him was the fact her family was so small. Apparently, her parents died in the accident that gave her those scars. As much as she clearly didn’t want him to kill the family she left, she had to know that he would do it, didn’t she? There was no way she thought that he would let them just take her away from him. Or that they would let her stay with him. She didn’t even want to stay with him.
He stopped mid-pace and exhaled loudly. A future problem to deal with then, not now. It was entirely possible she’d be dead by that point. Even if she was still alive, he wouldn’t let them just take her. He’d already killed her boyfriend, killing a family member wasn’t that much of a step up.
Pushing the inevitable to one side, he returned to his pacing. A smirk crossed his lips. Her comment about not sucking his cock made him want to test her on that. See if she truly meant to stick to her resolve. Her mouth spoke one thing, but her eyes said another. And that mouth. So warm and inviting. But for the fact that she was internally battling something else, he would have forced her.
Ah, those eyes. Burning with rage, desire, and sadness. Watching that fire burn inside of her as she demanded to be accepted for the way she was fascinated him. As if he cared about her looks. There was something about her that attracted him and that was all he needed. If they didn’t have that then she’d be dead. Brandon. Her boyfriend? The one he killed? He could only assume, didn’t accept her, clearly made her self-conscious about her looks. It made him all the more glad he killed the man. Not that he needed a reason to kill anyone.
Gretchen.
Michael shook his head as his pace quickened. No, don’t think it. He was a killer, a murderer. He wasn’t a lover. He liked pushing her buttons to see what made her tick. Liked seeing her struggle against his strength, knowing, in the end, she’d bend to his will. She was his toy. His plaything. His object of obsession, for now. And yet, she nearly saw his face.
He clenched his fists in frustration.
His cock started to lead his mind and body, demanding to breathe in her scent without the added rubber smell from his mask. And in that madness, that need, he had taken it off. Her soft fingers reaching back, feeling his face, he nearly turned her around to pick her up and kiss her. Slam her against the wall and fuck her. It was her own sudden realization that he wasn’t wearing his mask that knocked him back into reality. She wasn’t supposed to see his face. She was never going to see his face. And in that moment, the magic, sexual appeal between them disappeared.
And yet, he kissed her. The kiss had come out of nowhere. He just needed something from her. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t regret it. So soft, so simple, so intimate. It was too close, too soft, too intimate. Fuck, he liked it. It made him panic though. Him! Michael Myers. He had to get away from her, from the new. And he had left without his knife. It took him far too much time to realize he’d left it behind. It wasn’t that he was worried she’d hurt him. Could she hurt herself? Kill herself? He waited until he was sure that she was in her room before retrieving it. To his surprise, she had put it in the sink for him. She didn’t clean it though. At least, not yet.
She just kept doing things, little things that made him want to hold on to her all the more tightly. To make her completely his in that she’d never want to leave him. Fight him? Yes! He loved her struggles. But ultimately be his forever. Or at least, till his killer side was able to finally push back whatever curse kept her safe from him.
He glanced over at his knife. Blood, death, it was time. He picked it up and stepped out of his room, half expecting to see her coming out of her own looking as sleepy as she had the night before. But, her door was closed. Well, all the better.
He paused by her door for a moment. Morning sex? He could only imagine her grumpy unenthusiastic reply. He huffed at the thought. He looked down at his knife, twisting his wrist to examine it. No, he wasn’t up for sex just yet. He’d give her a few more hours of rest, but there was no way she’d escape a fuck when he returned.
Michael paused in the middle of the stairs, cocking his head to one side. Gretchen stood on the ground floor, eyes focused ahead. Curious. She still wore the same clothes from the day before. Had she not gone to bed? No, she had. He didn’t see her when he went downstairs to get his knife.
He walked the rest of the way down, then stopped behind her. She had one hand on her lip, tapping lightly. It was the only movement coming from her other than her breathing.
Odd. He moved to her side. He was quiet, sure, but she should have seen him, registered he was there.
Her gaze was planted firmly on the basement door. His skin prickled causing him to go on alert. Her breathing deepened and her skin rose. Something was wrong. A ringing took over his hearing. Danger. He tightened his grip on his knife, focusing on the door.
As quickly as the feeling hit him it disappeared and she relaxed.
“It’s okay, Gretch,” she muttered to herself. “Oh shit!” She shrieked when she bumped into him as she turned to head into the kitchen. He automatically caught her as her body went limp. “Let me go! Let me-”
He nearly cut her on accident as she struggled to get away from his grasp. She didn’t expect for him to let her go so quickly, dropping to the ground with a loud thud, and bumping her head on the wall.
“Ouch. fuck,” she groaned, rubbing the back of her head. A frown cross her brow as she looked around. She glanced up at him and jumped again. “Michael,” she said softly. Her eyes were a little bit darker as if she hadn’t slept much. Was it because they didn’t have sex? He huffed at the thought. Or was it the basement? For some reason, the thought of the basement made his skin rise.
Her mouth twisted ever so slightly in annoyance. “Are you trying to make me have a heart attack?” She stood up and dusted herself. “Don’t think you’d want to fuck a corpse,” she added.
His eyes widened at her comment and then a smile crossed his lips, not that she could see it, as she stiffened. Did she really just say that?
She cleared her throat but didn’t look at him. Instead, she kept her head down and moved past him into the kitchen. “Thanks for the tea,” she mumbled.
So, she had found it. He had placed it on the counter after getting his knife.
Kill. Blood.
Giving in to his killer side, he walked towards the front door. Sliding the key into the lock, he twisted it and opened the front door.
“Michael?”
He turned to glance at her. She looked worried, shifting her weight from side to side.
“There’s nothing in the basement, right?”
Odd question, but the image of her sitting on the ground with her back to the basement door came to mind. Even just moments ago, and the night before when she’d been all tense at the dining room table. Was it the basement? The darkness? There was nothing down there.
He closed the door and strode over to her. She visibly swallowed but didn’t shrink away. Her hazel eyes stared back at him, pleading for answers. He shifted his gaze away and walked to the basement, opening the door. A clear indication for her to look for herself.
She hesitated, her face shifting as she clearly contemplated on whether she wanted to go look or not. For a moment, she seemed to rethink her decision, but then let out a loud exhale and she pushed herself forward, stopping next to him. Her eyes went back to his, questioning him. Whatever she was looking for, she clearly found as she nodded her head and turned to face the basement. Inhaling loudly, she opened her mouth and slowly exhaled.
He glanced down the stairs into the basement then back at her, watching her body. Inhaling again, she froze. The emotion in the hallway shifted. His breathing deepened as his body told him there was danger. He glanced down the stairs once more. There was nothing down there. But her feelings were rubbing off on him.
The warm pressure of her body surprised him as she leaned into him. He felt her muscles tense and heard her breathing shallow. She leaned harder against him. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it.
“There’s so much blood.” Her voice sounded distant, flat, and matter-of-fact. He looked down the basement again. That wasn’t right. There was no blood down there. No one had died down there. Her shoulders move and her left hand touched his stomach. She trailed it around as if she were going to hug him. Whatever “spell” she seemed to have entered broke as did the feeling of alarm.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, quickly pulling away from him. Her body relaxed and the danger, whatever it was that she sensed, was gone. “Don’t mind me. It was nothing,” she said, her voice lighter in tone. Was she was feigning happiness? He hadn’t seen that attitude before. She was pretending that everything was alright.
She glanced down at his knife. “Thank you. Umm… well,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I still hope you won’t be able to kill anyone.” With that, she spun on her heels and stocked off to the living room.
He frowned, glancing back down at the basement. The darkness there could play with one’s imagination. Possibly made her see blood. Did it really matter? He closed the basement door and walked back to the front. She moved items around on the couch, setting them on the coffee table: A sketchbook and pencils. She drew? There was a lamp on the coffee table, the one she’d tried to use against him days ago. That amused him.
She stood up again, carefully watching him, clasping her hands behind her back. “Try not to kill anyone today,” she repeated.
He huffed. Oh, he hadn’t killed anyone yesterday, today someone was going to be very unlucky.
He switched directions and walked over to her. Before she could react, he pressed his body against hers, wrapping his right arm around her back, leaning her so he could look down. He raised his empty left hand and ran his thumb along her lower lip. A smile cracked his lips as her breathing deepened and her lips partially opened.
Better rest up, he thought as he met her tired eyes. When I get back no matter how tired you are, I am going to fuck you.
Her cheeks darkened into a deep red color as if she read his thoughts. The killer's side tugged at him, begging for blood. But first, some killing needs to be done. He abruptly left her and opened the door, stepping out into the sunset. The night and kill called to him.

Gretchen watched him leave. Her heart pounding wildly in her chest. How brazen to just casually open the front door and leave her behind. In a daze, she sat down on the couch. He was going to fuck her when he got back. He didn’t even have to say it. The simple running of his thumb along her bottom lip, and his eyes, told her his intentions. And she felt excited by the thought.
He’s never going to give you what you crave, the thought came back, but it was her thought this time. “What I crave is a good night’s sleep,” she muttered. She hadn’t been able to sleep much. The objects and furniture in her room played tricks on her with the night shadows. That and guilt. So much guilt.
The realization that she didn’t actually miss Brandon hit her hard. Maybe it was because of her tired mind, or maybe she truly did miss him more than she thought. Either way, her mind played dirty, bringing up his laughter, his voice, flashing images of the sparkle in his eyes when he saw her. She was a horrible person.
Gretchen folded her legs onto the couch and picked up her sketchbook. Her eyes glanced at the lamp for a moment. Her body remembered the strength as he pulled it from her grasp when she tried to hit him with it. The blazing of his eyes, not to harm her, but in excitement to fuck her.
A shiver ran through her body. “Gods, Gretchen, get a hold of yourself,” she muttered. Lusting for a killer? A killer who made her feel safe.
She clenched her fingers around her pencil. She was good at denying just about anything. It was something her family teased her on. But denial had always been her go-to mechanism when things got tough. It rarely worked, always delaying the inevitable acceptance of what had happened or was going to happen. And yet, she still fell back into her state of denial.
But, she couldn’t deny it. When Michael stood next to her, by the basement door, she felt afraid. She felt the danger. There was something about the basement that had her brain on alert. Leaning against him, it didn’t lessen the fear or danger. But it made her feel like she could face it. She wanted to hug him. Bring him as close as possible to give her the strength that she needed.
But her brain reminded her that he was a killer. He just wanted her for sex. He wasn’t going to be there for her when she needed him most. He couldn’t be.
With a sigh, she opened up her sketchbook to the last drawing she had started of the constellation Cassiopeia. With an exaggerated sigh, she looked to the page opposite. She had started drawing Michael’s profile. She didn’t quite have a full face, probably never would. But she didn’t want to draw his mask.
“Michael, meet Cassiopeia,” she said. She missed stargazing. The one thing that really helped her calm down. Could she convince Michael to let her out and stargaze? Would he do it with her? She snorted. Gods, Gretchen.
A yawn caught her by surprise as her body relented to exhaustion. Closing her sketchbook, she paused. Flipping it back open, she grabbed the page that had Cassiopeia and flipped it over. There was a drawing of Pegasus behind Cassiopeia. She flipped the page back for forth. It was too thick. Holding it steady, she stared down the middle.
“Oh,” she said softly. It was difficult to tell, but there was a line in the middle of the page. She’d glued two pages together at some point. She stuck her fingernail along the line to open it then stopped. No, she never liked those pictures she drew and hid away. Her visions that she saw rarely held anything dark to them. But the ones she drew she never remembered drawing them. She shuddered at the thought, one particularly gruesome image she'd drawn. It was the one that made her realize why she hid them from herself. She couldn't destroy them, just in case. But looking at them? Those, she normally sent to her uncle. Let him figure out those dark meanings. She closed the sketchbook and set it on the coffee table.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow seemed like a good day to open those pages and peek inside. Maybe some sex would help her sleep better.
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Object of Obsession