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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
- 11
- 12
- 13
“We gather here today-” The priest’s voice was drowned out skies opened up and rain poured harder. Gretchen stared at the casket before her. She could feel the water as it hit her body, ferociously drenching the little clothes that she wore. Her hair stuck to her cool skin. But it didn’t matter. Her heart sank. She knew where she was.
The weeping voices of the people she’d met in Haddonfield mingled well with the rain. A perfectly misery-filled day for a funeral. Brandon’s mother, father, little brother, and older sister stood near the casket, around her were his various friends and other family members she’d met during her short stay.
She took a step forward. Her bare feet hit the cold water, splashing mud up her leg. But of course, she was wearing her pajamas. It was a dream. And, following the rules of any dream, she was not dressed for the occasion. Preparing herself for verbal attacks, she walked past everyone to the casket and opened it.
“Brandon,” she said softly as she looked down at his dead body. He looked like she last remembered him. Only, his eyes were closed, hands folded on top of his chest. He still wore that silly knight’s costume. There was a dark circular patch in the middle of his chest, just above his hands. Dried blood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her fingers grasped the lid as she examined him.
“Bring him back.”
Gretchen frowned and turned to face the female speaker, his mother. She looked so brokenhearted, so angry, and she had every right to be. She’d lost her pride and joy.
“Excuse me?” Gretchen asked. Eyes, many eyes focused on her. Gretchen shifted uneasily and swallowed hard.
“Bring him back,” his mother demanded.
“I can’t bring back the dead,” Gretchen stated. Although, it was her dream world. Maybe she could try? A sense of danger and fear shot through her body at the very thought. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The woman’s body shifted into a rage as did everyone else around her. “He didn’t deserve to die! He had many friends and family, a perfectly good career lined up. You did this. You got him killed! You should have died not him! What do you have going for you? A killer to fuck?” With each word, the woman stepped closer to Gretchen, and with each step Gretchen walked backward. Everyone else moved too, slowly surrounding her. “Bring him back!”
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said again, searching for a way to escape. “But, I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t my fault. I-”
“He wouldn’t have gone up there if it weren’t for you. You led him there. You and your fucking visions,” his father snarled, grabbing her attention. “He still would have been alive if it weren’t for you.”
The truth slammed her hard, causing her to stagger as she pressed her hand against her heart. She had led him to his death. So focused on what she saw, so desperate to make her vision come true, she followed it blindly without first thinking about things.
“I… I didn’t know.”
The group stopped moving, but their eyes stayed on her, judging her. She almost felt as if she were naked in front of them just by their stares.
“They cause you nothing but trouble. Always have and always will,” his mother snapped.
“I just need to figure them out. I’m sorry,” Gretchen said, desperately. She should have talked to her uncle, shouldn’t have fool-headed charged in without thinking. “If I were better at understanding them-”
“Ha! Better?” his father barked.
Brandon’s mother dug through her purse and pulled out a knife. All eyes glared at Gretchen, making her shrink back some more. Her heart thumped wildly as the woman extended her arm out, focusing on Gretchen. She held it by the handle, but she clearly was indicating for Gretchen to take it.
“Do us all, do the world a favor, and just end your life before you kill more people,” she snarled.
Gretchen didn’t bother replying as she spun on her heels and ran. Kill herself? Never! She pushed through Brandon’s friends who tried to keep her there and ran into the forest.
Wake up. Wake up! She demanded her brain, scurrying through the thick brush, ignoring the scratches and stings as branches tried to grab her. They were behind her. She could hear their voices as the wind picked them up, demanding she return, demanding she face justice.
Justice for what? It wasn’t like she knew Michael was going to be there. As if she knew that Brandon was going to get killed.
She tripped and stumbled, landing hard on the ground, making her cry out. She was still being chased. She needed to get away. Hands grabbed her, pulling her to her feet.
“Let me go!” she shrieked. She wasn’t going to let them kill her. Jumbled words formed in her head and she opened her mouth to shout them out then paused. “Michael,” she whispered. Oddly enough, she felt relief that he was there to protect her. To protect her?
He pulled her up then wrapped his arm around her waist, practically dragging her away.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered.
She blinked in surprise. But of course, he did whisper to her earlier. Her mind now knew his voice. But it was different. She looked ahead to where he was leading her and froze.
“No, Michael,” she whispered, struggling against his pull. She could hear her pursuers behind her, but he was leading her to the basement door. She wasn’t sure which way was worse. She managed to spin around, but he caught her arm.
“You’ve always been one to embrace your destiny, Gretchen,” Michael said as his grip tightened, pulling her closer to the door.
“No, not there. I’m not ready for that,” she said, grasping at his hand to try and loosen his grip.
“You’ve blindly followed your visions before,” he stated. Still not right. Too much talking.
She frowned, pressing her legs back. He stopped and turned to look at her. She couldn’t see his face. Her dream mind didn’t know what he looked like. But his build was Michael’s.
“You’re not Michael,” she stated, pulling her arm out of his grasp. Before she could escape, he grabbed her and spun her, slamming her against the door. She opened her mouth to say something else, but his hand wrapped around her neck.
“Shh, Gretchen,” he said as he squeezed her throat cutting off her air. “Time for you to shut up now.”
-Shut up!-
Gretchen let out a loud gasp as she quickly sat up. Her body pulsed with adrenaline while she struggled to catch her breath.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she whispered, placing her hand on her forehead. Yet another nightmare. This time incorporating the people she knew and Michael? It had to be the house, Michael, and her guilty brain, all working together in their own way to drive her mad.
Her head throbbed lightly while her body demanded a little bit more sleep. She shivered at the thought. She didn’t want to see that Michael again. So wrong. It wasn’t Michael, but then again, was it? He was a killer after all. Maybe that was how he killed her. Maybe she talked his head off and he’d eventually get annoyed with it?
She needed to get out of her room. But go where? There was only so much of the house and she’d been trapped there long enough to be quite familiar with most of it. Setting her feet on the ground, she stood up and stretched. Her body ached, and her ass felt a little bruised, but overall, she felt good. Except the tension was back, at least it wasn’t as strong as the day before.
“Fucking nightmare,” she muttered to herself. Kill herself? Her dream brain was stupid if it thought that was ever an option. It wasn’t an option when she was beside herself with grief when her parents died. It wasn’t an option when Michael kidnapped her and it wasn't an option when she had his knife in her hands, while some weird part of her brain goaded her to.
She stretched, popping her joints while trying to relax her body again to how it was before she had fallen asleep. Her worries, her stress, and her tension had all been deliciously fucked out of her. Sure, Michael was rough, uncaring, and clearly possessive, and yet it was exactly what she needed at that moment.
Mine. His soft but firm voice rang in her head, loud and clear. In that moment, she kinda agreed with him. But now, with her brain no longer lusting and thinking of one thing and one thing only, coming, she felt annoyed with herself.
“Psh,” she said softly. “Yours?” She shook her head and opened her bedroom door. “As if.”
Her confidence and determination to leave her room quickly disappeared as her eyes darted around to look for Michael. The house was dark, there was no noise, and Michael wasn’t standing in or near the hallway. With careful ease, she made her way downstairs and to the kitchen.
There was no reason to be worried. He wasn’t very complicated to figure out. They’d run into each other several times in the morning, but his clear focus was on one thing, killing. It was kill, fuck, sleep for him. Did he even eat?
She paused mid-step, staring at the counter. Bringing her fingers up into her hair, she scratched her head in annoyance. At the rate they were going, soon no part in the house would be safe from a memory of them having sex. She wasn’t quite sure what she thought about that.
“Not a good thought,” she muttered trying to convince herself.
She opened the cabinet and brought out the camomile tea he'd gotten the other day. Searching through the cupboards, she found a pot and a mug as well as a jar of honey. She was already relaxed enough, she didn’t really need camomile tea. But, it would be a different break from what she’d been drinking which was only water. She stared at the tea while the water started to boil. She asked for tea and he brought it. He brought her tea?! She tapped her fingers on the countertop for a moment as she thought. He wasn’t that complicated. He never listened to her. She told him to stop and he didn’t. She asked him to wait and he didn’t. Yet, he brought her the tea she wanted.
Don’t, she warned herself. He’s a killer. But, he did bring her the tea she asked for. He was bringing her food, and he left her the duffel bag belonging to her. Could she push her luck? Could she ask for more?

Michael lay in his bed, one arm pressed on his forehead while he stared at the ceiling. She almost saw his face. Hell, at one moment she could have. All she had to do was look up. But she didn’t. How weirdly polite of her. As if he deserved any sort of courtesy or kindness from her.
Being rough with her, he expected her to cry, expected her to fight, expected her to fear him. He thought things would change between them the moment he disregarded her request for him to wait and stop. He knew it was silly, being angry at her for something beyond her control. But he needed for her to know he was in charge, she was his toy and no one else’s.
What surprised him most was it didn’t really change anything between them. If anything, he wanted her even more.
He placed his hand on his face, rubbing his skin. Fuck. He had to stop taking off his mask.
He clenched his fists as his heart picked up. He needed her again. Needed her body under his. Her legs spread and his cock in her pussy. He wanted so badly to taste her. She smelled wonderful and even the little tastes he got when licking his own fingers was barely satisfying. The problem was, he’d have to take off his mask. Well, he could probably figure out how to taste her while keeping most of his face covered, but it wouldn’t be the same.
He ran his hand down to his crotch as his cock grew hard on him just at the thought of her. She wasn’t supposed to see his face. It was never going to happen. Which meant he had to take the appropriate steps to avoid her when he was at his weakest. It also meant, he’d never be able to get a good taste of that sweet pussy with his mouth.
“I need to come.” Her begging voice was almost too soft for him to hear. If his mask was on he probably wouldn’t have heard her. He had taken it off because it had gotten in his way. He didn’t want to hear his own heavy breathing as he fucked her. He wanted to hear her own responses. Maybe he should have kept his mask on. Her voice and the sounds she made were intoxicating, like a siren calling a sailor to their death.
“Please. I need to come.”
Michael stroked himself, bringing back the memory of her pussy wrapped around him, of her words, her begging, her body. She was so god damn tight around him. He had to concentrate hard not to cum quickly, both enjoying her slick velvety walls, while cursing at her for being so damn perfect. Every little thing he did seemed to turn her on even more.
She’s in her room. We can fuck her right now, his brain reminded him. No. If he did, he’d go without his mask. She’d see his face. How would she react to that?
Michael forced his mind to return back to his sexual encounters with her as he stroked himself. He could prolong his need, and build it up more by replaying specific moments, but he didn’t. Keeping a steady focus on his memories to bring himself to his own content end as quickly as possible. The sooner he got over his desire for her, the sooner he got himself back out there doing what he truly loved best. It was better this way. Satisfy his needs out there so he had better control over himself when he got home and fucked her. Remind himself of who he truly was. Not a lover. Just a man out for his own pleasures.
For the briefest of moments, he nearly lost his erection, but he found the right moment. The one that surprised him and made him work harder.
Please. I need to come. He wasn’t going to say anything then. But it seemed like the perfect moment. Mine.
Michael choked slightly as he remembered how she unraveled and how her pussy tightened more around him.
Michael rolled his head back slightly as he came with his hand. Fuck. He would have rather it be in pussy or mouth. Slowly, he took in deep breaths and let them out as he cleaned himself. He was feeling better. His mind and body slowly returned to how he always felt in the morning. Ready for some blood.
He rolled out of bed and put on his clothes, securing his mask before walking out of his room. The last two mornings they’d run into each other, so there was a high chance he’d run into her yet again.
She wasn’t in the hallway and, oddly to his relief, she wasn’t down the stairs looking at the basement door. Walking down the hallway, he paused for a moment by the wall he’d fucked her against. His brain tingled and his cock agreed with slight excitement.
No.
He pushed himself past the wall. His priorities needed to stay the same. Killing then fucking.
The tinging sound of a spoon hitting the sides of a ceramic mug caught his attention, making him pause. He cocked his head to one side. She was awake again, sitting at the dining room table, knees up and pressed against the table and herself, with a cup of hot tea in one hand. She was staring at it, absentmindedly stirring a spoon. Beside her was a jar of honey and the box of camomile tea he’d brought back the other day.
She felt his presence, raising her head up to look at him. It wasn’t the movement of a surprise victim, but slow and steady as if she were expecting him.
She carefully watched him, taking a slow sip of her tea before setting it down. “Do you think you could take me outside one of these days?” she asked.
He frowned. Take you outside?
“I was... I like the outside, the night sky,” she said. “I’ve been here for a bit. Would be nice to have a change of scenery.”
I’m not your babysitter. You’re my captive. Take you outside?
As if reading his thoughts, she turned her head away. “Would be nice,” she grumbled.
I’m not nice. He kept his eyes on her, but she didn’t look back at him, focusing on her tea as if he weren’t there anymore. Clearly, she wasn’t going to look at him. Placing his hand on the doorknob he walked outside and closed the door behind him.
I’m not nice.
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- 13
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Object of Obsession