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Object of Obsession	By : Demona_Andariel Category: G through L > Halloween (All) > Halloween (All) Views: 1808 -:- 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
- 16
- 17
It was evening as Michael made his way back home. The sun was still a couple of hours left before it would begin to fade. He had meant to stay out till morning, meant to kill more people. An all-night killing spree. He meant to kill someone, but in the end, he’d killed a couple of dogs. Family dogs, their owners soon to be victims themselves the next time he went out.
A killing spree had sounded like a good idea, till he left her apartment and realized what an idiotic thought that truly was. It was the middle of the day, he was in the middle of town. The police were bound to chase him, maybe not kill him, but his time would be cut short and that worried him. Worried him? In a way. It was more, the thought, the irrational, desperate part of him that worried him. The part that was not quite ready to lose the sex. Which battled the killer part that clutched at the need to try and stay the same, be Michael Myers. Only, it dawned on him that in his desperation, he was forgetting the one important aspect of how he liked to kill. A killing spree? Yes, but one that was more thought out, watching, stalking, killing those who wouldn’t see him till it was too late. Not a man who would walk out in the middle of the street and start killing people in broad daylight. He wasn’t that desperate… yet.
Stalk and eventually kill. He’d picked out the perfect targets and watched their movements for a couple of hours. Or at least, he tried to. He had a feeling. A persistent feeling of unease that kept pressing on him, making it hard for him to concentrate. He wanted to go back home.
It was a dog’s bark that helped keep him focused on his targets. An obstacle he needed to get rid of. The first dog he killed was on purpose, a necessary step. It would have complicated things. The second one though, it had escaped its yard and attacked him. But, with it gone it opened that house and the occupants inside as his next potential victims.
But he didn’t go into their homes. That, he decided, he’d do later. The unease bothered him, so he headed back home. Besides, it would be better to kill them at night.
Michael paused the moment his grandfather’s house came into view. His killer side begrudgingly taking a back seat. He rolled his shoulders to loosen his tense body. He was home, but his skin still prickled with restlessness. Maybe it was because he left so early, still tired, on edge from what had happened earlier. He’d never left that early before. Was she awake? Probably not. Or, if she was she’d just barely woken up. His mind perked up with curiosity at the thought. What would she look like? She would undoubtedly be mad, and upset. Give him the cold shoulder. Did he want sex? He didn’t think so, but then again, any time he was near her he felt that pull.
Michael opened the front door and stepped inside. The evening sun lit up the hall, dining room, and part of the living room before he shut the door and engulfed the house back into semi-darkness and artificial electric lights.
Huh.
For a moment, he contemplated opening the door again for some breeze and light. Gazing up, his eyes spotted Gretchen who sat on the stairs at the back of the house. She had a sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in her hand, gently drawing and muttering to herself.
He cocked his head to one side. She hadn’t noticed him enter. Her long dark brown hair was tied up in a nice ponytail. Her face was pale again. Maybe he should take her outside for a little bit. He liked the natural color of her skin. In fact, he paused and looked around. The house was rather dark. Maybe he could open up a couple of windows and-
You’re not playing house, the killer side of him popped up for a moment. Not nice. She’s just here to fuck. Who cares if she’s comfortable.
He walked over to her, waiting for that moment for her to notice his presence, his shadow. She didn’t.
Glancing over her shoulder, he cocked his head. Was that him? The partial drawing did bear a little bit of his resemblance, although it was missing most of his facial features. Those did appear to be his eyes and mouth. Writing was scrawled along the edges of the page. One word looked familiar, he wasn’t sure why. Reaching out, he brushed his thumb along the word, leaving a little bit of a red mark on it from the blood on his fingers.
“Shit! Fuck! Gods! Michael!” Gretchen yelled as she jumped in surprise. “When did you?” She glanced at the door then back at him. “When did you get back?” She quickly slammed the sketchbook shut, clutching it to her chest.
He raised his eyebrows as if he was going to answer that. How did you not notice? He wasn’t trying to be sneaky after all.
“I- Michael! You’re bleeding,” she said in concern as she grabbed his left hand.
That was rather amusing. She was concerned? She dropped the sketchbook on the ground floor as well as the pencil. Keeping a hold of his hand, she pulled him to her and ran up the stairs. He followed, curious as to what she planned on doing. It wasn’t like the injury was going to stay long. He wasn’t sure how his injuries healed or how long they took. They never bothered him. Sure, at the moment it throbbed, but it was a dull manageable pain.
Pulling him into the bathroom, she turned and without asking, unzipped his coveralls to his waist. The liberties she was taking with undressing him were quite amusing as she pushed the top back and off his shoulders.
“Honestly, I-” her words stopped, making him tilt his head. She was staring at his chest. Her hands clenched for a moment while her breathing deepened. A smirk crossed his lips. With a quick shake of her head, she was back in her zone. She turned on the faucet and then tugged his left sleeve down. The second dog, that attacked him, got him with several good bites puncturing the skin on his forearm, bruising his arm.
She hissed through her teeth, shaking her head.
“He got you good,” she stated, flicking her hand under the tap water for a moment. Placing her hands on either side of the wound, she moved his arm under the warm water. He let her guide his arm under the warm water.
He couldn’t stop watching her, completely fascinated with what she was doing. Why did she care? Why be nice to him? If she were hurt he wouldn’t care. Maybe get her some medical supplies, but he wouldn’t treat her wounds. He’d let her do it herself.
She grabbed some soap and gently washed his wound. It was completely unnecessary, but he enjoyed the feeling of her fingers as she tried to be thorough and tender.
“Did you kill it?” she asked, focusing her eyes on his arm.
He set his bloody knife down on the other side of the sink as his answer. She glanced at it, then nodded.
“You probably deserved the bite then,” she stated, exhaling loudly through her nose. “And it probably didn’t deserve to die.”
Probably, he admitted to himself. But that one did attack him, not the other way around. She turned off the faucet and moved his arm up back to him.
“Umm.. sit,” she stated before walking out of the bathroom.
He sat on the toilet and waited for her to return, which didn’t take long. Curiously, she didn’t look at his face, focusing her attention on his arm. She walked towards him with a small towel in hand. She moved so that her side and back were to him, allowing her full attention to be on his left arm. With soft, but firm presses, she dried his arm, staining the towel with some of the blood that leaked out of the wound.
His breathing deepened as he watched her. There it was. His mind perked up, giving him ideas, tempting him. He could wrap his arms around her waist and make her sit on his lap. Kiss her neck, hear her gasp and moan in delight, maybe hear a giggle.
“Do you think you’ll get rabies?” she asked as she straightened her back, interrupting his fantasy. Her eyes finally met his.
It took all of his effort not to show the panic that was setting in. His heart pounded in his chest. Gentle? His thoughts, they weren’t cooperating with the killer part. Make her laugh?
“Probably not,” she said, answering her own question. “I’m guessing it was a family dog?”
He gave her a look. Another question for me not to answer? Rearranging his stance he gave her a little nod. Upset? Yes, be upset. Shift the mood. Get angry.
She shrugged.
“Never had family pets,” she said. “I always wanted a cat. Dogs were too much work. But, my dad was allergic and then when I moved in with my uncle, turns out he was allergic too. Guess it’s a family thing. I might be allergic come to think about it.”
Her eyes focused on the bathroom wall for a moment, moving ever so slightly as if she were accessing a memory. “Would have been nice,” she said softly.
Michael shifted, examining her more closely. What are you thinking? The question on his mind shifted as he frowned. I don’t care.
But, this side of her was rather interesting. How was she so comfortable around him? Despite all, he’d done to others, to her. Hell, he upset her earlier that very morning. He saw it in her eyes before he left her bed.
“Well,” she said, crossing her arms over her breasts and turning to look at him. “I’m sure you're gonna heal up like you mysteriously do. I guess I didn’t need to clean your arm, huh?” Her face darkened into a redder color. “What?”
He was staring at her. He knew that. His eyes carefully studied her, for the first time trying to figure her out in a non-sexual way. But her words had brought a curious question into his mind. He didn’t get it. He didn’t ask for her to help, he didn’t need it and yet without prompting, she immediately tried to take care of him. Him! The killer who kept forcing himself on her. The one who kept trying to show her he wasn’t nice. And he wasn’t nice. He didn’t regret his actions. He’d do them again without a second thought.
What would it be like? Maybe, just once, not rough, not forceful, just… nice.
Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She lowered her arms, searching his eyes.
She was wearing a button-up shirt and khakis pants. The middle buttons between her breasts looked a little strained leaving a slight open gap. His mouth dropped ever so slightly, her one perky nipple teased him.
The mood shifted in the room. He felt it, he knew she felt it too. He stood up, smirking a little as her pupils dilated when she looked at his bare chest.
“I guess… well… I… um,” she stammered as she took a step back and turned.
No, you don’t.
His left hand grabbed her wrist, making her turn. He tilted his head to one side carefully examining her. Raising his right hand, he ran his thumb along her cheek then up to her lips. So bright and rosy, no longer the paleness he saw earlier. Her lips parted. He liked the feel of them. On his cock, on his thumb, on his own lips. So full, soft, and moist.
He huffed as she swallowed. To his amusement, her eyes narrowed. Her body stiffened as she prepared to struggle, but he moved swiftly. Running his right hand up and behind her head, he leaned down, adjusting his mask so he could kiss her lips.
He miscalculated, the damn mask and her height worked against him as his lips landed on her bottom one and chin. Not that it mattered. A quick adjustment and his lips were fully on hers. She moved back and he pushed forward, out of the bathroom and onto the opposite wall. His hand softened the rough force her head would have felt when she hit the wall.
She let out a little moan when his body pressed closer to hers. Her right hand snaked up behind his neck to keep him near, while her left hand clasped his arm. He moved his left hand down, slipping it under her shirt. She gasped. Her skin rose along his fingers and she sucked in her stomach, twisting slightly to get away. That didn’t deter him. His fingers pressed along the raised ridges over the scars on her belly while his lips stayed on hers: Soft, light, warm, and moist kisses. He wanted a better look at them, the scars. They made him curious. And they made her wary.
He slipped his other hand out from behind her head. Her body moved, slowly grinding into him as her left hand moved onto his chest. With ease, he unhooked one button from her shirt. Then a second and a third. She loudly broke their kiss and leaned back slightly, allowing the top of her breasts to come within view from the bottom of his mask. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. No bra.
She leaned in again, one hand going around his neck to pull herself closer to him. Her kiss was harder, more insistent, more need, as her mouth opened. A mood he was more than willing to match. He could feel her body tremble slightly. The smoothness of her skin and the radiating heat emitting from her intoxicated him. He needed more.
His cock hardened on him at the thought of playing with her breasts, then trailing kisses down to her navel, licking and kissing her scars, before burying his head in her pussy to make her scream. Then finally fucking her till she couldn’t handle it anymore and beg him for release.
She broke the kiss with a loud smack and moaned, pressing her hands on his chest.
“I want to see your face,” she whispered.
His whole body froze. Did she just say that? His chest moved deeply with each breath he took. He couldn’t move, neither did she. He exhaled noisily, tilting his head as if to look at her, but the rubber mask was in his view since it was raised up so he could kiss her.
You know I can’t do that.
He reached his hand up and lowered his mask to be able to look at her. Her hazel eyes burned with a need, a desire, a want. Begging.
He pushed away from the wall and walked away, not giving her a second glance. Reaching his room, he let the door slam behind him. They were back. The turmoil of emotions twisted in his gut.
Before he could think any harder, he locked his own door. Not that he expected her to barge in. Placing his hand on his mask, he hesitated.
She’s back there, in the hall, he told himself. That didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest. With care, he pulled it off his head and then tossed it onto his bed.
She wanted to see his face. She wanted to see his face. Of course, she did. He just never thought she’d ask the way she did. Her words. The softness, the request. It was hardly a demand. Her eyes.
Michael began to pace in his room. His mask was the barrier he needed. It made him him. But… He wasn’t killer Michael in the house. He had already established that in his mind.
Not nice, the killer part of him popped back up.
He stopped, staring at his bed. A lonely night it had to be. His mood soured, his cock and horny mind already felt annoyed with the other side of him. The other side that couldn’t let go and just fuck her even if it meant taking off his mask.
Fine, he thought to himself. I’ll just go back out there, rip off her clothes, push her against the wall or toss her on the bed or floor and fuck her from behind.
He put his mask back on and stormed to the door. High set of emotions pulsed through him as he reached out and grabbed the handle, ready to twist it and rush out there. The killer was ready to be rough.
His eyes half-closed and his mind played dirty, imagining her on her back, writhing under him while he held her down, but not in a rough way. But a smooth, sensual way, moving his body with her, being in her. Seeing what kind of face she made with those delightful moans. Not rough. He didn’t want to be rough. Passionate. Passionate?!
He pulled his hand away from the door handle and frowned. What was wrong with him? Passionate? He could be passionate with his mask still on, couldn’t he? It wasn’t a problem the first time. Being close, looking down at her with his mask on. He could still see her face. He could still kiss her if he wanted, he already proved that. Hearing her was not an issue. His mask stayed on. Every time he’d taken it off wasn’t because he’d gotten caught up in the moment. They’d been calculated. He’d made sure she couldn’t see his face. Today didn’t need to be any different. It was always going to be there, that barrier between them. It had to be.
His two sides wrestled with each other. He didn’t want that this time. He wanted all of him on all of her. He didn’t want to have to deal with his mask. It would have come off. Had she not said anything, he had little doubt in his mind the mask would have slipped off. And then what?
Michael glanced at the door. He wasn’t nice.
Taking off his mask, he tossed it on the bed, eyes focusing on his left arm. The one she’d cleaned. He couldn’t change the status quo. Why the hell did he come back home? He needed to stay in his room and not leave till he regained control. Till his colder, uncaring, killer side melded better with the side that wanted to have sex with her.
Gretchen's eyes stared at his door. Why had she asked him that? That wasn’t the plan. Not at all. That wasn’t even on her mind. Was it? Yes, yes it was. With his mouth on hers, she had opened her eyes, just to catch a quick glance of him, only to see that familiar off-white rubber mask.
Stupid, idiot! she chastised herself. There was so much passion. He was being nice. It was weird and she thoroughly enjoyed it. It had caught her by surprise, but she was quick to get on board with whatever he wanted to do. And she had to ruin it by telling him she wanted to see his face.
But the fact was, she did, now more than ever. Despite not returning, the Presence’s words had haunted her all day. She was dying? If that was true, then why not take as many advantages as she could. Might as well make her last days as happy as possible, right? Even if rough sex was all he wanted to offer her. But, she had a feeling, a nagging feeling that there was something else going on. Something more. And it made her uneasy.
It was why she was sitting on the stairs with her sketchbook. She was waiting for him to come back home. It seemed like the safest place to be. How did he sneak up on her?
Gretchen stepped back into the bathroom. It didn’t matter. Because he somehow did. She picked up the small towel she’d used to dry his arm. There was a small blood stain on it now.
Great.
Why did she bother doing that? It wasn’t like he needed his arm to get cleaned. It had just been instinctual. Seeing the blood drip down his arm from inside his coveralls made her panic. He was injured.
Fool!
She paused by the mirror, checking on her image. Her face was flushed with excitement from kissing him. Her shirt was half-open, breasts peaking out seductively. And now, she was horny as shit. She ran her hand down, pausing at the fourth button where he had stopped, the small nick he had made with his knife was just a little dot between her breasts. The button shirt had been a calculated move on her end. She wanted him to undress her. He’d been so rough with all of her clothes as of late, she figured it’d be easier to sew buttons back on. Another thing she needed to ask him. A sewing kit. Gods, there was so much she needed.
She pressed her fingers against her lips. Gods, that kiss. It was the kind of kiss she didn’t expect from him. Soft, tender, a lover looking for nothing more than to enjoy her lips. Well, it was turning into something more. Something far more intimate. Maybe it was a good thing he left. A good thing she asked to see his face. Keep the status quo. She was his victim and the fact she kept having to remind herself was not comforting in the least.
Her nerves tingled at the thought of what could have been had she kept her mouth shut. He’s never going to be that person, Gretchen.
She stared at her reflection. Her shoulders sagged as the tension she’d been under slowly disappeared. It would have been nice to have it fucked out of her. Maybe he’d change his mind later on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted his bloody knife. Setting her hands on the sink, she stared at it. Her mind remained blank, no those thoughts that weren’t her own. With a gulp, she reached out and gripped the handle, picking it up.
Is it you? The killer side of Michael begging for my death?
The knife remained silent. No. It wasn’t the knife. The knife had no conscious. That Presence was something else. She set the blade down. The moment it touched the sink her shoulders sagged. The horniness that was tingling across her body was replaced with exhaustion. She needed a nap. A nap sounded like a brilliant idea.
- 16
- 17
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Object of Obsession