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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
- 6
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The cool October breeze brushed through Gretchen, making her hug the blanket that was in her arms even tighter. Her clothing wasn’t sufficient enough to keep her warm, not that it mattered, soon she wouldn’t care. She was in a forest. Her surroundings were familiar and yet foreign at the same time. The thick trees and brush made it seemingly impossible to go anywhere but to follow the trail.
Her heart pounded in her chest with excitement. She was happy and in a great mood, despite the cold. Stepping into a clearing, she slowed her pace. It was an open meadow. The starry night sky made it easy for her to see not that she needed to. She was very familiar with the meadow. Her dream meadow.
She set down her blanket, flattening it out around her before laying on her back to stare up at the sky. She traced her finger along a constellation and then another. It was such a peaceful night. He was coming. She couldn’t wait. The thought of riding him under the starry night gave her the good shivers.
She bit her lower lip as butterflies filled her stomach. She had ideas of what she wanted to do, and what she wanted him to do. She would get him to say her name. And after, she’d tell him about the stars while they cuddled.
Her skin prickled, making her frown. Something was wrong. She wasn’t sure what. The sky moved and shifted distorting the constellations overhead.
Danger.
She didn’t hesitate in getting up to her feet, almost immediately regretting her decision. The wind picked up, causing her hair to wipe around her face. Voices whispered through the wind, some familiar, some not. Didn’t matter though, she couldn’t place the familiar ones even if she tried. Their words were garbled nonsense, but they were shouting at her. Tormenting her. She didn’t have to understand the words, she could feel their displeasure, their hostility, their rage.
“Shut up!” she shrieked. As if obeying her command the wind and voices stopped.
Her relief was short-lived as her ears began to ring, making her clamp her hands over them. Pain shot down her whole body from her head. She wanted to scream, wanted to move, but she couldn’t as a crippling headache paralyzed her body. She needed help, but she was alone. He wasn’t around.
Wake up! Her dream mind demanded, but the nightmare kept a tight hold on her. She wasn’t even seeing anything particularly scary. It was the feeling that was getting her and the pain. She was in danger.
A left hand exploded from the dirt, barely missing her ankle as it grabbed at her. She managed to pull her legs back just in time. The fat discolored fingers of a very much dead body reached for her. Almost as if it were begging for her to help it rise up from the ground.
But the dead needed to stay in the ground where they belongs. The sound of the ground being torn up as more hands popped out of the dirt echoed in front of her. All in various states of decomposition. They reached for her, but unlike the hand closest to her, they seemed more menacing.
Victims?
The right hand joined the left that was closest to her. It dug their fingers into the dirt for leverage and with tensing muscles started to push down to pull their body up out of the ground.
Wait.
“No! This is my meadow!” she yelled. “You don’t belong here.” Try to invade her pleasant dream?
The ground under her feet shifted, crack, and then sank, nearly dragging her down with it. She barely managed to push her body far enough back to avoid falling into the pit that was made. Her efforts caused her to stumble and fall onto her ass. Her senses were screaming at her to run away, but she couldn’t move, staring transfixed at what was happening in front of her. Had she done that?
Voices once again rose up as the dirt shifted and trickled down into what she could only assume was a hole. Hell? The hands closet to her dug frantically trying to stop itself from disappearing into the abyss.
She scooted back to stay out of reach. Her hand hit a wet puddle, making her tear her gaze away from the struggling undead to her own hand. They were covered with a thick and red liquid that smelled of copper. Blood.
She quickly stood up. There was no body nearby. But the ground was cracked as more blood seeped from its wound. The world was bleeding.
So much blood. She stared at her hands again, turning them over. They seemed to be coated in blood.
A not quite human sound interrupted her panic. She spun around. The set of hands closest to her had grabbed onto the ledge, securing themselves. Her whole body pulsed with fear as the dead person started to rise. With each movement it made, the prevailing sense of imminent danger pressed on her.
Get out of there!
Gretchen jumped and rolled onto her side before she quickly sat up heaving. Cold chills flowed up and down her body intensified by the pulsing beat of her heart. It was difficult to get a grip on reality, while the sense of foreboding seeped into her skin. There was something in the room with her. The thing in the basement?
She swallowed hard as her eyes darted around focusing on the dark outlines of various items that were in the room. Nothing moved or seemed even remotely human-like. And the thing in the basement had a human-like hand, she was sure about that. It was difficult to breathe and her head had a dull ache because of the low oxygen she was supplying.
Ever so slowly, her body became to calm down as the sense of dread left her skin. Breathe, she told herself. With a loud, shaky breath, she allowed her shoulders to slump forward. Her brain was back with reality, the nightmare an unpleasant past. It had been a long while since she had a nightmare so bad it caused her to panic. At least she didn’t scream. Well, she assumed she hadn’t screamed. Would Michael have checked if he heard her?
She let out a heavy sigh. Even if he did, it would probably be to make sure there wasn’t an intruder or something. He wouldn’t care about it being a nightmare.
She laid down on her side for a moment, curling up just so that someone held her. Oh, gods, life is going to be lonely. She stared at her door for a little bit. There were no expectations of him opening the door and coming to her to comfort her. It’d be too weird anyway. But damn him if he did. It would just confuse her even more.
With a sigh of resignation, she sat back up and hung her legs over the edge of the bed. Despite knowing that she was safe from the danger her nightmare had conjured up she couldn’t go back to sleep. Her brain was too alert and awake now. Setting her feet on the cold, hard wooden floor, she stood up. She needed some tea, camomile. Was there tea in the house? Probably not. But, she’d check again.
She went to her duffle bag. She paused for a moment, staring at her clothes in the bag. To change or not to change? She grabbed her hoodie and slipped it over her head, pulling out her small notebook and pencil. She didn’t have the energy to change. As rare as her nightmares had become, she still made it a habit to document her dreams.
The forest that her dream mind visited often fascinated and disturbed her. It was always the same. Didn’t matter how different her surroundings look, she knew she was in the same forest. Her dream meadow was her comfort. Living in a big city it was difficult to see a clear night sky. Having a dream that centered around the starry night, helped relax her.
Glancing over at the boarded-up windows she sighed. Was it night? Was it day? She had no idea anymore. Some light managed to peak through. But not enough to help her make sense of time. It would have been nice to see some light.
She turned and stared at her bed. So long until it’s bedtime I guess. The nightmare was done and over with, but she needed to get out of her room. She no longer felt as if she were in danger, but she needed new surroundings.
She opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. With a quick glance down the hallway, she froze, nearly dropping her notebook. She swallowed hard, bringing the notebook up to her chest as Michael stared at her. He was standing in the hallway, his head was cocked to one side as he watched her, clean knife in one hand.
“Oh,” she said softly. “You’re going out.” She’d never been awake before he left. It felt odd. What was she supposed to do? Wish him happy huntings? He looked away and started to head towards the stairs. For such a big guy he was very silent.
“Gretchen!” Her voice came out louder than she meant to. He paused then slowly turned, eyes pressed in a questioning manner. “It’s my name,” she continued, suddenly feeling shy. “Not that I expect you to say it or anything. Just-” She felt the blood rush up to her cheeks. Oh, gods, she was nervous and on the verge of rambling. “Could you get me some camomile tea bags?”
His eyes widened and he blinked in surprise.
What are you doing, Gretch?
“I hope you don’t get to kill anyone today.” With that, she stepped back into her bedroom and closed the door behind her with an accidental slam. Slowly, she lowered her body to the ground as she leaned against the door. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she breathed deeply, waiting. With no watch, no cellphone, and nothing to tell her how much time had passed, she could only assume she’d waited an appropriate amount of time before she gathered the courage to step back outside. He wasn’t in the hallway, he wasn’t waiting for her.
“Okay,” she said as she made her way to the living room. It had a comfortable couch as of yet untainted by sex. “Awe, shit,” she grumbled to herself at the memory of her waking up to his knife dangerously close to her eye while at the same time he curiously touched her breast. They didn’t have sex there, but apparently nowhere was untainted. Well, except for the basement. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought.
Walking down the stairs, she paused by the wall she’d seen herself and Michael fucking. Were her visions ever wrong? No, but then again, she wasn’t entirely sure that was a vision or maybe her brain playing tricks on her.
She didn’t pause by the kitchen, instead picked up her pace and avoided looking at the counter. The blood rushed up to her cheeks again at the memory of what they’d done probably just a few hours ago. First off, she swallowed his cum. Hopefully, he didn’t assume she’d continue to do it. Secondly, she came while he finger fucked her. Probably would have came on his cock too had he decided to push off his own end and focus on her clit just a little bit more. The thought of her clamping down on him, maybe eliciting some sort of surprise response, made her lick her lips.
“Get a grip on yourself, Gretch,” she chided as she shook her head. For whatever reason, he decided to finger fuck her. Maybe to see what it felt like? But, it was all about him in the end. Not that she was surprised. “Keep your expectations low. He’s a killer, not a lover.” She pushed her thoughts about Michael and their situation away, focusing on her nightmare.
She really needed someone to talk to. What she would give to have her cellphone and call Nathan or her Uncle Jethro. Preferably her uncle. He liked listening to her and what she saw or at least thought she saw, whether in a dream or real life. That is, he probably would have no trouble after lecturing her about disappearing.
She sat on the couch and opened her notebook, setting it on her lap. Nathan. He had to have known she was missing by now. She should have told him her plans. She knew why he “randomly” moved to Chicago. Her uncle might have thought he was being sneaky, but she knew he had people watching her from the moment she moved out on her own. It was just the three of them after all. Of course, he’d want to make sure she was safe.
She tapped her pencil on her notebook. She should have told Nathan her plans. She should have told him her vision of Brandon. Not the more intimate part of course. She’d never hear the end of it from him. But, the problem was, he would have stopped her. If she had told him that she was moving to be with a guy she saw in her vision, he probably would have found a way to keep her in Chicago or manipulate the situation to make her go back to live with Jethro for a short while. She couldn’t risk it. The need to follow her vision through was too strong.
It was because of the way her vision was presented. It was vivid and real, with details and words and feelings. They were never like that before. Always distorted jumbled messes that she needed to piece together to come up with a full story. There was an interesting difference in reception for her visions between her uncle and cousin. Jethro entertained her, listening intently to the details she provided and usually helped her make sense of things. What would he have said about the one with her and Brandon had she told him? It probably would have alarmed him how vivid it was.
Nathan, on the other hand, hated them. She learned not to go to him to try and figure out what her mind was trying to tell her. He usually dismissed or downplayed them, even at times making her feel like he thought she was crazy. It was frustrating and strange, to say the least. They were a family who were no strangers to the supernatural. And him not believing she had visions, or not taking them seriously always bothered her. That was until he let it slip. She had seen something dealing with him. She pulled out the memory to examine it once more, hoping for some clue she’d missed.

They were in her apartment in Chicago.
“Nate? Can I ask you something and will you answer me honestly?” she had asked somewhat hesitantly. She had waited for the moment she figured he was drunk enough to say just about anything. “You do this thing with your face whenever I mention having a vision. You don’t necessarily call me crazy, but sometimes you make it seem like I am. Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately and she had been afraid that he wasn’t relaxed enough to tell her.
“You told me something once,” his voice was surprisingly soft almost a little hollow. He had looked away, staring at the wall for a while.
“When? What did I say?”
He didn’t answer immediately, then slowly returned his attention to her. He sat up, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward. “Gretchen. Do the events you see always come true?”
“I think so. I mean, sometimes I misinterpret stuff. Your dad's way better at figuring out what my brain is trying to tell me than I am. But the general idea, ya. Nate? What did I say?"
There was a look of defeat and sadness in his eyes as he let out a loud sigh. “Years ago you said well more be-” Whatever else he was going to say he changed his mind, shaking his head. A look of determination crossed his face. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen. I promise you. I know what to do, what to look out for. Thanks for dinner and the drinks. Night, Gretch. I’m going to take advantage of your guest bedroom now." He had paused before disappearing into the bathroom. "Gretch? Don’t think too hard on it.”

Don’t think too hard about it. As if his words wouldn’t make her more confused and worried. She still couldn’t remember whatever encounter that haunted him. Whatever it was, clearly it was bad. Setting her pencil down, she frowned. Did she see his death? Michael, a serial killer had her as his captive. Eventually, her cousin would find her. Her family had the resources and money. Was that what she told him? That she saw him dying to save her? Did he not want to tell her because he didn’t want her to worry?
The thought of losing one of the last members of her small family brought tears to her eyes. There were five of them up until just before her fifteenth birthday when her parents died in a car accident. She absentmindedly placed her hand below her belly. From there it was only the three of them.
If Nathan managed to find her and if Michael tried to kill him, she’d get in the way. Or maybe she could convince Michael not to kill her family? Was that even possible? She rubbed her hand over her scars. He couldn’t kill her, at least, not yet. But the blood on his knife did mean he could still kill others. Could she convince him to spare someone’s life?
“As if,” she snorted. It was just about sex between the two of them. For whatever reason, he either couldn’t or didn’t want to kill her yet. But then-
She placed one hand against her left cheek that he’d gently caressed for a brief moment. So weirdly tender. And the way he kept touching her scars without shying away. Her heart fluttered a little at the thought. “It’s just about sex for him,” she mumbled to herself. It was easy to get caught up in a fantasy, to delude herself that there could be more.
“God dammit, Gretch,” she chastised herself. “He kidnapped you and raped you. You don’t have a choice here. There will never be more. There shouldn’t be.”
She rapidly tapped her pencil over her notebook. He was doing little things to fool her mind. Things he probably didn’t realize were having a bigger effect on her. The way he examined her with interest and delight. She took in a shaky breath as she recalled the feeling of his hands along her body, not even shying away, almost as if purposefully running his hands along her scars.
But, that was when they were both in a state of lust. Now with the whole “post nut” clarity would he still view her the same?
“Gretchen, focus!” she muttered. Her jumping mind frustrated her sometimes, she went from fully intending to write down her nightmare to slightly fantasizing about fucking Michael. There was something wrong with her. She rubbed her forehead for a moment. Her head was starting to hurt again. She stared down at her notebook and picked up her pencil. “Awe shit,” she growled in frustration. Her nightmare had faded into forgotten memory.
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Object of Obsession