Michael Myers Ch 3

michael myers halloween

Thanks, everyone, for your continued support. I’ve been very busy working on a few different things including Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction, so some quick updates, first:

war and glory lokians 3 by aaron dennis
war and glory lokians 3 by aaron dennis

For one, War and Glory, Lokians 3 has been proofed. I still need to clean up the formatting, but that won’t take more than about an hour’s time.

I want to release that particular, scifi book in September, which gives everyone plenty of time to become acquainted with the Lokians scifi series.

At this very moment, and for only a few more days, everyone can download my Lokians scifi series for free, that and a few other titles.

You can learn more about that here.

That’s basically it on the updates, to be honest–War and Glory is coming out on time, and I’ll release some excerpts here and there, but sometimes I get enough scifi and want to write some horror, which is why we’re back on track with Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction.

Here’s chapter 3:

“This stringy brat,” the man with black hair asked.

“His name is Michael Myers,” Loomis said.

Michael was standing before two men in a bright room. There were blue mats all over the ground, and the walls were pristine white, except for a few blood splatters that had never been fully cleaned.

“He doesn’t look like much; beaten and bruised.”

“He fought through a dozen B’s and all for a cotton ball. He seems to like them,” Loomis replied.

“Does he understand what’s going on around him?”

“I think so, but being autistic, he must find it rather difficult to relate to normal people. What I do know is that it’s your job to make sure he understands how to fight.”

“I’m aware of my job here, Dr. Loomis,” Ushiro condescended.

“Just understand that I’ve picked Michael for Lieutenant Reichstag’s special team.”

“But he’s only six,” Ushiro sounded surprised.

“I don’t care how old he is. By the time you’re through with him, he’d better be ready for Reichstag. She’s been pressing Smith’s Grove pretty hard, and so far, we haven’t been able to give her more than three kids. If you can’t whip Michael into shape, I shudder to think at how the military will respond.”

“Whatever,” Ushiro sounded disinterested. “Myers,” he yelled. “When I call you, you look at me!”

“He won’t look you in the eye,” Loomis stated, dryly.

Ushiro shrugged. He nabbed Michael by the hair and bobbed his head up and down. “You do this when you understand. This means yes, and if you want to play with cotton balls, you’ll do everything I tell you. Understand?”

He let go the boy’s head, and he certainly nodded, but it was the mere act of bobbing his head up and down that Michael enjoyed. He just kept nodding, so Ushiro snickered.

“He’s all yours,” Loomis said and left.

“Alright, kid, stop bobbing your head and listen.” Ushiro then explained that he was the Sensei, and he taught little boys and girls how to fight. “You want this cotton puff?”

Michael reached for it, still nodding, but Ushiro hid it behind his back. “Stop nodding!” Michael did and looked up, but he was staring at Ushiro’s nose. “Close enough. Now, step your left foot out like this.”

He made an effort to teach the boy the basics of karate, but for the most part, everything was lost on Michael, so the Sensei manipulated the boy as he calmly talked him through the training. After an hour of suppressing his irritation, he handed Michael the cotton ball. The boy plunked down and rubbed it over his face. A minute later, Ushiro took it from him, and the boy attacked.

Laughing, Ushiro swept his feet out from under him, and he fell to the mats with a loud smack. He tried to wriggle up, but the man pinned him down with his foot.

“You want something bad enough, you have to fight for it. You understand?”

Amazingly, Michael nodded.

“That’s it. There’s hope for you after all,” Ushiro laughed.

They trained hour after hour for the whole day, and after Ushiro felt the boy was beginning to learn, he let him play with the cotton. Eventually, orderlies came in to sedate Michael and strapped him to a chair. They then wheeled him into the large room filled with rows of tables and chairs. Boys and girls ate their dinner before receiving more, mysterious inoculations.

Finally, Michael was taken back to the room with the cots where he fell asleep. There was something different about sleep that night. Michael saw a little girl. She was very small with long, dark hair. She smiled and played with him. He liked it when she rubbed his face with a little brush. When the man and the woman called out Laurie, she giggled and ran to them, dropping the toy brush on the ground. Michael reached for it, but then he found himself in blackness.

He felt the rough blanket over his body. He wasn’t with the girl anymore. He was with many, angry children. They constantly fought with one another, and he knew that if he fought back, there was a chance to play with cotton balls.

Not too far away, he saw a dim light bled through a crack by the bottom and top of the darkness, so he rolled out of bed and walked over to it. It was the light from the hallway bleeding through the door. He tried to open it to leave, but the handle didn’t turn. Long after, the lights came on making him shut his eyes for a second. The sound of feet drew his attention, and he stood up.

When the door opened, he saw the orderly that had broken his toy brush, and he started punching her in the legs. She took something from around her back and jammed it into his chest. Whatever it was sent such a seizure through his body that he fell back.

“You little pricks like the prod, don’t ya’?” she laughed.

He saw she was holding a long, black stick of some sort. “Get up. It’s time for breakfast.” She and two men, all wearing white, led the kids to the room where everyone ate. After they ate, they were given more shots. Michael always looked at the cotton when they swabbed his arm. He knew that if he fought hard enough, the ball was his, so he started throwing punches like Mr. Ushiro had shown him, but someone shocked him again.

It required some effort, but he managed back up to his feet. “That’s real good, Myers,” Ushiro said. Michael looked over. The man was wearing all white except he had a funny-looking, black belt over his clothes. He was standing with his arms hidden behind his back. “Are you ready for today’s lesson?”

Michael nodded for about two minutes while Ushiro gathered up two dozen kids and led them down the hall. Other men and women wearing white followed, and they made sure to prod the kids that stepped out of line. Then, they were herded into the room with blue mats. Ushiro set them up to stand in certain positions.

Some of the kids tried to wander off, but there were always people ready to shock them. During Ushiro’s lesson, he made the kids fight each other one at a time. Then, he made them fight two and three at a time. Every time Michael hurt one of the kids, he was allowed to play with a cotton ball for a few minutes. Then, Ushiro took it away, and Michael fought for it, but the Sensei was too strong, too quick.

After class, all the kids were led back to the eating room. Some of them, like Michael, had to be sedated, and after eating, they received more shots yet again. The boy always tried to get the cotton ball, but no one let him, and every time he tried, he was prodded, strapped to a chair, and sent to bed.

Sometimes, at night, in the dark, kids fought each other. When they came for Michael, he bit them, jammed his fingers into their eyes, choked, or beat them with his fists; Ushiro’s words never left him. Sometimes, at night, the people in white came into the room very quietly. Michael heard some of the kids scream and cry, but then the sounds grew muffled. One time, he felt someone grab him.

He had been seeing the little girl again, and he liked her very much, but someone had grabbed him and turned him onto his stomach. He felt a hand pin him down, and it was hard to breath with his face in the pillow. Whoever it was tore the clothes from his body and did something he didn’t understand. Like everything else, it didn’t hurt, but he didn’t like it. The following morning, the woman told him it happens to everyone, and she laughed while she helped him get dressed. Something about her laugh made him angry.

He looked right at her nose then her mouth. He hated that smug smile. He stomped her foot, and she reached behind her back to grab the prod, but he was expecting it; he wanted it. He hopped back, grabbed it with his left hand, like Ushiro showed him, and he grabbed her wrist with the other hand. He bit her and took the prod; as he began to hit her all over, she fell back, and the other kids swarmed her. They tore her to pieces before more men flooded the room.

There were loud bangs and pops. White smoke filled the room. The smoke made Michael choke and cry, and then someone pulled the prod from his hands. Suddenly, the lights went out.

Thanks for reading chapter 3 of Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction. Like, share, blah, blah, blah.

Michael Myers Chapter 2

michael myers halloween

I’ve been a pretty big Halloween fan for a while, but apart from the original Halloween, I just haven’t really been impressed. I decided it’s time for me to write a Halloween fanfiction, and I’m just calling it: Michael Myers.

This horror is basically written from the point of view of Michael; he’s the protagonist, not the antagonist, and I promise you all, you’ve never seen Michael Myers like this.

Halloween is probably one of the best known horror flicks, and it’s certainly done very well, but I’m just not sure it’s aged well. Rob Zombie tried to retell the story, and don’t misunderstand, I love Rob Zombie, but I think this new version of Michael Myers is going to be better than Halloween.

Big words, I know, but here’s the second chapter of Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction, by Aaron Dennis. That’s me…I’m Aaron Dennis….

No one had seen hide nor tail of Missy Myers or Tom Strode. When the police went by the house, the gruesome scene was evident; the six year old boy had killed his parents. At the police station, the Strodes were happy to take in their granddaughter, but no one wanted anything to do with little Michael Myers, who sat there, dangling his feet, wearing his bloody, green pyjamas, and holding a toy, makeup brush.

The psychiatrist on duty knew there was no home for the boy, no home except Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. By nightfall, an old man knelt down before the boy. Michael kept swinging his feet, staring at the motion.

“Hello,” the old man said. He had short, gray hair, and a soft tone. “I’m Doctor Loomis. Can you tell me your name?” Michael had no reaction. Loomis stood and whispered to another man for a moment. “Yes, Smith’s Grove will be the best place for a boy like this. Our methods yield results.” He then knelt down in front of the boy again. “They told me your name is Michael, Michael Myers. Come with me.”

Loomis stood and held out his hand. Again, Michael didn’t appear to comprehend the situation around him, so Loomis grabbed the boy’s empty hand, and he slid of the chair. Together, they walked down the tile floor, under fluorescent lights. Some of the officers gave the two scant looks, but they were all busy.

Outside the station, under an orange streetlamp, the two stood for a moment while a black car pulled around. It was drizzling, and Michael looked up to view the droplets of rain appear from within the cone of light. Then, he was gently pushed into the back seat of the car. Loomis slid in next to him. Michael began brushing his face with his sister’s toy.

“You like the way that feels,” Loomis stated. “It’s understandable. There are many boys and girls just like you. Tomorrow morning, after we get you all set up, you’ll get to meet them.”

The car drove out of the city, and down a dark road. There were no other cars, and thick oaks lined both sides of the street. It was a long ride, and Michael fell asleep in the car.

 

****

 

During the next, few months, Michael saw less and less of Doctor Loomis. He didn’t care one way or the other. The other boys and girls didn’t interest him, nor did they appear to have much of an interest in him. Some of them tried to touch him. One of them took the toy brush from his hands while he was sitting up in his cot.

Michael turned to face the boy; he was bigger than some of the others, and his face was cold and hard. Michael lunged out of his bed, bit the boy’s throat and rained down fists. They tumbled over, but Michael kept on slamming his hands down over the boy’s face. When the boy stopped moving, he retrieved his brush, sat back on his cot, and rocking his body back and forth, he traced circles over his face with the toy.

It wasn’t until the next morning that one of the women who came from time to time, one of the women who always brought Michael to another, strange man in a white coat, found the bigger boy dead on the tile floor. Since he was dead next to Michael, who was still covered in blood, the implications were obvious; she snatched the brush from his hand and broke it.

“If you can’t play nice, you can’t play at all,” she said and stood back with Missy Myers’s haughty derision, her smug smile of self satisfaction. Like a flash of lightning, Michael dove at her, but two men in white snatched the boy right out of the air. “Bad, little boys must be taught some manners.”

Michael jerked and pulled; he dragged his bare feet over the cold floor, but the men were relentless. They stuffed him in a chair with wheels, latched his hands to the arm rests, buckled his feet in place, and pulled something hard down over his face.

The chair’s squeaking sounded strange, but it was nice, peaceful; there was a certain rhythm to the sound. One turn and another began to disorient the boy, who saw very little through the slits in the plastic over his face. The way the overhead lights shone was pleasant, though. Then, everything came to a stop.

Something cold touched his arm. Something pointy went inside. His neck and shoulders seized for a moment. Finally, he felt very warm and comfortable.

 

****

 

“Michael, can you hear me?” It was Loomis’s voice. “They told me you became angry when the orderly broke your brush. I’m sorry she took your toy, but here at Smith’s Grove, we all have to get along, and if you can’t get along…you’ll have to learn to fight.”

The plastic was pulled from the boy’s face. He blinked a great deal at first; his vision was blurry, but everything was very bright. There were numerous boys and girls within Michael’s field of vision, but the only thing of interest was the feel of a cotton ball being rubbed over his cheek; Loomis was stimulating the boy.

He tried to reach for the cotton ball, but his hands and legs were still secured. Loomis pulled the cotton ball away and knelt down. He tilted Michael’s chin, but the boy made no eye contact.

“You can play with this cotton ball for a few minutes…if you can get to it.”

Loomis then walked beyond the other boys and girls. He stood by a darkened wall where there were no lights. Michael tried to climb from the chair.

“Hold on a sec’,” someone said.

The straps came undone, but before the boy had a chance to react, the lights overhead flashed like a strobe. The sight was stunning, but it quickly ended, however, the act animated the other boys and girls; they were all similarly clothed, as was Michael, in dark, green jumpsuits.

They all ran at him. They punched him, and grabbed him, and bit him. They held him down while the adults laughed and made strange comments. Some of them cheered names.

“C’mon, Michael,” Loomis yelled. “Come get the cotton ball!”

All the boy saw were ravenous glowers, contorted faces filled with wrath, but he wanted that ball of fluffy white. He thrashed, and he gnashed his teeth over someone’s hand. He threw one fist, and then another; he punched, and kicked, bit, and jammed his fingers into eyes. A bloodied mess, he grabbed a girl by her hair and slung her into another kid. He kicked one, and he stomped down over one more; all the while, he tried desperately to reach Doctor Loomis, who was then kneeling and holding out the cotton ball.

“You must win, Michael; you must beat them all, or you cannot play with this wonderful toy!”

Fists and feet struck the boy, but he felt no pain. Teeth crunched down over his shoulders, his fingers, but he didn’t care; he wanted that toy. Almost free from the angry masses, he ran while one boy held him by the collar, and one girl had her arms wrapped over his ankle, biting his leg. He pulled, and pulled, dragging himself to the cotton ball.

“That’s it, Michael, take it from me!”

He did, he got the white ball, and one of the kids tried to take it, but he smashed his fists over their head, fell onto the ground, and as the adults chuckled and rounded up the kids, he ran the ball over his face, but it got all wet, and cold, and red. In confusion, he looked at Loomis, who tried to establish eye contact.

“If you want that ball to stay white and soft, you’ll have to learn to fight better. Mister Ushiro can teach you how to do that, but you have to do everything he tells you, or you’ll never get another cotton ball….”

Thanks for reading chapter 2 of Michael Myers, a Halloween fanfiction by Aaron Dennis. Like, share, all that.

Michael Myers

michael myers halloween

I’ve been a pretty big Halloween fan for a while, but apart from the original Halloween, I just haven’t really been impressed. I decided it’s time for me to write a Halloween fanfiction, and I’m just calling it: Michael Myers.

This horror is basically written from the point of view of Michael; he’s the protagonist, not the antagonist, and I promise you all, you’ve never seen Michael Myers like this.

Halloween is probably one of the best known horror flicks, and it’s certainly done very well, but I’m just not sure it’s aged well. Rob Zombie tried to retell the story, and don’t misunderstand, I love Rob Zombie, but I think this new version of Michael Myers is going to be better than Halloween.

Big words, I know, but here’s the prologue and the first chapter of Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction, by Aaron Dennis. That’s me…I’m Aaron Dennis….

 

Michael Myers was three years old and hadn’t spoken a word, uttered a single sound, not even cried for his mother’s breast. When his mother tried to enroll him in school, it was discovered the boy was most likely autistic; the way he rocked back and forth, the way he waved his hand in front of his eyes, the way he ran soft things like stuffed bunnies over his skin was a dead giveaway.

Rather than waste the effort to place the boy in special education, his mom married another man, had another kid, a baby girl. No one cared about Michael Myers, the freak, the simpleton. About three years went by before the boy snapped.

His little sister had been tickling his face with a toy, makeup brush. He liked the feeling, and he found his mother’s makeup brush in her bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror of the dimly lit, damp, and grungy room, and without an expression, he traced circles around his eyes….

 

Chapter One

 

“Give me that, you little brat,” the woman shouted.

Startled, Michael dropped the brush into the sink and turned to see the woman. She swooped down with a clawed hand like an eagle’s talon and swiped him clean across the face. His chin bounced off the ceramic, and he fell noisily onto the green, soiled rug. When the woman snatched him from the ground, his arms flailed out for balance, and he knocked over a pair of scissors.

“You a little faggot, huh?” the woman yelled as she shook him. She slapped him again, across the other cheek, shoved his face in the mirror, and the blood from the gash over his chin smeared over the glass. “You like paintin’ your face, you little girl?”

Grabbing him by the hair, she dragged him over to the toilet, forced his face down into the closed lid, and started punching him in the back. The boy didn’t make a sound. No tears fell from his eyes. There wasn’t any pain.

Finally, she stopped and stood back, with smug arrogance, to observe her punishment. Michael turned around. She was holding the brush.

The boy looked from the brush to the woman’s face; her look of haughty derision was lost on him, so he glanced at the blood smeared mirror, and back to the woman; he started lightly tapping his cheek bone, just beneath the eye. She snapped the brush in half and threw it at him. When he bent down to pick up the half with the brush on the end, she let out a blood curdling scream and slapped him over the head. Though he saw stars for a moment, he looked up. She cut the bristles off the brush with the scissors, dropped the scissors on the counter, booted the boy back into the tub, flipped the toilet lid up, and dropped the bristles into the bowl. When the boy went to look in the bowl, she flushed.

Immediately, Michael pushed past her, took the scissors from the counter, and began stabbing. He stabbed at the woman’s legs, her knees, her hips, and when she fell back, screaming in agony, he climbed on top of her and stabbed over, and over, and over again. Blood flew, painting the walls, the woman, the mirror, the boy.

Suddenly, over the commotion, Michael heard the man. He had come to the bathroom too late, but that didn’t stop him from latching fingers around Michael’s throat. He squeezed, cutting off the air, but Michael raised his hand, the bloody scissors still in his grip, and he brought them down into the man’s arm.

Crying, and scrambling back on his hands and seat, the man was thwarted by the soiled, green rug. He covered no ground, and Michael let loose all his fury. The final blow of the scissors left the tool in the man’s eye. Michael Myers was free to return to the bedroom he shared with his sister. She tickled his face with her toy brush.

Thanks for reading Michael Myers, a Halloween Fanfiction by Aaron Dennis.

That’s only the beginning–I’ve written more–you’ll have to wait until next week for the next chapter.

In the meantime, come check me out at Smashwords where, for the month of July, you can get a bunch of my work for free or at a 75% discount.

You can also check out this post to learn how to make money from selling my books through Smashwords. Smashwords accounts are free to make, so if you don’t have one, don’t wait for Michael Myers to come out…make one now, and see what all I have!

Some of it is horror, some scifi or fantasy, some fanfiction, all of it is awesome!

Thanks again, like, share, all that.