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….
“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!
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