Michael Myers

You were cooking, skillfully chopping vegetables and stirring the pot. The tantalizing aroma of food floated in the air, bringing a comforting sense of warmth. But, unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

Michael was at home.

His jumpsuit was splattered with blood, and he clutched the mask in his left hand. He dropped it to the ground and walked toward you, his steps silent, breathing down your neck. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around your waist, and his face buried itself in your skin.