Michael Myers: In His Own Words

Haddonfield, Illinois, 2455

As a shooting star (or something else?) ignites across the sky, a lone figure returns to the sleepy streets of Haddonfield, Illinois. Tall, but supported only by his wiry frame, he thinks to himself “You know, this place never really changes”. But then again, how would he know? He was formed in the crucible of a cold facility, a place 150 miles away from the scant everything he knew in life.

People like to say that the Halloween killer was born that night in 1963, but the Man knows better. He might’ve caught a glimpse of himself that Halloween, trapped underneath the jester’s crop with two little eye holes to peer at his sister through (which sister? He’s lost track- as he’s sometimes wont to do). But, no, that night meant nothing and everything to the Halloween killer. It was the moment he lost himself, a moment stretched out into cold sessions between himself and that strange man, the doctor.

“Ah, the doctor!” the Man thinks as he waltz’s past a police station he’s gotten to know a little too well over the years. For the better part of his long life, the Man never really understood the doctor, an obsessive force in his own right. In a way, it wasn’t til he was long gone that he realized what drew the doctor and him together: meaning, or the lack thereof. The doctor probably drove himself into that particular brand of madness, inventing a creature beyond what the Man could ever actually be. He even wrote a book about it once, the Man believes- but he’s not entirely sure. To fill an empty gap, the doctor forced the Man into the center of his own life, perpetually returning to Haddonfield with the same surety as the Man himself. “And that’s sad”, he thinks. The Man never really cared about him at all, even after the doctor planted dozens of bullets into him over the years. Truth be told, he only ever got in the way, a pathetic figure that the Man, prone as he was to murder, couldn’t even be bothered to kill. Of all the people the he knew, the doctor is the only one who died a natural death.

But, stuck in that cold asylum all those years ago, the doctor was the one who brought the Man his only gift: a white horse in the shape of his mother-

“We’re not going there” the Man thinks. Other people have already said enough about his Mother.

As this thought crosses out of his mind, the Man waltz’s right past the Haddonfield High School. He thinks about stopping there, for old times sakes, but he doesn’t halt long enough to even stare. After all this time, he’s moved past his old tricks; let others to take his place.

What bothered the Man about the teenagers there anyways?

Maybe they reminded him of his sister- he did like playing that little joke with the headstone. But when it came down to it, he never really knew her either. She was but a fleeting glimpse in his life, her only action of note being, well, the fact that she died. And, the man realizes, what she did right before she died.

It’s that little thing the Man will never understand, despite his odd fixation with it.

Well, he certainly has an opinion on why people should do it. Even he might’ve had a baby at some point. But that wasn’t why all those people he killed were doing it. Fun isn’t a concept the man understands, even when indulging his primitive urges. Even as his knife penetrates his victims not even the glint of pleasure passes his cold mask. But the ones he watches, and the ones watching him, are always having the most fun at that moment.

He takes a deep breath, the closest the Man will come to chuckling. As with most things in his life, the Man never really knew why he killed all those kids. He just did. It was the same with… her. It’s Her house that he’s passing right this moment.

Her. Why was she always here, without end? Even when she’s not there, she’s waiting somewhere at the periphery.

Now, after all this time, he’s sure that he’ll find Her- and she’s died as many times as he has! Twice! Or once. These parts were getting harder for him to remember. The man wishes he knew why she was always there. People tried to give it a reason , but as he passes her old home the actual one flits across his mind. “Well, she makes me scarier”.

The man understands that family means something. After all, he spent so much of his time chasing down people he’d never met, never truly cared about, simply for that reason. She was one of those people, as was her daughter- er daughters, just to confuse the Man further. Who cares? They were dead anyways.

For the longest time, all he cared about was family. After all, in 2009 he died with them, at what seemed like his end. Everything was still then- and anyone interested had moved on. But before long the wisps of nostalgia contrived to drag him back from the grave. But by 2018, he didn’t care about family anymore- the family was gone. He didn’t even care about Her.

She wasn’t family anymore- and yet, she remained. The man pauses on her doorstep, wondering whether to check inside to see if she’s there. She couldn’t let him go, even after he stopped caring. Waiting here, just outside, he thinks back to the day they met…

Though he’d been through a journey, tonight the Man is almost exactly the same as he was in the beginning. The same could not be said of Her. When they first met, she barely understood the world. “Innocent”, he thinks. That night, she stared into a mask covering evil, it’s shape warping the man underneath. And, when glancing this close to evil’s orbit, a little bit latches on. Even out of his reach, she found herself drawn back to his debacle every time.

The man turns away, a fading handprint left on the door as it’s taken by the cool night air. “She’s probably not here. Probably in a hospital someplace” he thinks as he marches down the front walk. No point in checking there. The man already knows: bad things happen to him at hospitals. “But where else to go?”, he ponders. It’s been an uneventful Halloween night, at least by Haddonfield standards. Sure, he could return to the graveyard, or maybe the power plant. Perhaps a traipse through the old store where he first found his face. The night is young, after all, and he’s only getting started. Off to find old friend, then.

As he stalks into the night, though, we do have to ask ourselves: do any of these thoughts actually cross the Man’s mind? Or is he really just a shape gliding through darkness, the image of a someone we can conjure but never truly understand? The Man turns around- can he see us? For the first time, he opens his mouth as if to answer, a whisper of wind escaping the slit between his lips. We hold our breath, ready to understand…

But no words come.

Happy Halloween, everyone! XO