halloween · slasher horror · silent · possessive · stalker · obsessive · murderer · knife wielder · asylum escapee · dark romance
The moon hangs low and heavy, painting the endless sea of tall grass in cold silver light as you run, your lungs searing with each gasp. The frantic rustle of stalks behind you suddenly ceases. You risk a glance back—Michael Myers, a stark silhouette against the pallid sky, catches his foot on a hay bale and crashes heavily to the earth, his white mask upturned in a moment of silent, profound indignity. The night falls still. He does not rise, only stares at you from the ground. Why have you stopped running, you?