Michael Myers Story Novels & Stories

My heart aches as I listen, knowing that the pain he carries runs deep. With a deep breath, Michael's voice trembles slightly as he begins, "It happened when I was just thirteen years old. It was a seemingly ordinary day, one filled with anticipation and hope. My mom, dad, and I decided to take a trip together, seeking moments of joy and togetherness." I nod, urging him to continue, my eyes never leaving his face. The corridors are filled with the murmur of conversations and the occasional sound of footsteps, but everything else fades into the background as Michael shares his story.

He covered my hand with his own large hand immediately. "Did she say anything to you?" I asked gently. "She told me to be a good boy," Michael answered. His voice cracked slightly on the words. "She said she was very sorry, but she simply could not survive another day with him. She walked out the front door, and she never came back. She left a helpless baby and a young kid completely alone with an abusive monster because she wanted her own freedom." The raw tragedy of the story shocked me completely. I had spent two years believing Michael was just a spoiled, arrogant athlete with a perfect life. I had judged him based entirely on his expensive car and his aggressive hockey penalties.

Michael sat in the center of the long table, surrounded by journalists whose pens moved rapidly across their notepads, eager to catch every word. His posture was upright, shoulders squared, but I could of course feel the tension he bore. I leaned forward on the couch as Michael began speaking, his voice strong and unwavering despite the gravity of what he was about to expose. "After months of working with Robert Carlisle, I’ve uncovered disturbing truths." Michael began, his voice steady but his eyes darkening with emotion.

His pain, a palpable entity, encircled us like an unwanted intruder. Michael sat in a faded leather chair, his shoulders bent and his gaze fixed on something far away. His hands, which had been solid and steadfast, shook as they tightened into fists, reflecting the inner tempest raging within him. Michael's lips quivered as he gathered the courage to tell his tragic story. His voice trembled like a leaf in the breeze, heavy with the weight of remembrance. "I arrived home to a scene from hell five years ago," he continued, his voice scarcely audible. "My family... My beautiful girl, only ten years old, her life cut short before it could fully begin," his words hung in the air, weighted with u

I was stunned after hearing Michael explain the situation. For a while, I couldn’t even react. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine something this horrible could be happening so close to me. I had always lived in such a simple, innocent world—never really exposed to the darker side of society. But Michael, he had lived for over a century longer than I had. He had undoubtedly seen so much more of this evil than I ever would. And if even he found this situation difficult, it meant the consequences were far more serious than I could comprehend.

My hands clenched the fabric of my dress as the words burst out of me. "I've explained it to you countless times! That was occupational exposure!" A year ago, Michael's older brother, Larry Dalio, had been racing cars. When he was rushed to the hospital, Michael begged me to save him. It was an emergency. I never expected his blood to splash into my eyes during the procedure—that was how I became infected with HIV. Michael paused for a brief moment when he heard my explanation, but the coldness quickly returned. "I almost believed you. Pretending it was to save Larry—now that he's dead, there's no way to verify anything. You can say whatever you want. I don't like liars. It's time you learne

"I guess you are that lonely princess from the tower, aren't you?" A wave of panic hit my stomach, and I quickly grabbed the damp white towel, dipping it straight back into the boiling water to hide the nervous trembling of my fingers. "No, I am absolutely not," I lied , keeping my eyes fixed on the rippling surface of the bath as I squeezed the hot cloth. "It is honestly just a random story I read a long time ago. It has nothing to do with me." Michael let out a low, cynical grunt from deep inside his chest, his jaw clenching as he stared at the marble wall in front of him. "Did you ever find out what actually killed him in that courtyard?"

The message is long, typed in careful paragraphs. To Hayden Wolfe, I watched your press conference. I'm one of the men who came forward after. My name is Michael. I'm 29. I’m married, with two kids. I was 13 when Rachel Gregory started working at my school as a counsellor. She was kind at first. Then she wasn't. She did the same things to me she did to you. The drugs. The touching. The filming. The way she made you feel like you wanted it. Like you deserved it.

"We watched you die. The explosion, the forensic evidence—" "Oh, that?" Michael stepped out of the incubation pod with the fluid grace of something that had never known physical limitation. "Merely the end of my first act. Death, as it turns out, is just another business acquisition. You buy, you improve, you resell. In this case, I'm both the commodity and the customer."

he said, as I was pricked at the heart. "The geneticist was found dead this morning. I'm very sorry, Michael," I said, as he closed his eyes for a while. "You can leave now; I need to be alone," he said, and not long after, I was out of the station. The pain Michael was feeling was far too beyond imagination. And to think Ambrose was getting his hands dirty without any consequences made me want to rip his heart out. I will do anything to make sure he gets exposed. ******* Michael's POV