Michael Myers Story Novels & Stories

It’s much better to be compared to them, rather than those ‘officers. “Aaaand we’ll take this too,” That’s the last thing I heard before the door closed. I stayed still for a while. I don’t know how long I was there, but I let myself mull over what just happened. I almost got killed, AGAIN. That was a close one. I wanted to cry, but why would I cry? That was the first thing that my mind told me to do. Instead, I accidentally slept inside the jar.

I said, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Wait, who?” “Michael.” “He what?” Tessa practically shouted over the phone. I winced. “And Tanner answered the door.” “Holy shit, Rainey! I need all the details,” she said. I explained every single embarrassing moment between Michael and me in my home. Reliving it didn’t make it any easier, and it didn’t give me any clear insight on what I was going to do next. When I finished speaking, there was a long pause on the other end.

I gently nudged him to finish the story. "The whore convinced them that I raped her!" His cold voice echoed in my ears, making my suspicions a reality. "If only you knew how I felt... people started poking in my most personal business, calling me names..." Michael paused, trying to calm himself so he could keep talking. I removed my seatbelt so I could lean over the gearshift and rest my head on his shoulder. I wanted to support him, to ease his pain, but there was only so much I could do.

But the damage had already settled into the room. Jonathan’s final warning sat heavily between them all. Don’t trust Michael. Michael looked away briefly. Then quietly— “There’s something I didn’t tell you.” Daniel’s expression darkened instantly. “Of course there is.” Michael ignored the anger. His face looked tired now. Not defensive. Tired. “The first time they connected me to the system… I died for almost four minutes.” Silence. Amara frowned slightly. “What?” Michael leaned against the edge of the desk slowly. “I was seven.”

I muttered. I didn't have the mental energy to explain the concept of an multi-dimensional boyfriend swap to a pair of ancient wolf servants. My mind was still spinning from everything Michael had told me. Williams was back in prison. The police had been looking for my body. Michael had literally cracked the earth open trying to find me, only to land inside the most inconveniently handsome secondary character in my favorite, messed-up series. At least he has the muscle to survive, I thought, a strange sense of relief washing through my panic. But he doesn't know the plot. He doesn't know that this whole place is a ticking time bomb.

That swan dive probably wasn’t a good idea, but I know it will be hard to get around soon and I just had to get another one in before I’m begging him to carry me upstairs to bed. “Well, duh.” I laugh. “But she doesn’t need the deats.” I poke Michael in the side and throw my leg around his strong waist, close my eyes, and relish what is just another moment of happiness in the string of amazing moments that has become my life. Michael being shot was the most terrifying thing that ever happened. After he passed out, I managed to get my phone and call an ambulance. They rushed him to the hospital and into surgery and saved his life – barely.

Gary took the drink from him, if he want answers then Michael has to be a little sober in order to recall what truly happened. "When?" "In highschool." "Can you recall the story?" "I remember it like it was yesterday." "Do you think you can tell me?" Michael raised his head and looked at him "I have never told it to anyone, except for my grandmother. I wrote it to her in my diary like I always do then." "What if you tell me now? I will be your first living audience. If I can recall, your grandmother died before you knew Sasha." Michael was silent for a while "give me a drink and I will tell you."

He asked, navigating between a couple of semi's on the road. "Not really scared, but I was extremely nervous. They had already taken my blood and poked at me. I wasn’t sure what they wanted. Anyway, this tall blond bombshell of a guy enters wearing a lab coat through these double doors connected to the exam room, pushing a folded up treadmill. He stopped and unfolded the treadmill, and then pointed at it and said get on, so I did. After 10 minutes of walking, running, walking running, I was about to die all over again. He told me to sit back on the exam bed. That’s when another guy walked in, wearing the same kind of Lab coat and started yelling at him. Michael just laughed at the guy then t

No matter what, Michael wouldn’t be lasting much longer. The moment I got into my car, I called someone that worked for me, the person who handled all my dirty jobs. His name was Hunter and I met him during my time as a boxer. He was once a special forces soldier but he got dishonorably discharged. He worked as a mercenary for a bit and then quit due to its high risk. His name was Hunter. “You never call me for fun,” he muttered the moment he picked up the call. “I need your help. There is someone I need to get rid of,” I replied.

I sat on the floor of the study, not in the chair, not at the desk, just on the floor with my back against the wall and my knees pulled up and the room dark except for the city light coming through the windows,and I spoke to Sandra Raymond. I know how that sounds. I am aware it is not the kind of thing that can be fully explained or justified . But she was there in some way, in me, around me,and in the newspaper on the desk and in the list of names I had just finished writing. She was there and I needed her to know some things. I told her I had read the article. I told her that Michael had called her disappearance a dramatic gesture, that the search had been called off, that the world had ac