Er, yeah. Hi there. I... yeah. Sorry. That's about all I can say. There's really no excuse for leaving it this long but I just sort suddenly hit complete lack of interest in continuing this. I'm not sure why. And hey, at least I made it with an update before it hit a year. And just in time for Halloween too.
Also, new banner!Disclaimer:
All other information and disclaimers are at the beginning of this story.
Drusilla hummed along to a tune only she could hear as she picked up the antique ivory comb from the dresser. Long slow notes, short fast notes, it had them all. It was a simple tune; the notes almost seemed to be chosen at random, but if one cared to listen long enough a pattern would emerge. It was a regular rhythm that drew a person in. It made them want to simply listen and attempt to discern the tune, and where they might have heard it before.
That was another thing about it, the longer one listened the more familiar it became. People would sweat that it was something they’d heard before, perhaps a long time ago when they were young.
It was a tune that would cause anyone to stop in an effort to place it. But they never did. The soothing feeling that the song induced made it difficult to do so. Such was Drusilla’s mastery of its use, that she could already have a person half drained of blood before they even noticed the sting of the bite.
Drusilla walked lazily back to the bed and sat on the edge, facing the mirror over the dresser. She did not, of course, cast any reflection. She reached beside her and drew the small form into her lap. Still humming, she began running the comb through Sierra’s hair. The humming was interrupted often by the girl’s giggling as she watched the brush and her hair in the mirror, apparently moving on their own.
The two had been having ever so much fun that evening. First, there had been the introduction to each other’s most favourite doll. Miss Edith and Princess Kara had gotten along famously at the tea party. They had played games far passed the little girl’s bed time until night had finally taken its toll on the girl. Now Drusilla was brushing her hair before bed.
Drusilla began swaying side to side in time with her humming. Eyes closed and her face blank, the girl started swaying as well. Nothing could have broken through the serene little pocket of space Drusilla and her subtle song created. Not even the bolder, more powerful melodies that Spike was creating while keeping the girl’s parents company downstairs.
Some particularly enthusiastic verses from Spike’s song had nearly disrupted them many times. She would have been annoyed at her Spike for the interruptions if she did not find his newest song so engaging. Oddly though, the girl always seemed to be a bit distressed by the sounds. Drusilla had to calm her few times with her own song so they could get back to their party.
Drusilla smiled as she heard another expertly performed chorus from the living room. She pouted a moment later though when she realised that the song was about to reach its end for the night.
The girl’s straight hair was very well taken care of. It hardly needed any brushing to get kinks or tangles worked out. Placing the comb at her side, Dru hugged the drowsy girl to her chest. Still swaying back and forth, her tune changed to a lullaby. Vaguely, she could remember doing this with her sister. Tucking her in, singing the girl to sleep. It was something she occasionally missed from her life.
With her free hand, she tucked a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. Her hand continued down, drawing all the girl’s hair over shoulder. Closing her eyes, she let the final few verses of her own lullaby draw her in. Bowing her head, she felt a warm cheek against her cold one. She could here the girl breathing deeply and regularly. Tilting her head slightly, she felt a pulse against her lips.
She stopped humming.
* * * * *
Spike took a sip of the unconscious woman before turning back to the television in time to see Manchester United score another goal, bringing their total up and out of the 2-2 tie. He absolutely loved satellite TV. It had been far too long since he’d seen his Reds play. Draining the last bit from the woman, he tossed her body away.
Her husband sobbed from his position pinned to the wall. Michael — for Spike had found that dark and mute only answered (as it were) to that name — stood next to him, holding ready another of the kitchen knives that he had gathered. Spike had noticed that Drusilla’s ‘baby brother’ had a definite preference for knives and similar cutting instruments. Though he had also noticed that he was not limited to them. Not after seeing what he did last week when a struggling human had stabbed him with his own knife. Spike hadn’t known until then that a pencil could be so effectively and easily forced through the skull without breaking.
The husband was pinned to the wall through various areas of soft tissue. Thanks to Spike’s first hand knowledge of arteries and other weak spots, he had yet to bleed to death or fall unconscious. Although the latter was probably not far away due to his struggling and the former most likely not long after that.
For his wife, it had taken a while until the pain drove her to oblivion. Spike usually preferred going in for a clean kill — just eat and be done with it. But every once in a while, he would take his time and make it last.
Hubby was pretty weak by this point so Spike knew that he wouldn’t be able to do much in the time left. Through his sobs, the man still alternated between pleading for his and his family’s life and cursing Spike to Hell. His voice was long since hoarse so his threats were mostly indistinguishable by that time.
He gestured for Michael to add the next, and most likely last, knife to the veritable pincushion that was the husband. A cheer from the television had Spike turning back to it. Chanting to the tune of Tannenbaum began and Spike joined in. “United's flag is deepest red, it shrouded all our Munich dead.”
He paid no attention to the sudden hoarse screaming from behind him. “Before their limbs grew stiff and cold.”
The scream trailed off, ending in a quiet sigh. “Their heart's blood dyed it's every fold.”
He had always liked that song.
* * * * *
Despite preparing and filing the necessary paperwork to claim an extended leave of absence, Giles knew his excuses for Xander’s absence from school would eventually fail. Thus far he’d been able to keep Snyder at bay saying that Xander’s uncle had come to town and that they were dealing with many personal family matters leftover from his parents’ death.
Giles was not going to allow Xander be one of the ones who just disappeared. Not when he had finally found what they needed.
It had been nearly a month since that night in the church. Everyone had healed physically. Mentally was another matter altogether. The stories and rumours floating about town certainly didn’t help matters. Stories of a masked shape who lived in the shadows. Stories of how the insane Drusilla and her paramour Spike were the ones who controlled it.
Those two certainly hadn’t been idle since that night. Far from it if he was right in ascribing certain news reports to the duo. Or trio as it was now.
Buffy had been going out nearly every night since then. The trouble — the destruction — being caused by the trio being so great. Giles knew that she was iffy on the subject of getting Xander back. He knew she missed him. But she was treating him as someone who was already dead. Unfortunately, Giles wasn’t going to discourage that thought. If they couldn’t remove the spectre of Michael Myers from Xander, then she would need to kill him.
He hoped, that in the real world, Michael Myers would stay dead. Because the way he seemed to survive, no matter what injury was bestowed upon him, worried Giles more than he’d care to admit.
While watching the movies with Buffy, Willow and, surprisingly, Cordelia, he’d been collecting information on Michael Myers. Everything he could. And one of the things that had been continuously conveyed throughout the films was Michael Myers being absolute evil. Remorseless and smart. Not caring about anything other than his intended target.
Then there were the apparent supernatural facets of Michael Myers. While the movies hadn’t gone into much detail — and what it showed had not been very accurate — Giles did get a pretty clear picture of things.
Druidic curses, satanic cults, Nordic runes; honestly, Giles didn’t know whether to scoff or cringe at the horrendously inaccurate portrayals of some of the supernatural forces. But the fact remained that they existed within the movies. Most of them, that is. Would they exist in the same fashion in the real world as Michael Myers apparently did?
Giles didn’t know. But they might all find out soon. Though if all went according to plan, it wouldn’t make any difference. Because no matter what, they were going to destroy Michael Myers that night.
Giles just prayed that they could do it without destroying Xander as well.
* * * * *
There was no background noise. None of those little sounds that most people never notice. The rustling of leaves, the scurrying of animals, the singing of birds, none of them. Xander was the only thing there that made a noise or could induce one in his surroundings. A kicked stone would clack loudly against the pavement once and then muffle, like it was travelling through water.
He was completely alone in this town. He’d walked down every road he could find and had never seen anyone else. He’d walked to the edge of town and tried to leave, only to find himself back on Main St. one turn later. There was no hunger. Yet he felt starved, knowing that there was nothing to eat and no need to eat it since nothing there was real. No exhaustion and therefore no sleep. Nevertheless, he felt tired. Deep down, in the pit of his consciousness, he felt tired.
No time existed there either. The sun sat on the edge of the horizon, never sinking. Clouds frozen in the sky, fluffy and white. All unmoving. Perpetual dusk, causing everything to cast a long shadow. Sometimes, wisps of something would move in them. At least, he thought so.
His last clear thought was of him in the alley behind the Bronze. Drusilla had been there waiting. And then… he had been here. At first, he had had no idea where he was supposed to be. Some areas looked more familiar than others but he could not place anything. Every once in a while when he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, he would take a turn only to find himself in front of the house where he had first appeared in this nightmare. But it wasn’t until his second attempt at leaving the town that he saw the sign.
The discovery didn’t surprise him much. Nor did the realisation that the house he had started off in front of was the Myers house. The place where Michael had lived, where he was raised. And where he had killed his sister.
More wandering revealed more recognisable places like the school, the Strode house, and many others. But he avoided them once it became apparent that he wasn’t recognising them from having seen the movies, but from having actual memories of being there before.
Michael’s memories. And once he started remembering things, he couldn’t stop.
It felt like an eternity. Weeks or months; hours or minutes; it didn’t matter how long he’d actually been trapped. Xander could tell he was slowly going mad.
* * *
He had given up wandering, realising the futility of it. There was simply no point. No use. Not when every corner brought on a new memory not his own. He’d abandoned all pretences of resisting now, sitting with his back against the door of his sister’s house.
Michael’s sister. In this place, in this mental landscape, it was getting more and more difficult to differentiate between his and Michael’s memories. He didn’t even know whether his thoughts were his own anymore.
It was too much. All too much.
There was a flash that lit up everything around Xander. He scrambled to his feet and off the porch into the road. Looking up and down the street, he couldn’t seen anything different at first. But then in the distance, above the treetops, something new rose up. A dark skyscraper of a cloud.
The noise came next. A deep and distant rumbling, the sound of rolling thunder. Xander looked up and saw all the previously immovable clouds were tearing across the sky now. Transforming, shifting from one shape into another, darkening from grey to black in the blink of an eye. Another bolt of lightening arced across the sky.
The false world around him suddenly sharpened. Everything came to life, seeming to become more real than ever, as the storm began around him. He could hear the rustling of the leaves and the whistling wind as it whipped through the trees. A cold blast of air came with the wind.
Xander shivered. Running back to the porch he tried to open the door. Tried being the operative word. Xander pounded against it, throwing his shoulder at it with all his weight. It wouldn’t budge. And now his shoulder hurt.
Xander backed away from the door and stumbled down the steps. A few drops of rain were beginning to fall. And he knew it would quickly increase.
Xander ran across the street and tried the door of that house with no luck. The darkness around him grew as the sun finally decided it was time to set. All the houses around him were dark and devoid of life, as was the entire town. He ran out into the street again and pounded up the pavement. The rain started to come down heavier then.
The water down his back was freezing and he shivered more than ever. He had tried more houses but they were all shut against him as well. Even trying to break the windows wasn’t working. Not knowing what else to do, he ran in the direction of the local park where there were a couple small gazeboes and a large, solid-roofed pavilion.
It was pitch black long before Xander could find his way to the park. He was breathing heavily now, a stitch in his side from the running. It wasn’t fair, he thought. The thunder overlapped now. Xander could feel the ground beneath his feet shaking with each rejuvenated crash. Lightening flared left and right, almost providing enough continuous light to guide him. Stumbling onto another street, something in the distance caught his attention.
A porch light was on.
Xander almost cried, for he knew that it couldn’t be a coincidence that the only light in the entire neighbourhood, most likely the entire town, was coming from the Myers house. He had no choice, the rain was coming in bucketfuls by then. Running up the street on numb legs, tripping over the kerb, he made it. Drenched, muddied, and sore all over for the first time since appearing here, he grabbed the door handle.
It turned easily and opened into darkness. Xander could make out the vague shape of stairs across from him. Another flash of lightening behind him illuminated the inside enough for him to get a better look. And the moment he did, he remembered. He could remember living here. And he could see that Halloween night more easily than ever before. Walking into his sister’s room while she was getting dressed, a mask over his face. He stabbed her. Once, twice, and more. He didn’t try to keep count.
He shook himself from the memory and walked in, closing the door behind him. He could barely see in the gloomy interior. Blindly, he reached for a light switch he knew to be on the wall. The ceiling light in the front hall blinked on. The light wasn’t bright. In fact, it was little better than the darkness it replaced.
Xander cautiously peered through the doorways on either side of him, one leading to the dinning room, the other the den. Before he could make a choice of where to go first, a wooden creak echoed from upstairs. Twisting around, he stared up the stairs.
There, at the top, stood Michael Myers.
Rest assured, I will finish this relatively soon. I have it all planned out. Mostly. I'd estimate another three chapters left. Four, at the most.
Be sure to review so you can: a)
Yell at me for the delayb)
Tell me you like the updatec)
Is that the Rabbit of Caerbannog