Chapter Text
One year.
Three hundred and sixty-five days had passed since that night—when blood soaked the walls of Smith’s Grove and Y/N walked out hand-in-hand with the Boogeyman the world feared. Only… he wasn't the Boogeyman to her anymore. It was Michael. Just Michael.
A year had passed since that long, glowing morning that still made her heart flutter and her cheeks flush. The memory lived in her body as much as her mind—the way he held her, the way he worshipped her, the way he claimed her. She still remembered the soreness, the lazy heat that lingered in her bones long after they stopped moving. That day had shifted everything between them.
Since then, they had built a new kind of life together. It was quiet, strange… but it was theirs.
The town had begun to whisper. People noticed how the old Myers house didn’t look so decayed anymore. The rotting porch had been rebuilt, the broken windows replaced, the once-collapsing fence stood straight again. But no one dared get too close. They knew something wasn’t right. They just didn’t want to find out what.
Y/N sat on the bed now, staring out of the window as sunlight slanted in across the floorboards. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her cardigan as her mind wandered.
She loved him.
She knew it. She felt it. Every touch, every silent glance they shared, every time she woke up with his arm draped over her body and his breath warm on her skin… it was love. Raw. Untamed. Unspoken. But still there.
She was sure Michael knew she cared for him. But love… that was different. That was more. That was forever.
And Y/N didn’t know how to say it.
She wasn’t afraid of how he’d react—not really. But something about speaking the words out loud made them feel too big, too real, like they would echo off the walls and change everything. What if he didn’t want that? What if his silence didn’t mean love?
She sighed, laying back against the pillows. She wanted to say it. She just didn’t know when.
Downstairs, Michael was sharpening blades.
The soft shink, shink of metal meeting stone had become a sort of lullaby in this house. It was part of their normal now. He always made sure to do it when she was safely upstairs or when she was out tending the little overgrown garden behind the house. He never did it when she was nearby—almost like he didn’t want her to see that side of him, even though she already knew every dark and violent part of him.
Michael had been busy.
Throughout the year, he had become more tender in his own, strange way. He courted her—if you could call it that. He brought her strange little gifts: a vintage music box that still worked, a silver locket with no photos inside, and a pair of boots in her size that must’ve cost a fortune if he’d bought them. (He hadn’t.)
He also brought money—wads of cash stuffed in envelopes or jars, which he’d silently place on the table. She’d use some to shop online or buy essentials, but most of it was tucked away in a box beneath their bed. Saved. For what, she wasn’t sure.
Their love life had only grown more intense. Michael had a stamina and hunger that sometimes left her breathless for days afterward. He could be soft, even gentle—but more often, he was dominant, feral, and insatiable. And she loved every second of it. Somehow, he always knew when she needed him… and when she needed him.
Still, she never said the words.
And Michael never asked.
But downstairs, in the cool shadows of the basement, Michael had plans.
Today was September 27th.
And in just over a month, it would be Halloween.
Michael’s favorite night of the year.
But this year, it wasn’t just about blood. Or vengeance. Or fear. This year, Michael had a mission—one he’d been planning since three days after that morning with Y/N.
Flashback…
He had left the house that evening just before dinner. She thought nothing of it—he sometimes went out, always returning before dark. But that night, something had caught his attention in town. As he passed by a bridal store window, his steps halted.
There, behind the glass, was a wedding dress.
Long. White. Form-fitting until the knees, then flaring like the petals of a flower. Simple, elegant, with a veil draped just so. Michael didn’t know why he stopped—until he remembered.
His mother.
She had shown him old photo albums once, when he was very young. Pages of her smiling awkwardly in a white dress, her arms looped around his father. That memory had stuck with him, tucked deep away.
Now, that dress was all he could think about.
Except this time, it wasn’t his mother he saw in it—it was Y/N.
He imagined her walking toward him, wearing that dress, eyes glowing, lips parted in a shy smile. And then he imagined the rest—slipping the ring on her finger, carrying her back home, locking the door, not leaving the bedroom until days later.
He made up his mind that night. And he returned in time for dinner, silent and steady as ever. But when he lay beside her that night, holding her close, he didn’t sleep. He planned.
The flashback ends.
Now, Michael sat in the basement, a single bulb overhead casting light across his collection of knives. Some he’d had for years. Others were new, acquired along the way. But tonight, his focus was sharper than any blade in his hands.
This Halloween would be different.
He was going out, yes—on his usual spree. But in between the carnage, he had errands to run.
First, the ring. He’d kill if he had to. He’d take a dozen if needed, until he found the one that fit her perfectly.
Then, the dress. It had to be perfect. It had to show off the body he adored—his favorite work of art. He’d take matching shoes, maybe a necklace or earrings. He didn’t know fashion, but he knew her.
He already had a place to hide it all: the far corner of the basement, behind old boxes and furniture she never touched. She wouldn’t find it. Not yet.
He’d bring it all home—undamaged, untouched. Then, he would go out again to finish what he started. When morning came, he’d return.
And he’d take her to the bedroom. celebrating in her mind another successful Halloween but in his a plan that was coming together.