You flipped a pancake with a flourish, jumping as you failed miserably; on the way back to its pan, it managed to land square on your face and bounce onto your wrist, which was holding the handle of the pan. You yelped, sending it back into its pan with a huff. Seconds later, you moved it to a plate with the other pancakes you'd made, turning off the stove and picking the plate up carefully. You spun on your heel, humming as you did, then letting out a yelp at D's figure leaning against the kitchen island behind you. You almost dropped the food, and thank god you didn't. D's shoulders shuttered in a silent laugh as he stood up straight, waving playfully.

"You're not so good at sensing presence, eh? I've been here a good ten minutes," he added with a playful chuckle, "You're one hell of a pancake juggler." you felt your face heat up at the knowledge that he'd seen your fail, rolling your eyes and scoffing in return.

"You're quiet, I'll give you that." It felt weird and foreign talking to this infamous murderer you'd brown to fear and hate. You knew he'd killed at least 30 people, probably more, in cold blood simply for fame. You knew he'd gut them and leave them hanging for family and friends to find. You knew he'd basically tortured people by calling, taking photos, anything to play with them and destroy any sense of safety they had before butchering them relentlessly, but right now, you felt... oddly safe. Like you knew he'd respect the deal as long as you did, as long as you didn't call the police or betray his trust. Maybe he'd even protect you if someone were to break in or something like that. One thing you were sure of, is you knew it was going to be nice having someone to talk to; a lot better than living alone, even if your new friend is a seemingly heartless killer.

"You have to be quiet in this line of business." he responded, breaking you from your thoughts, "So, what exactly do you know about me? I'd be happy to tell you some deep dark secrets in exchange for an article or two about 'em." You smile, dishing out two plates of pancakes and grabbing the syrup from the cupboard.

"Well, I know the most about the killings documented in Stab 1 through 3, and I also know about a good 15 other murders. I know about your calling and texting tactics, your 'leaving spooky packages' game, and I know you're obsessed with taking people's pictures." to emphasize your final point, D pulled out a camera and took a picture of your face with a click. Out of the front of the camera printed the photo, and he handed it to you once it cleared up.

"You got me there, I'm a bit of a photography nut. Sometime's a shot is just so... irresistible. It often gets me caught by the victim, if they've got good hearing." The camera disappeared into his leather cloak just as he finished speaking. You set the photo aside, leaning on the counter across from Ghostface as he sat down. He stared silently for a moment at the pancakes, before grabbing the chin of his mask and shifting it to sit atop his head; hanging fabric covered his eyes and nose, casting a shadow over his mouth, which was just barely visible. He seemed to catch you staring as he ate, and you saw his mouth curl into a small smile. He pulled his mask back down so the chin hovered over his mouth, speaking into the seemingly built-in voice changer, "Don't go sneaking a peek at my face, honey. It may just be too good-looking for your eyes to handle." you could hear traces of his normal voice over the voice changer since it wasn't as close to his mouth as usual. It sounded smooth and surprisingly high, and you wished you could hear it clearly.

"Don't worry, I won't. If your handsome face didn't melt my eyes, I'm sure you'd do it yourself." you waved your hands slightly as you said 'handsome face', smiling as he placed his mask back atop his head.

"Smart." he took another bite of his food, you doing the same. "Good pancakes." he said shortly, taking the last bite of his first pancakes, though he still had two more.

"Thanks, it was my mom's recipe." your response is a little bit curt. Your mother is one of your least favourite things to talk about, and D seemed to sense that.

"Aren't you a little young to be living alone?" He scanned you up and down real quickly, at least as best he could with his mask impairing his vision. You shrug, taking a bite of pancake in an attempt to dodge the question or send a sign that you did not want to respond to that. D didn't respect your privacy, tilting his head in a manner that clearly said 'not letting you out of this one, kid'.

"U-Uh, when you have rich parents and a stable job, that doesn't matter." you lie, and you hate that you have a terrible poker face. When D doesn't respond, you take the message that he isn't impressed with your horrid lying. With a sigh, you give in and tell the truth, "I jumped at the chance for my parents to leave, they weren't the best to me. They finished paying off the house a few months ago and chose to move to Hawaii with a couple friends and 'relive the partying days'," you begin to pick at your foods, gulping heavily to try pressing away the incoming urge to cry.

"The moment I got a promotion in my job and started making enough to support myself they were out of here. They said I can't come with them, but I'd never even want to if they gave me the chance." by now your appetite was completely gone, but you forced yourself to take another bite for the sake of your health. D didn't seem uncomfortable in the slightest, finishing off his pancakes as he soaked in the awkward silence like a sponge. He sat, absolutely silent, watching as you pick and eat slowly at your pancakes, jaw tight with discomfort and some mixture of sadness and anger.

"Shitty parents. Sometimes it seems like that's all they're there for; ruining your childhood and making you hate 'em." he finally said after pulling his mask in place. His leather-gloved hand took his dish, walking over to the sink and depositing it inside. What a gentleman. You laugh quietly at your thoughts. Who knew a serial killer could be such a nice guy? "Well, I've got some business to take care of. See you for lunch around 2, sweetheart." you turned just in time to see him slip out of the window above the kitchen sink silently, casting one last glance at you before disappearing around the left side of the house.

You finished your pancakes over the next 10 minutes then set your dish and D's in the dishwasher, placing a soap-pod inside and starting it. It was just about 10 o'clock, and you figured you better get some work done. You boss had made sure to let you know you needed a new article 100% done by Friday, which was two days away. You'd started an article about the most recent murder, a random group of bodies, two stabbed, one strangled and one stomped to death. Their bodies had been left on the edge of the forest, a clear warning. You guessed the killer was Michael Myers; It could also be Jason Voorhes, but he usually stuck to Camp Crystal Lake or the land just outside of it. These murders were a little bit too far away for it to be a clear Jason Voorhes killing. You open your computers files, head to the one folder with all of your Michael Myers information and get to work. You'd need to go check out the scene tomorrow and see if you could find any eyewitnesses. You didn't necessarily enjoy getting all up in the crime scene asking the grieving for their opinions, but the job demands what it needs. You open the email from your boss with all of the information currently held, like the victims names, ages, the times the bodies were found, etc.

Hello (Y/N), here you will find all of the information concerning the latest murders. The victims were Tate Rains, Noah Picirello, Sharon Leyton and Carson Tracey. Tate, Age 23, in college studying as a psychology major. Noah, Age 24, in college studying alongside Tate, also a psychology major. The two were dating. Sharon, Age 23, working at an architecture firm. Carson, age 21, in college studying as a doctor. Tate's mother notified the police that she and her three friends were out in the forest overnight on a simple camping trip this past Monday. The mother had been scared of them going too close to Camp Crystal Lake and getting slashed by the legendary 'Jason Voorhes', and insisted they camped in the woods closer to their house in case of emergency, not knowing that's where the Shape of Haddonfield usually performed his murders. When they didn't arrive on the day they said they would, the mother went looking for them and discovered their corpses. Police were called immediately and arrived on the scene approximately 17 hours after the four were killed, Tuesday around 3 pm.

You tilt your head as you finish reading, as confused as ever as to why Michael Myers would just kill for the hell of it. There had to be some reason these four were the targets, but maybe they simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and maybe that was the extent of it. Still, you felt an urge to go check out the crime scene, knowing full-well the bodies would already be removed. Maybe you could find where they'd been camping, deduct which direction the attackers came from, find some DNA evidence connecting Myers to the murders, etc etc. With a quick copy and paste, you move the emails information into your document of Michael Myers information and close the lid of your laptop. Standing, you make your way over to the stairs, then to the upstairs living room where you'd been chased just hours before. Again, you smile at the memory of how your life was almost ripped away, but here you were, acting as if nothing had happened. Behind this room's sofa is a desk with your day planner sat atop with a pencil at its side. You flip to the page for this week, and scribble down on today's panel 'Crime scene snooping', then on tomorrows 'look for witnesses'. You shut your journal and spin on your heel, stopping at the doorway back to the stairs.

You weren't good at sensing presence, sure, but you decided to take your chances and call out to D if he was close enough to hear, "D, I'm heading out to gather some info for an article, I'll be back in an hour or two!" your voice echoes around the house, with no response. You chuckle to yourself for even trying, and head down the stairs, grabbing your car keys and wallet and heading out to your car. You don't bother locking the door behind you, seeing as the only one who would ever come out this far during the middle of the day would be some crazy Ghost-faced murderer. With a beep, your car unlocks and you hop inside. The moment the keys are in the ignition, music blares to life and seems to deafen you, scrambling to turn the volume down and failing to notice the open and close of the car door to the seats behind you. At last you notice the other person in the car when a hand is over your mouth and you're kicking and thrashing as best you can- before you realize it's a leather glove, one clearly belonging to D. As you calm, D removes his hand and you hear his mechanic chuckle.

"Sorry, honey, I just couldn't resist the temptation. You're too easy to scare. Nice music taste, by the way." your heart is beating out of your chest as he speaks, so nonchalant it's irritating. You note that he likes your music taste; odd, seeing as you were cranking Dancing Queen by Abba.

"Jesus, D, you scared the shit out of me!" your words are hardly more than a breath as you lean your head against your steering wheel, trying to calm your racing heart.

"That was the plan. Anyhow, let's go to this crime scene. I'll help you out since you're not so perceptive." he patted your head as he finished speaking, climbing over the middle console and into the passenger seat, leaving a muddy boot-print on the armrest.

You put your foot on the gas pedal and set off, D reaching to turn the radio back on as you did so. The music was a much more bearable volume this time.

"So this is a Myers murder, right? That dude pisses me off, always so sneaky and silent. I mean, come ! Why doesn't he like showing his face to the world?" He did a sort of jazz-hands action as he spoke to accent his words.

"I dunno, his kills have the least reason other than the weird disappearances. I'm still trying to figure out his motives and stuff." you stop at a red light, tapping your finger on the dash as you wait.

"These four kids probably got too close to his hunting grounds. That's a pretty obvious tick for most killers; like that Voorhes guy, he's way too territorial for his own good." D began to hum along to the song on the radio. That made sense, actually; maybe Michael lived in the forest, or at least had something there he'd rather keep hidden from nosy kids.

"I never even considered that. It makes sense I guess, but he doesn't really have a defined territory like Jason..." you bite the inside of your cheek, driving the next few minutes in silent thought.

"Well, I'm sure we'll figure it out. With my brains, and your beauty, and beauty," D's hand rested under his chin as if showcasing his face, "We're unstoppable. Oh, also knives. I have lots of knives in case we stumble upon this Myers dude." he pulled back his sleeve, revealing a blade held to his forearm in a holster, on top of a black sweater sleeve.

You hadn't considered actually running into Michael, but you felt safe enough with D there. He could warn you if he heard someone approaching, and you prayed he was perceptive enough to hear Myers coming if he actually was as silent as people say. Before you knew it, you were pulling to the side of the road, knowing generally where the campers had been; the forest behind Tate Rains house. It would take some wandering, but you were okay with that.

"We get out here, the crime scene will be nearby." you said as you pull the keys from the ignition and step out of your car. D mirrors your action, hesitating and glancing slowly around before shutting the car door. "Make sure no one sneaks up on us, Mr. Perceptive. I, believe it or not, don't want two murder scares on the same day." you finish speaking by flashing him a smile, showing it was a joke. "And, into the forest." you sigh, stepping off the road and onto the thin stretch of grass before the trees began. D was close behind you as you set foot under the trees, feeling immediately colder, as if the temperature dropped hundreds of degrees right then and there. You heard the sound of an unsheathed blade, catching D with his sleeve pulled back and a blade in his hand, scanning the shadows for the slightest signs of movement. "Creepy..." you breathe out, almost having second thoughts, but your decision was made for you as D took a step forward, setting off into the shadows.

The soft crunch of your shoes on the leaf mulch and twigs was soothing enough to propel you forwards, enough to stop you from turning tail and running like the coward you were. You cast a glance over your shoulder and notice how far you'd gone. You could no longer see the road, just trees, and lots of them.

"Keep your eyes peeled. I think there's something nearby, but I don't know if it's-" D was cut off as a deer leaped frantically from the bushes, spotting you and scaring the shit out of you in the process. You let out a scream, almost stumbling onto your ass as the deer spins on its heel and books it. "Oh, well, that's that." D sighed, seeming slightly startled himself as he pulled his sleeve back and placed his knife back in the holster. He then extended a hand to you, and you took it gratefully, brushing yourself off. You were a little embarrassed from getting scared so easily.

"Stupid deer. Come on, let's keep looking." you avert your gaze to avoid looking at D, scanning the treeline instead. You stopped your walking and scanning as your eyes settled on a break in the trees, where a little too much light was filtering through the absence of branches criss-crossing above it. "Look over there!" you point, before setting off at a much quicker pace than before, picking your way carefully over branches, bushes and debris.

D was right behind you, much more silent than your jogging had been, and after a moment you broke free from the trees into a small clearing. At one end were two tents, one a red and blue, the other yellow and grey. In front of them, a few feet away was a firepit, long extinguished and filled with blackened coals. The most disturbing thing was the way the whole place had been left; food was set out on the tables, hot dog buns and condiments, plates set out with cups at their heads, one or two still filled with water.

It was as if- no, it was obvious that the four who had been here hadn't been expecting their deaths. There were no signs of a struggle, either, but you did notice a patch of flattened grass leading out, away from the campsite like a custom trail.

"This way, D." you whisper, afraid to speak too loudly and attract attention. You followed the trail as it winded away from the campsite into another smaller clearing beside a streambed. It would have been gorgeous if it weren't for the insane amounts of blood scattered everywhere. Horrified, you stumbled backwards into D, apologizing with a shaking voice as you took everything in. the water ran red as a pool of scarlet leaked into it, fragments of bone mixed with the blood. "Jesus christ..." you hiss out, shaking your head. You feel sick, but won't let yourself throw up or pass out. "I have to... take a break or something." You can't stop shaking your head as you turn around and bump into D once again- no, no wait... he didn't wear blue? He wasn't tall and burly like- You scream as your feet leave the ground, a hand clamped tightly around your throat. As soon as your scream cuts off D bursts into action, a blade in his hand.

"Shit, sorry (Y/N)!" he screamed as he launched the blade directly at Michael's arm. The momentum buried the blade to the hilt, but it just made Michael's hand tense up more. You were quickly losing consciousness, scratching viciously at Myers' hand as D lunged for the blade in his arm and gave it a vicious twist, at last making you fall to the ground. You were scooped up into powerful arms as you gasped and spluttered desperately for air, your throat burning as D burst into motion. You could hear the heavy footsteps of Michael behind you, walking slowly as if knowing you wouldn't be able to escape or anything of the sort.

As air returned to your lungs you lifted your head, peering over Ghostface's shoulder. You could see Michael lumbering after you, taking insanely long strides and gaining distance despite the fact that he wasn't running. He knew this forest like the back of his hand, it was his hunting grounds and you'd walked directly into it.