A/N: I apologize for the lack of chapters lately. I've had a cold (no longer, though), I've had a bunch of schoolwork, and I've been getting a bunch of baking orders. I had to get my main priorities out of the way.

You didn't want to get out of bed the next day. You were horrified that there would be another 'gift' at the door. You were afraid that Michael would still be watching. You were scared of what would be on the news. You were just afraid in general.

"Y/N? It's time to get up, it's nearly ten." Aunt A/N gently opened your bedroom door.

You groaned and pulled the blanket over your head.

"What's the matter? Do you not feel good?" She inquired, opening your curtains.

"No."

Well, you didn't feel good. You didn't like the bottomless pit of fear that was forming in your stomach. It felt like when you were younger, being afraid to roll over (or even move) in bed for fear that the boogeyman would see you. For fear that the horned beast under your bed would grab you if you made one wrong move. For fear that the monster in your closet would see you moving through the crack under the hinges and make a move.

"I'll bring up some water, then. Maybe that will help. How'd you sleep?" She asked, placing he wrist on your forehead.

"Not well."

"You feel pretty warm. Fever dreams?"

"I guess."

What she didn't know (although could probably guess) was that your dreams consisted of Tommy Brandyn's head. Michael peeking out from the trees. His emotionless mask peering at you between the sheets flapping in the wind. She was probably afraid, but you were terrified.

"They called the F.B.I in. Not for the state, though. I mean, the F.B.I. Sam doesn't know what good it will do. Even if they did take Michael, he thinks that he'd just escape again. He-"

"You can't hold it anywhere." Sam interrupted, stepping into the room. "The amount of times it's escaped from Smith's Grove Sanitarium and really any kind of custody cannot be counted."

"It?" Aunt A/N raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"There's no way that thing is human. It's evil on two legs. It's been shot at, stabbed, electrocuted, everything. It just doesn't die." Sam explained, looking out the window. "I wish it would."

"...Okay. Well, I'm going to get Y/N some water. She doesn't feel well. Do you have any plans today?" Aunt A/N asked.

"Yes. I was supposed to go down to the police department. We were going to record something of a criminal profile for the town. Everyone knows who he is, but they don't know how to avoid him, so there's the purpose." Sam sighed, tearing his eyes away from the window and turning to you. "You should get her that water. She looks hot. Temperature wise, I mean."

"Yeah; yeah, I'm on it."

Aunt A/N left the room and Sam sat down at your desk chair.

"Have you seen Michael since the thirty-first?" Sam asked, reaching over and gently closing the curtains.

You hesitated before answering. You'd barely been up five minutes and had already asked to relive the events sixteen hours prior. You'd be more open to it if it was the F.B.I asking. Criminal Minds had been your obsessive show of choice lately, and you found the interviewing tactics quite interesting.

"Yeah. I saw him yesterday. When I came up here to get my homework-- with my handwriting on it-- and I looked out my window when I turned, and I thought I saw his... its mask and jumpsuit behind the tree out there. The big one." You slowly replied.

"Can you stand? Point it out." Sam stood and offered you his hand, which you took in your surprisingly clammy and pale hand.

You pointed out the thick, oak tree where you saw the stupid, stony, physical semblance on his stupid, Ted Bundy-looking face. Where you had seen his stupid blue jumpsuit and stupid red-brown hair.

"That big oak tree? Right next to their garage?"

"Yeah. Head came out to the right of the garage."

"I'll let Sherriff Morgan know today. I've got to go now. I'll bring you some soup on my way back."

"Thanks."

"Of course."

________________________

"Y/N! You've got a letter!" Uncle U/N called, walking up the stairs.

He entered your room and handed you the letter. There was no return address, but you recognized the handwriting.

"I don't want it." You handed it back to Uncle U/N, who looked surprised.

"Well, why not? It could be one of your friends from back home." He asked. "I'll tell you what. I'll leave it on your desk, and you open it when you're ready."

"Alright. Sam back?" You inquired, sitting up.

Your bones felt old. You'd gotten up four times that day. Three of which to use the bathroom, and the other one was to grab some Advil for your headache and to refill your water. Seriously, you felt like you'd been buried alive under concrete and dug your way out with your bare hands.

"No, not yet. Why?"

"He said he'd bring me some soup when he came back, and I could really use it right now." Was your reply.

"Yeah, he said he'd do that. He's probably at the store right now; it's nearly six." Uncle U/N checked his watch and recited the time before glancing out the window. "Oh, never mind. He just got back."

"Sweet. I might from a lack of chicken."

Uncle U/N laughed before walking out of the room. "I'll bring up the crackers."

A few minutes later, Sam came up, holding a steaming bowl. He had a slice of F/B (Favorite Bread, like whole-wheat or white) on a napkin in his unoccupied hand. "Hello," He said "Get any sleep?"

"Some. I need to show you something." You sat up as Sam placed the bowl and napkin on your bedside table.

"What's happened?" He pulled your desk chair up next to your bed and sat.

"I got this... in the mail today." You pointed to the envelope on your desk. You had refused to touch it since you figured out who it was from.

"Well, it's just a letter. It doesn't look like there's a bomb or a head in it. What's there to fear?" Sam inquired, picking it up and examining it. "No return address, though... Odd."

"Don't you recognize the handwriting?" You asked, nibbling on the bread. You were supposed to dip it in the soup, but you really just wanted the bread first.

Sam got your point. He threw in envelope on the floor as if it was a glass.

"He knows my name, Sam. What am I supposed to do?"

Sam was quiet. He stared at the envelope, a look on his face that was hard to distinguish from fear or anger.

"Open it."

"God, no! I can't open that!" You cried.

"You have to open it. Odds are, it's about that boy. Just open it. We can burn it after." Sam suggested.

Hesitantly, you reached down to the floor and grabbed the letter. You stared at it like it was a large pill that you didn't want to take before grabbing the tip of the fold and pulling. Michael didn't seal it very well. He probably used an ancient glue stuck, judging by how easily it opened.

"Oh, my God..." You murmured, throwing the envelope and letter on the floor.

You got up and ran from your bed. None of your bones wanted to run, but they did. You were dizzy, but you were persistent. Sam was chasing you out the front door, but you wouldn't stop.

"Mr. McCalester! Mr. McCalester, are you there?" You pounded on the front door before trying the knob.

The door creaked open.

Mr. and Mrs. McCalester were there, alright. They had a guest over. The guest evidently had a favorite color of red.

You cried out, and Sam pulled your back.

"Come on, come on. He'll pay, don't worry. It'll all be alright.

A/N: Which of the Halloween movies is your favorite? Of the ones I've seen (1-6, except I forgot to watch five), I like Halloween Four. Halloween Three, I believe it was, was atrocious. The one about the masks, and however many days until Halloween.