A/N: I had swim team the other day, and my coach showed up dressed as Santa Claus. I had a very bad day, but it made me smile. If you're having a bad day, think about Santa Claus in Shorts and slides with the top part of a pair of boots glued to them.

You didn't get diddly-squat from your research. All you found was a news article on your dad winning a full scholarship to Yale. In the photo, you could see him and your grandparent's smiling happily. Next to them, however, looked a very unhappy U/N, with an angry glare at his brother. You also found a suspicious death of a neighbors' puppy, and your Uncle seemed to be the prime suspect, but there wasn't enough proof. One thing you could tell for certain was that you're uncle wasn't exactly Mr. Cool Guy of the town.

At about four in the morning, you gave up on looking. You could barely keep your eyes open, and you had to strain them in order to just read what was in front of you. There was no point in continuing to investigate like this. You stumbled into bed as if you'd had one too many margaritas and passed out almost instantly.

_________________

You got up at about nine. You weren't as tired, but your eyes still hurt. Glancing in the mirror, you saw that they were bloodshot. Now you not only felt like you had one too many margaritas, you looked like you were feeling it the day after. There was no sun shining through your window. No, there was rain beating down on it like a heavy metal drummer.

You went downstairs to see several things on the counter. One was a note, one was your phone (which was promised to be returned to you on your birthday), and the other was a box messily wrapped in newspaper.

You looked at the letter first.

Y/N,

Your uncle and I had more errands to run. We should be back around eleven. We'll take you out to lunch, and I made arrangements with F/N's mom to take you guys to see a movie. I know it's been a while since you've seen her, and we both thought that you should get together again. We'll pick her up at about seven.

-Aunt A/N

You smiled slightly at the idea of seeing one of your only friends. It had been a while since you'd seen anybody you had a relationship with that you didn't deem suspicious or that wasn't a serial killer that had the inability to die.

Next, you turned to the box. It was about the size of a shoe box, and had your name written on it. You recognized the handwriting to be a serial killer with the inability to die.

Cautiously, you opened the box, expecting to see a head or somebody's arm. Fortunately, it was neither. It was a very tiny puppy.

You had several questions. 'Oh, my God. Where did he find this dog?', 'How old is this dog?', and 'What am I supposed to tell aunt A/N?' were only some of them.

There was a piece of paper in the bottom of the box.

Well, that was...ominously nice. Why would Michael get you a dog? He hates those things, and yet he carried one from wherever he dwells to your house and gave it to you.

You sat on the couch, puppy in arms, and thought. You thought about many things. Your priority, though, was figuring out why Michael gave you the dog. Was he trying to stay away from you? Was he trying to make a way to hurt you without hurting anyone you had a bond with? Was he going to kill the dog? Where did he manage to find a puppy? The nearest adoption center was thirty miles out of town. Did he really go that far to get a dog for you?

You must have been sitting there for a really long time, because the next thing you knew, the puppy was asleep and you heard the garage door opening.

Quickly, you set the puppy aside and grabbed the box. You ran up the stairs and put it in your room, deciding to dispose of it at a later time.

"Hey, Aunt A/N?" You called as she got out of the car, a box in her hands.

"Oh, hey!" She ducked the box behind her. "What's up?"

"I went out on a walk this morning to get some coffee, and I found a puppy in a box. The note said that the dog had all of his shots, and that they just didn't have room for a dog in their home. I took him, and I thought maybe we could keep him? Look at him!" You gestured to the puppy, who had woken up, and was tilting his head at the noise. "He was cold and hungry and shaking and-"

"Relax. We can keep him. He'll be your responsibility, though. Walking, potty-training, that's all on you, alright?" She handed Uncle U/N the box, who carried it up the stairs and away from your line of sight. "Do you know what you're going to name him?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, tell you what: We'll go to lunch and talk about it there. Sound good?"

"Okay."

_____________________________

You got back from the movie with F/N at about ten. The ultimate decision that the two of you made was that R/R/M (Recently released movie, like Red Notice) was a good movie. At lunch, the verdict for the puppy's name was to be Cooper. He looked like a Cooper.

A/N: Do dogs ever just look like their names? I tried to name Maverick (our red husky puppy) Hotch because he looked like a Hotch, but was outvoted. Why? Because he acts like Maverick from Top Gun. A since-passed dog of ours acted like Hotch, but he was an old German Shepherd. They're both good boys.

Lunch was good. You went to Y/F/R (Your favorite restaurant), and when you got back, you were presented with the box that Aunt A/N had not wanted you to see. Inside was a picture of your family. Where she got it, you didn't know. But, it was framed and ready to be stared at in moments of extreme sadness.

That night, however, you couldn't sleep. You just couldn't stop thinking about Cooper. Where did Michael get him?

At around two in the morning, you gave up on sleep. You were in a 'screw this, I need to know' kind of mindset, and you couldn't ignore it. Quietly, you opened your window and snuck out, not knowing where you were going, but knowing who you needed to find.

After nearly two hours of walking through the woods, you found the morgue. Peering through a window, you saw that it was empty inside. Well, he wasn't there. Time to keep moving forward.

After two and a half hours, you stumbled upon recently turned dirt. A shovel was very near to it, and somebody had a bit of blonde hair sticking out from the ground. Well, you weren't messing around with a dead body.

Fortunately, you did see a small log cabin not too far away, and you knew exactly who messed around with the dead body.

You walked over to the door and pounded aggressively on it. You stood there for a moment, waiting for him to answer. You went to knock again, but the door swung open, leaving you looking like a fool, trying to square up with air.

"Where did you get Cooper?"

"The puppy. Where'd you find him."

"But you hate animals. Why? Why'd you go out of your way and get a dog?"

"Answer my question and I will."

You huffed, but went inside anyways. You seated yourself on the floor and looked up at the looming giant. "I demand to know why you got the dog."

"Okay, but you hate animals. Why did you go out of your way to get a dog for my family when you murder every dog you see? Why?"

"Why would we need a dog to protect us?"

"No, no. I love dogs. I am very grateful for Cooper. Is it a crime to ask, though?"

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Michael," You began. "You are a massive boulder of a serial killer who walks faster than I run. You have inhuman strength and just refuse to die. You've committed more crimes than I can count, not limited to murder and arson. And you think a conversation will scare me?"

"What was so bad about it that it made you, Michael Myers, the death-defying madman, worry?"

"Michael, I am scared. I am scared of you, and you not telling me what you heard is absolutely horrifying. I'd rather be more scared then wonder."

Michael opened the front door and gestured for you to leave. Assuming you had no choice, you up and left.

That left only you, your thoughts, and a very long walk home.

A/N: No more chapters until after the New Year starts. Happy Holidays (or, in Latin Felix Sanctus-Dieus), happy new year, Io Saturnalia, and to all a good night.