𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 • MICHAEL MYERS

020

×~10 Minutes Until Midnight~×

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Logan was lying in a ditch on the side of the road. Every small noise she could hear through the rain got her heart beating in her ears. Her hands were over her mouth to hide her breath, even though it was caught in her throat. Mud caked her skin and soaked into her clothes. She could no longer tell tears from rain as she silently sobbed.

She cried for Cathy, for Judith and Angel, for Sheriff Andy, the officers who had tried to protect her, and the little paper boy. But she cried for herself, as well. She cried for all the trouble and torment she's been through at the hands of whom she considered a friend. She cried for how her life would be after.

She vowed, in her moments of desperation and sorrow, that she would be the one to destroy the Boogeyman. She sat in this ditch, feeling the mud grow thick around her, for what felt like hours. She could no longer feel her arms and legs with how long she laid there in terror.

The sky was starting to clear and the rains were beginning to let up as a yellow tint rose into the sky.

Noises were again audible and, when silence overcame her, she began to pull her exhausted limbs from their muddy prison.

Her muscles were tired and strained, she was sure speaking would be impossible without pain, and her eyes stung red and her vision was fuzzy.

Logan stumbled onto the wet grass, crawling on her hands and knees and lavishing in the ability to move, which she never thought she'd do again.

She debated returning to the gas station where, assuming he hadn't killed them, help would surely be. Even if he had disposed of the unassuming worker and patron, either one was sure to have some communication device.

Logan was unaware of what was further up the road, and was not keen on finding out, so she followed the road back towards the station, collapsing into the mud when any abnormal noise met her ears.

Although the treck back felt like forever and her knees were weak, arms heavy, Logan was determined. The station came into view. She bit back the strangled feeling when her gaze fell upon her friends' bodies, lying together in a twisted body of bloody limbs. The car was gone, likely stolen by Michael in his attempts to pursuit her.

She slipped through the morning rain, under the cover of an inky black sky. The gas station lights stung her eyes as she approached.

The red pickup that Michael had stowed away in had gone and, telling from the cashier's guts not hanging out, he had decided to spare their lives.

Logan crashed into the door. The bell above her rattled with force. The cashier, who looked no older than 16, with his pimpily face, green eyes, and a shaggy brown mullet. He reminded her of an older Wesley Rhoades, a boy Michael had been convicted of bludgeoning to death.

"Ma'am? Are you okay?" The teen jumped from behind the counter.

"I need a phone." Her voice was hoarse and she sounded like she had caught a cold. "Please, please get me a phone!"

"Okay, I have one in the back. There's a chair behind the counter, sit down while I get it."

"No! No! Take me to the back, he can't see me from the back." Logan pled. "Please, I'll explain everything when we're safe."