#michael myers x pris tate

[aggravatetheaxe]

MICHAEL MYERS (HALLOWEEN 2018) X PRIS - The Shape Returns

It's been almost 40 years since Michael was re-captured in 1979 and brought back to Smith's Grove. The person who hid him for that year is certain she'll never see him free again. But nothing is ever certain when it comes to The Shape.

Masterlist

***

“Mom!”

Priscilla Tate raised her head, unable to keep from frowning. It wasn’t often she heard that tone in her son’s voice—a genuine excitement, a certain energy. There wasn’t much for a nearly forty-year-old man still living with his mother to get excited about.

“What is it?” she asked, picking up her coffee cup. She didn’t sip, and her pencil hovered over the word puzzle she’d been engrossed in. There was something about his voice. But looking at her, there’d be no indication that she was as tense as she suddenly was.

Audrey appeared in the kitchen doorway, waving his phone around like it was some kind of prize. A bright grin was plastered across his face as he approached the breakfast table, but he said nothing.

“Well?” Pris prompted, putting her mug down.

“There’s some neeeeeeews you might be interested in!”

His tone was almost sing-song. She could feel her frown deepen, genuine concern for him beginning to seep through. “What is it.”

Audrey ran a hand through his cherubic curls before jabbing his phone screen. “Someone escaped.”

The second he said it, she knew exactly what he meant. She couldn’t deny that her heart raced a little faster, but for the moment, she’d maintain her cool facade. She couldn’t afford to be as excited as he clearly was. After forty years, there wasn’t much cause to get her hopes up.

“Escaped…? Audrey, could you stop screwing around and tell me what’s going on?”

His grin died for a moment, but quickly came back. “Smith’s Grove. They’re not saying who it was, so, y’know, whatever, but someone escaped Smith’s Grove.”

Wordlessly, Pris held out her hand. Audrey gave her the phone, watching with glee in his eyes as she scanned the Breaking News article. “Transferring patients via prison bus … accident.”

Suddenly, she felt the urge to throw up. Michael.

It had been a few months since they’d gotten word that he would be transferred to a new facility. Smith’s Grove was rebranding as a rehabilitation center, and those who would never be rehabilitated … well … there was no longer a place for them in that image. She’d prayed that the transition would be smooth, but of course, praying had never done anyone much good. Least of all her.

She could feel the blood drain from her face, but through sheer force of will, she was able to keep from shaking. Her breathing was even despite her heart wailing against her ribcage, tone dismissive as she set the phone back down on the table. “They’re transferring a hundred different patients out of that shithole. It couldn’t be him.”

Again, Audrey frowned. “Why not? He’s a … creature of opportunity. You know he’d take any chance he saw to escape.”

“I know that. So do his doctors. That’s why Sartain was planning on escorting him to the new place. He knows what he’s capable of. There won’t be an opportunity.”

“But Mom—”

“Audrey.” She set her pen down, and a hard click resounded through the kitchen. “Your father is not coming home.”

In the past forty years, she’d come to the conclusion that maybe that was for the best. They did what they needed to, visited him every week, but he’d only become more despondent and less responsive as the years wore on. She’d even managed to needle Sartain into lowering his dose of Thorazine, but it had hardly made a difference. When she and Audrey spoke to him, the most he did was blink and nod his head.

Pris was crazy, but she wasn’t dim. There was a reason she was the only human being Michael Myers had ever gotten close to. She didn’t know what the reason was, exactly, but there was a reason—she knew his moods almost as though she was reading his mind. And things had changed since 1979.

Then, he had been … consumed by his frenzied experiments, curious, almost childlike in his hungry fascination. Antsy and eager to spill as much blood as possible before he was caught, for reasons he didn’t even understand himself.

Now, he was different. He was old. Nearly his whole life had been spent confined within four blank walls. Now, it was anger that drove his frenzy. Now, he had more than enough reasons.

And frankly … she wasn’t confident that that anger didn’t extend to her and Audrey. So it was best that he stayed away. Taken care of as humanely as she could finagle, but away.

“Even if he did escape,” she said, breaking the silence that had fallen, “he wouldn’t come right here. He’d stab his way over to the Myers house. It’s always about the Myers house.”

Audrey set his jaw. “Mom, we live here. This is the Myers house.”

Pris opened her mouth to tell him that this was the Tate house, and he was fortunate to have grown up in Haddonfield with her last name and not Michael’s—but no sooner had he said it than a noise from the second floor drew her attention. A crash.

Both of their gazes flew to the ceiling, silence ringing in their ears. Neither moved, neither breathed, listening for further noise … but there was none. Quiet strangled the house.

Slowly, they lowered their eyes to stare at one another.

Pris was the first to speak. “I’m going to check.”

Audrey nodded silently. He was bigger, younger, and stronger than her, but when it came to Michael, he knew to defer to his mother. She’d drilled that into him at an early age: a dog might be nice to a child, but in the end, it answers only to its master. If Audrey got in the way of something his father wanted…

Of course, she had let her son think that was the end of it. That Michael would listen to her, because she was the only person he would listen to. But that wasn’t true. She left the kitchen with nothing but her life—such as it was—in her hands.

Michael wasn’t an animal. He was a force of nature. A hurricane’s only master was destruction.

She climbed the stairs one by one. Stopping. Waiting. Then climbing again. The world seemed like a dream as she ascended to the landing and stood there, listening to the oppressive silence.

She hadn’t dissociated like this in … years. The closest she ever came was when they visited Michael. But with medicine and therapy, her Cotard’s had become much more manageable. Usually.

A familiar thought entered her head like an old friend. A thought she’d had almost constantly for that year they’d been together.

What is he going to do, kill me?

That may have been the only thing keeping him from killing her back then, ironically. That deep belief had permeated her body and mind since her parents’ accident—she was dead, a walking shell, the breath of a spirit trapped within decaying flesh. Michael had no interest in that. A dead woman held no challenge. Empty eyes were not exciting.

It was almost like magic, the ferocity and suddenness with which the delusion gripped her. Her feet shuffled forward, down the hall, without consulting her. She went room by room, opening doors and walking in with abandon, not even bothering to check the corners. He’d show himself when he was ready.

She scanned Audrey’s bedroom. No Michael.

Bathroom. No Michael.

Her bedroom. No Michael.

As she stepped back into the hall, her gaze fell upon the last room.

Edith and Peter Myers had never been part of her or Audrey’s lives, but Pris had been smart enough to keep tabs on them. They’d died over twenty years ago, in a car accident—go figure—and with severed ties and no viable heirs, well … only their bank accounts had been liquidated to pay for Michael’s continued care. Most of their material possessions had gone to the State of Illinois.

Pris had driven a couple hours to Springfield to take part in the auction. She’d still been an RN then, and time off was as scarce as money, but … when she’d told Michael about his parents, something in his body language … had he seriously thought he’d be inheriting anything directly? She wasn’t sure why, but she’d felt compelled to go and try to nab something.

That something had ended up being a mirror. It hadn’t looked like anything special. In fact, the signs of years of storage were unmistakeable: it was scratched and tarnished, something that had been tucked out of sight to be forgotten. Somehow, she’d sensed what it was, and had snatched it up for basically nothing. A bit of research and a quick look at the crime scene photos of Judith Myers’s death confirmed it.

If Michael really was here, she wasn’t surprised he had found his way to the room in which it’d been stored for the past couple decades.

Unceremoniously, she stepped forward and opened the door.

The room was supposed to be a study, but she’d never had much use for it. It had naturally become a storage space, piled with boxes and furniture, littered with papers. The mirror was usually covered, tucked between a chest of drawers and some of Audrey’s old stuff.

Usually.

It was the first thing that caught her eye, leaned up against a nearby stack of boxes. Even tarnished as it was, the silvered surface glowed like phosphorus in the dull sunlight streaming from the window. The broken window, she realized now—not only were the panes smashed, but the wooden muntins were bent and splintered.

Pris took a step in, her body growing even deader. No one else would have gone straight for that thing.

He was here. Even if he had left no clue behind, she was sure she’d be able to feel him.

She turned and finally saw The Shape wedged between a bookcase and the door. He cut a familiar figure in a jumpsuit, a blank-faced mask obscuring his features. The same mask as forty years ago—she was sure of it, though the latex had been worn and creased with age.

He simply stood there, making no attempt to conceal himself, and so she did the same.

“Hi, Michael.”

Her voice was calm, and she was almost surprised to find that the calm was not manufactured like it had been earlier, in the kitchen with Audrey. The deranged anger that usually rolled from him in waves seemed nullified here. And after all, what was he going to do, kill her?

He said nothing. No surprise.

Pris sighed and took another step forward. “Is Sartain dead?”

Michael turned his head, just slightly. The faint reflection of light in his one remaining pupil sparkled at the window. No. Sartain was alive.

Fucking Sartain. He was as bad as Loomis, just in different ways … constantly scrutinizing Michael like an amoeba under a microscope. Experimenting. Her gaze narrowed, and she stepped closer. “He let you go, didn’t he?”

Michael turned his head again to stare down at her. Yes. That’s what Sartain had done.

Pris could only shake her head. Sartain was crazy. He thought he had some sort of bond with Michael, and that that bond would save him. He thought he understood. He was mistaken.

Perhaps the same could be said for Pris. It had been forty years, after all.

She sighed. “What now?”

Michael stared. Then, he raised his chin, gazing at the mirror.

“Judith’s,” Pris said as she glanced behind her. “I went and got it. When your parents died. I thought we should at least have one thing.”

He said nothing, simply continued staring.

A voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs, breaking the silence: “Mom? You okay?”

Michael’s head snapped to the side, and Pris almost jumped. He rarely moved that fast. After a moment, he turned, chest rising and falling steadily.

Had he forgotten? “Audrey,” Pris said quickly, coming to stand by The Shape, so close her shoulder almost touched his chest. She pointed to the hall. “Your son. He still lives here.” After a moment, she added, “He told me you’d be coming.”

Michael turned his head to look back down at her. Son. He remembered.

Slowly, he raised a hand. Pris didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

She wasn’t surprised when he took a fistfull of her hair, though she was surprised at how gently he did it. The only pretense under which they’d been allowed to touch was Sartain’s behavioral experiments, and Pris had a low tolerance for those.

Undaunted, she raised a hand to wrap her fingers loosely around his wrist. “It’s gray. We both got a lot older.”

From beneath his mask, she swore he issued a small huff, but couldn’t be sure. He glanced at his wrist, at her hand. Yes. A lot older.

“How many people have you killed so far to get here?”

He blinked slowly. Either he didn’t know or didn’t feel like sharing.

“Mom?” Audrey’s voice was rising in volume and urgency. His footsteps echoed on the stairs, and Pris’s heartbeat matched them. “Mom?!”

Pris looked up at Michael, letting his wrist go. In turn, he released the chunk of hair he still held. She passed him without a word and met a startled Audrey in the hall just in front of his room.

“Jesus fuck, you scared me,” he breathed, looking her over. “Is everything, uh … okay…?”

“Everything’s fine. Let’s just go wait in the kitchen.”

“Wait for what?” Audrey asked, glancing over his mother’s shoulder even as Pris herded him down the hall. “What was the— Is he here?”

“In the kitchen, Audrey.”

He complained the whole way, but once they arrived, he sat obediently in the seat across from her. Not a minute later, The Shape appeared in the doorway.

Audrey was facing the other direction but seemed to sense him. He turned and stood, a breath escaping him. “Dad. I was right. It was you!”

Michael simply stared. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the knife block.

“Get it from somewhere else,” Pris said, finally at ease enough to take a sip of coffee. “Audrey and I can’t afford to have our prints all over whatever you use. Then we’ll be the ones in Smith’s Grove.”

Michael seemed to concede to this logic, turning his head to look back at them.

“Dad.” Pris watched Audrey struggle in place. He wanted to go closer, that much was evident, but her lessons had left an impression. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

Pris looked at Michael. “I think your son wants to touch you.”

He was still for a few more seconds before striding forward, closing the gap between them efficiently. He and Audrey stood almost chest to chest, the same height, simply staring into each other’s eyes. Michael’s muffled breathing under the latex was the only sound that passed between them.

“Do it,” Pris translated. “He’s not staying long.”

Audrey raised his hand, touching the neck of the mask. Michael’s shoulders swelled infinitesimally.

“Audrey, don’t.”

He stopped, redirecting. His fingers ghosted over his father’s shoulder, down to his wrist. He took Michael’s hand in his and raised it to look.

“I haven’t touched you since … since I was a kid,” Audrey murmured. Even more than Pris, he’d never been one to consent to Sartain’s nonsense. Probably for the best. He squeezed his father’s hand experimentally, blinking. “When are you … when are you leaving?”

Michael glanced subtly toward the window, which framed a jack-o-lantern sitting on the porch. Halloween was tomorrow.

“I’m sure you’ve got things to do,” Pris said. “But the longer you’re out, the closer they’re going to get to catching you. Your trail’s already leading to Haddonfield. Unless you want your night cut short, I wouldn’t start killing until tomorrow.”

It wasn’t that she wanted people to die. She didn’t have anything in particular against the people in this town. But she was smart enough to know she couldn’t stop him, and getting in his way would be a mistake. Given the choice, she was perfectly comfortable letting other people make that mistake.

“Laurie Strode’s going to be looking for you.”

At that name, Michael pulled away from Audrey, coming to loom over Pris.

She didn’t move, simply met his gaze. “She’s almost as old as us now. Nearly as crazy, too. She’s had forty years to plan how to kill you.”

Michael’s fist clenched. He tilted his head. Kill?

“She’s been waiting for you. When she found out about us, she started stalking me and Audrey. I’ve talked to her before. We had to get a restraining order.”

But that was a story for another day. Michael slammed his hand down on the table, bending forward slightly.

Audrey jumped. Pris didn’t. “Yes, Michael. Kill. You.”

He looked toward the window. Again, his gaze shifted to the knife block.

Pris sighed and spread her hands. “You can go now if you want to. I won’t stop you. But you remember why they caught up with you Halloween ’79, don’t you?”

He was silent, gaze unmoving from the knives. Audrey shifted anxiously behind him.

“While I was in labor, you left the apartment for the first time in a year, and you killed again. People noticed. And they found you. I told you it would happen then and I’m telling you now.”

A soft, almost imperceptible grunt issued from within the mask.

“Laurie will come looking for you. And what am I supposed to do then? Chase after you? Try to reason with her?” Pris scoffed. “That’d be about as effective as reasoning with you.”

Michael straightened up. After a few moments, he looked back at her, and pressed a finger firmly to her lips.

She sighed against his finger. He had a point. If she knew reasoning with him would be ineffective, why was she trying to do it?

To her surprise, Audrey was the one to speak up. “If Sartain let you out, you can bet he’s going to be tracking your movements. This is just another one of his fucking experiments. He’s just trying to get you to … perform.”

Without taking his eyes from Pris, Michael lowered his finger. Then, he turned toward Audrey, looking between him and the knives.

Audrey’s expression faltered. “What? Oh, Jesus.”

“You’re out,” Pris said, earning The Shape’s attention, “but so is Sartain. He’s obsessed with figuring out why you do what you do. If he really thinks I have the answers— If he comes here...” She sighed. “Shit. Michael.”

His name seemed to spur him into motion. He went to the knife block and withdrew a small paring knife—something he’d use in a pinch, but not at all his preferred weapon. Pris frowned, watching him curiously as he crossed the kitchen to loom over her again. Audrey crept closer, too.

Michael paused before setting the knife on the table between them. His breath was steady as he picked up Pris’s pencil and her word puzzle, scribbling something slowly and deliberately. When he was done, he handed both to Audrey, and before she could stop him, he left for the back door.

Pris stared at the knife and the puzzle, then at the open door. It was as though he’d never been there in the first place.

It took a few seconds to collect herself enough that she felt comfortable looking at Audrey. He was staring down at the word puzzle, a faint smile on his face.

Pris ground her teeth before venturing, “What does it say?”

Audrey turned the puzzle around so she could see it. There, written diagonally within the boxes of her word search, in a blocky, imprecise hand, was one simple phrase:

#michael myers #michael myers imagine #halloween 2018 #halloween 1978 #michael myers x oc #michael myers x pris tate #pris #pris tate #written #slasher imagine #slasher x oc #michael myers fic #slasher fic

[aggravatetheaxe]

hi I’m absolutely obsessed with your writing atm but also would you mind sharing any more info on your ocs if you have it?? I wanna know more about pris (and whatever tf happened with her and michael in the past)

YES i would love to tell you more about pris. this ask made me so happy, i cant even begin to tell you. i always worry people don't care about my ocs but they mean so much to me

she is one of my most favorite ocs of all time, it's just i've been so hyperfixated on house of wax i haven't gotten to write much about her and michael - BUT i really want to and i probably will eventually

tag

some quick facts about pris:

priscilla catherine tate

born in 1958 (im terrible at having concrete birthdays for my ocs but maybe she's a virgo? not sure)

5'6", pear shaped (& gains weight and keeps it on after giving birth to audrey), pin-straight dark brown hair (gray when she's older) and dark gray-green eyes, long nose

american of irish and english descent

not religious; raised non denominational christian

aromantic spectrum, bisexual, but not inclined to go out and meet people; puts more weight behind blood relative connections

when she was a child, she and her parents were involved in a bus accident and subsequent fire. she was 7 at the time and was one of the only survivors

early onset depression and mental illness because of this traumatic event, which eventually led to a dissociative disorder, specifically a form of cotard's syndrome

her illness was manageable through therapy and medication but she believes she can't die because she's already dead

was fostered longterm but never formally adopted. doesn't feel a huge connection to her foster family though

has been both an inpatient and outpatient at various mental health facilities in the area for years; the mental health community of haddonfield and the surrounding area knows her pretty well by the time she's 20

nihilistic, prone to shutting down and appearing "emotionless" because of her anxiety (but that also means she can Get Shit Done when she has to), actually could be a deeply caring and wonderful friend if given the chance despite being a wet cat of a woman

showers 3-5 times a day because she fears her body decaying, so some obsessive compulsive tendencies. if she can't shower when she wants her neuroses become exponentially worse, which is one of the reasons she does much better as an outpatient

has a sphinx cat named soup

doesn't have many aspirations for life, understandably, since she thinks she's dead; however, still needs to pay bills, uses her mental health community connections to get herself a job in the healthcare community, becomes an RN

bounces around from healthcare jobs to secretary work to cleaning jobs, etc etc

hobbies include: puzzles (esp word puzzles), board games, miniature model enthusiast but no talent for it, absolutely adores just sitting back and listening to some old country (her FAVORITE) or 40s-50s music

now when it comes to michael, it would all depend on what timeline we're talking about. and for the record I don't really like RZ Michael so this would all be OG

if we're talking Carpenter's reboot (Halloween 1978 -> Halloween 2018):

michael and pris knew each other in passing from some mental health programs when they were younger, when loomis was still Trying with michael. basically a classmate type of connection, so they recognized each other but didn't really know each other?

she was living in outpatient/government housing at the time of the babysitter murders

michael kind of staggered to her govt housing neighborhood after being shot by loomis. michael's a creature of instinct so his first is survive -> prey

wound up staying with her because 1. she didn't call the cops on him 2. she's dead, there's nothing behind her eyes; she wouldn't be interesting to kill. we see time and time again that michael doesn't kill someone unless he's interested in them/likes how they are and wants to see them die or if they are in his way and she was neither. there's nothing exciting or interesting about killing something that doesn't care about dying

life finds a way! audrey was conceived ~3 months in

they lived together for a full year without being detected. but michael likes halloween, so while pris was at the hospital giving birth (on halloween!!!) he snuck out and decided to kill some more people (fun)

he was caught this time, as the whole town was on guard

pris was thoroughly inconvenienced by this, and also a bit sad because he had been her companion and she had gotten used to him. anxious as hell because now she's a single mom (thankfully she's very experienced with navigating government programs and was able to help herself pretty well)

managed to finagle weekly or monthly visitation with michael by going over loomis's head; this became much easier after loomis died, and they got even more privileges. knows sartain very well at that point

because of this, michael never forgot who she was. she has a connection with him

they just seem sort of drawn to each other, almost supernaturally. it's like she provides some weird equilibrium...and she doesn't ask anything of him, doesn't want anything from him. he's just in her life now

michael's parents don't speak to her and audrey (and eventually they die)

she and michael are never technically married but she considers him her partner, probably the closest thing she will have (or would ever want, she's quite aro) to a husband; she refers to him in that way often

people who know about her and michael think she's fucking insane. how the hell did she even survive that? most people don't know, though, and audrey takes her last name. it would be very hard to be a myers in haddonfield

she and laurie do know each other. she has nothing in particular against laurie but she did need to get a restraining order against her. it's unfortunate that laurie hates her because i think they'd be friends in another life

she doesn't have anything against people especially and doesn't particularly want michael to murder folks, but she's smart enough to know she can't stop him

when it comes to other timelines, such as the thorn timeline... when the curse gets involved, i figure she has to have some supernatural connection to it, but i'm not a huge fan of the thorn timeline, so i haven't smoothed that out!

@waxhouse and I have a fun crack type au where all the slashers live in the same neighborhood and there pris is:

best friends with amanda, jason voorhees's wife

audrey's mom obviously

part of amanda's book club but she never reads the books and it drives amanda insane

gets her weed from bubba sawyer

bo sinclair's object of lust and fear (she hates him and his vibes)

on good terms with freddy and pinhead (she and the Girls go to brunch with pinhead all the time)

always the designated driver (she hates driving tho and avoids it)

that one friend that you're sure hates you but actually has deep deep affections for you, they're just quiet

#pris #pris tate #michael #michael myers #michael myers x pris tate #michael myers x oc #slasher x oc #slasher oc