The shape stood unmoving, silent and frightening in the storm of human chatter, yet somehow outside it all, as though a barrier separated him from the living. Michael Myers, or at least what he represented, had always been outside of the normal flow of humanity, and so he played the role to the hilt. He knew this character, its unyielding posture, the rhythmic weight of his breath behind the mask. It had become second nature by now. A presence, cold and vast, like something forgotten. His body was taut, perfectly still as the trio approached, their voices blending with the surrounding din. They were flies, buzzing about. Amberโs laughter too light, too sharp against the atmosphere; Lilith, awkward and quiet, her discomfort palpable, like the faint scent of fear clinging to her skin. Her wide, dark eyes locked onto him from a distance, tentative, unsure. She did not look at him as one might regard an actor in a costume, but as if she were staring at something far more ominous, something she could not name. His hand tightened on the knife that he held in his hand, its movement a small, intriguing motion as his knuckles tightened fiercely on the handle. And he saw it, that hesitation, that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. It fed into him, made him feel larger, heavier. Like he might enjoy the thought of killing her.
Amber dragged Lilith forward, chirping words of admiration, but the words barely touched him. They were white noise, meaningless, drifting into the emptiness behind the mask. The mask of a killer, hollow and emotionless, its empty eye sockets staring back at her. Her breath caught as she stared into those voids, as though she could sense the predatory stillness lurking just beneath. And it was meant to be that way. Behind the mask his eyes were obscured, rendered all the more unnerving by the thick dark paint he had applied around them. The maskโs hollow sockets seemed empty, deep, like black pits, giving no reflection of light. He could have been a stock photograph, a cutout, a mannequin. Save for the sound of his heavy breathing. It was all an act of course, right? Just a man embodying the terrifying presence of Michael Myers in the best place possible, a horror convention.
There was no acknowledgement of their words, why would there by, his head tilting down to gaze from his towering height. She was right to feel nervous, some abstract sense of recognition that all human beings have about danger. When their life is on the line. A tangible reality of creeping malevolence. And then finally the subtlest of nods preceded Lilith coming close for the photograph. His fingers twitched again, a brief spasm. He could end it all right here, in one swift motion, the blade slipping through soft flesh. Each passing second stretched out unbearably, and then the unthinkable happened. He touched her, and not in a fashion that any normal person would have called sane, but a horror enthusiast might very well fangirl over. As Amber raised her phone, about to click the shot, the man moved. โMichaelโsโ left hand came up and gipped Lilith by the arm, his fingers digging in securely. His right hand suddenly coming up, raising the knife high, as if preparing to stab downwards. In that moment there was a glint of metal, and Lilith would realize.
The knife was real.
The knife in his hand was menacing, cold and gleaming under the artificial lights of the convention. It was a butcherโs knife. Long, nearly twelve inches from the tip of the blade to the end of the handle. The steal was clean, the edge sharp enough to catch the light in a faint shimmer. A perfect replica of his favorite weapon from the movies. How had he gotten a real blade past security? It should not have been possible. Her life was in his hands nowโฆ
โSay...MURDER...!โ Amber said with a giggle.
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