The Impala’s headlights cut through the darkness as Sam and Dean Winchester pulled up outside Smith’s Grove Sanitarium—a towering, gothic asylum looming under the pale moonlight. The cold October air carried a strange stillness, an eerie silence that didn’t sit right with either of them.

  Dean shifted in his seat, gripping the wheel as he glanced at his brother. “So, let’s go over this again. Myers is in there, looking for some doc who just happens to have a drop of his bloodline?”

  Sam, flipping through his journal, nodded. “Dr. Emily Hanson. Distant relative, but close enough to trigger whatever supernatural homing beacon he’s got. Due to some ancient hex on his family called “the curse of thorn” he has an uncontrollable instinct to killing anything he comes into contact with. But seeks out and targets anyone within his family line in order to make himself stronger. Dr. Hansons, been working the night shift here for three years. If he kills her, he's gonna become stronger and harder to kill. It may even make him unkillable. Permanently.”

  Dean scoffed. “Great. Because an unstoppable, mute, knife-wielding psycho wasn’t bad enough.” He grabbed his sawed-off shotgun, and stepped out. “Let’s get to her before he does.”

  Smith’s Grove was still active during its night shift. Nurses and orderlies moved through dimly lit hallways, while the occasional scream or deranged laughter echoed from the locked cells. The security team, armed but oblivious to the true nature of the threat, patrolled the facility.

  Sam and Dean flashed their FBI badges to the receptionist.

  “We need to speak with Dr. Hanson. Urgent federal matter,” Sam said.

  The receptionist frowned. “She’s in the East Wing, making her rounds. What’s this about?”

  “Just point us in the right direction,” Dean said impatiently.

  The woman hesitated before motioning down the hall. “Third floor, psych ward.”

  As the brothers moved deeper inside, Sam muttered, “Something’s wrong.”

  Dean gave him a look. “Yeah, no kidding. Place smells like bleach and crazy.”

  “No, I mean—listen.”

  Dean stopped. Silence. No buzzing lights, no footsteps, no distant sounds of patients.

  Then—

  THUMP.

  A body slammed against the glass window at the end of the hall. A security guard, his throat slit, slid down, leaving a crimson smear.

  And standing behind him, in the dim emergency lighting, was Michael Myers.

  A 6’4” monster in human skin, clad in a blue jumpsuit and black boots. His expressionless bleached white mask seemed to stare right into their souls, his dark eyes unreadable. A bloodied kitchen knife hung loosely in his grip.

  “Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

  Michael moved.

  Sam and Dean opened fire, their bullets slamming into Michael’s head and chest, but he didn’t even flinch.

  Then—

  A child’s scream.

  It was right behind them. Close. Too close.

  They spun around, guns raised.

  Nothing.

  A split second later—

  Michael was gone.

  Dean’s grip on his shotgun tightened. “Well, that’s new. Did anything you learned talk about him being a ghost?”

  Sam scanned the area. “It’s his ventriloquism and sound suppression. He can make you hear things whenever he wants, but he himself is silent as the dead. No matter what he does or touches, he never makes a noise when he’s out of direct eyesight.”

  A flash of movement from the left—Michael lunged silently from the shadows, knife slicing at Dean’s ribs. Dean barely twisted away in time, the blade catching his jacket instead of flesh.

  Sam swung his crowbar, cracking Michael’s head to the side. It barely phased him. Michael retaliated, grabbing Sam by the throat and lifting him easily off the ground with both hands.

  Dean fired his shotgun point-blank into Michael’s back. The force knocked him and Sam into the wall, but this bought Sam enough time to break free.

  Michael rose from the floor. The wounds in his back were already closing. His breathing slow, steady.

  “We’re gonna need bigger guns,” Dean muttered as they backed into a hallway.

  And then, he just turned and walked away as if he had lost all interest.

  Sam and Dean exchanged a look before rushing up peering down the hallway.

  Michael had disappeared again.

  Not ran. Not ducked. Just gone.

  The hall was completely silent. The distant screams of patients. The hum of the overhead lights. The shuffle of nurses’ shoes on tile, suddenly all it reactivated.

  Myers had silenced all of that sound and none of the occupants in the building had heard the gunshots or anything that had occurred during their fight.

  The whole thing was crazy eerie when you think about it.

  Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

  “So this dude has psycho mime powers?” Dean scoffed.

  “It’s like he creates a pocket of silence whenever he goes. That’s not good,” Sam said.

  “Nope. But where the hell did he go?” Dean agreed as they both reloaded their guns. Dean his shotgun, Sam his revolver.

  “I think I know.” Sam said with disdain.

  Michael wasn’t retreating. He wasn’t hiding. He was on the hunt. Heading for Dr. Hanson.

  Emily Hanson had just finished checking on one of her more violent patients when she heard another one scream. But she didn’t let it startle her. Not much did anymore. Hesitant and frowning, she stepped into the hallway, adjusting her glasses.

  A moment later, two men—both looking tense and armed—came running toward her.

  “Dr. Hanson?” the taller one asked.

  “Uhhh, yes?”

  Dean exhaled. “Good, we’re not too late. Bad news —you’re kinda being hunted by a supernatural killing machine.”

  Emily blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Sam and Dean watched behind Emily as the double doors blasted open a bloody body came flying through.

  “Is this some sort of joke? Did Curt put you up to this? I knew he was mad about the divorce but this is a new low. Even for him. Wait until my lawyer finds out about this!”

  Meanwhile a nurse laid twitching as she bled out on the floor. Her mouth was wide open in a terrifying scream. They could hear it clearly. Yet for Emily it was completely silent. Not the crash or any of it could be heard, so Emily had no idea what was happening behind her.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Then Michael arrived.

  Same and Deans eyes went wide.

  “There he is. We really gotta move.” Sam said urgently.

  Emily looked at them both and rolled her eyes in annoyance.

  “Give it up guys, I’m not-“

  “Would you shut up and turn around!?” Dean snapped at her.

  As she did, the instant she saw Michael, suddenly it was like the speakers got turned up to max as the woman’s scream pierced her ears.

  Emily flinched in fright watching in confused shock.

  Michaels knife gleamed under the fluorescent lights dripping with crimson, his towering frame standing motionless at the end of the hall. The sight alone sent every instinct in Emily’s body screaming to run.

  Dean shoved her behind him. “Stay back.”

  Michael charged.

  The Winchesters opened fire. The rounds of rock salt, hadn’t done much so Dean had switched to silver buckshot. Sam was using blessed bullets. It didn’t seem to matter. Nothing stopped this maniac.

  He reached them.

  Michael swung his knife at Dean, but Dean ducked, grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall and slamming it into Michael’s ribs. It staggered him, but only for a second before he swing his arm backhanding Dean into that same wall.

  Sam grabbed Emily’s wrist. “Come on! We need to—”

  Michael grabbed Sam by the back of the neck, and effortlessly flung him across the hallway.

  Emily gasped as Michael turned his mask toward her.

  He knew. He could sense her blood. He raised the knife.

  Right as the blade came down Dean tackled Michael from behind. Emily screamed in pain and, both the men went crashing abruptly through a set of double doors into a patient ward. The room erupted into chaos—patients screaming, orderlies panicking.

  Michael rose within seconds, eyes locked on Emily. She had a slash on her shoulder and bleeding.

  Three big orderlies already in the room ran to Michael overtaking him. They locked him down with a combination of control techniques. Obviously they had used this many times together to subdue bigger stronger patients and it seemed to work as Michael struggled to get free. But eventually he was able to grab one of them by the forearm then with a vice grip he squeezed and a crank, he snapped the bone causing it to stick out of the skin. The man screamed and Michael grabbed him by the head with both hands and twisted, breaking his neck. He grabbed a pen off a table and stabbed another orderly in the eye, pulled it out, then stabbed him in the side of the throat. Only one orderly remained as he stared at his coworkers in shock.

  Michael suddenly tilted his head back. His breathing became deep and he stood shaking a bit as if in silent ecstasy. All of the blood that had been spilled by the killer noticeably evaporated leaving red dry marks in their wake. All except for Emily’s blood. Only Sam noticed this and his brain went into overdrive trying to figure out what that meant.

  “The curse of thorn…” he says to himself.

  Three more orderlies that were nonchalant walking past turned and noticed what was happening. They all startled as suddenly they could hear everything going on inside. They ran in and and assisted the surviving one, grabbing Michael. A patient ran over and slid on her knees, grabbed the murderer by his leg and started biting him on the shin. Micheal lifted his foot and with one stomp crushed the patient's skull.

  “Let me play too! Murder is my favorite game!” Another patient screamed, clapping his hands and laughing hysterically in a corner.

  Michael suddenly broke out of the grip of the men and grabbed the biggest one by the neck. With a bloody sickening squelch he clenched his fist and snatched the man’s throat out.

  Dean was astonished. Was this bastard getting stronger?

  And then, Sam shouted, “Dean! The knife!” Pointing down on the floor.

  Dean saw it—Michael had dropped his knife, and Emily’s blood was smeared across the blade.

  “Bullets don’t work on him. What do you think I’m gonna do with that? Dean said annoyed.

  It’s not about the knife. It’s the blood! Trust me!”

  Dean shrugged and grabbed it.

  “Get away from him! Now!” Dean yelled to the orderlies who did exactly what he said, stepping away.

  “Get these patients out of here!” Sam yelled at the orderlies who began herding the patients out.

  Sam provided cover fire, blasting Michael again with his revolver but it only seemed to annoy him.

  “Hey, Myers—chew on this!” Dean yelled before he drove the blade into Michael’s chest.

  Michael stiffened. His entire body seemed to pulse. The supernatural energy inside him seemed to writhe in protest.

  Dean was surprised. Finally, something had worked. But Micheal still held his hand out, intent on getting near Emily.

  One stab wasn’t enough.

  Dean grabbed the hilt and stabbed him again. And again.

  Michael jerked with each strike, his strength failing him.

  Dean reached back, the final stab aiming at the serial killers heart.

  Michael’s body convulsed—then with a snap of speed he suddenly caught Deans wrist holding the knife from plunging down. With his other hand he smashed his fist into Deans head with a powerful overhead swing.

  “Dean!” Sam yelled as he pointed firing two more times into Michael as he quickly exited the room.

  Sam ran to the door looking around but he had vanished.

  Dean was laid out flat. Emily ran over quickly checking his pulse, then his neck for any damage.

  “He’s fine. He may have a concussion though.”

  “Thank god.” Sam said, then he noticed Dean still had the knife clutched in his hand. “Good job Dean.”

  After Dean recovered, he and Sam led Emily down the dimly lit hallways, only to find every exit locked. At each door they reached a click could be heard as the bolt engaged automatically locking them in.

  “Ohhh no...” Sam said wearily.

  “What the hell is going on?! I’m all out of bullets.” Dean said frustrated.

  “I’m almost out too. But I think I know what’s happening.I read about this, but I thought it was just rumors. There’s a myth that Michael Myers can’t be locked up. He always escapes somehow. Locked rooms, prison cell doors, electronic key card units, you name it. He even escaped out of a bank vault once. But that makes sense now. Instead of unlocking the doors, he’s locking us inside so we can’t leave.

  “Now he’s houdini? How many abilities does this rose bush curse thing give him?” Dean said incredulously.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s all of them. And it’s Curse of Thorn, Dean.”

  “I don’t care what kind of flowers it is Sam.” Dean shoved at the door.

  “There has to be another way out,” Emily panted.

  Dean gritted his teeth. “The Basement? Places like this always have service tunnels.”

  They ducked into an old stairwell, descending into the lowest level of the sanitarium. The air grew thick with damp rot. Rusted pipes twisted through the ceiling, steam hissing from broken valves. It was all the sounds of a normal boiler room—dark, grimy, full of shadows.

  Sam and Dean walked through covering their front and back with Emily in the middle.

  “Man it’s creepy down here. Do you guys hear anybody following us?” Dean asked.

  Sam and Emily both just stopped and stared at him.

  Dean stared back before he realized.“Oh, yeah. I forgot…..I have a concussion alright!” He said in excuse.

  Then—from above a set of stairs along shadow loomed. It was in the shape of a man.

  Sam and Dean aimed their weapons at the stairwell entrance, waiting.

  Then—a footstep.

  Michael descended the stairs, slow and methodical, holding another big butcher knife.

  Dean muttered, “Son of a bitch always takes his time doesn’t he?”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “Great. We just gotta get close enough to stab him again, without getting our arms ripped off. That should be easy.”

  Michael lunged.

  The fight was brutal. Dean smashed a the butt of his shotgun across Michael’s head twice, but the killer barely reacted. He caught the barrel mid swing and shoved it back at him, cracking Dean in the head with it and causing the knife to drop from Deans belt. Before he could use the knife, Sam unloaded his gun, slowing him for mere seconds before running into Michael with his shoulder shoving him away from Dean. Michael grabbed him, slamming him against a rusted boiler. Michael prepared to stab Sam.

  Dean rushed in grabbing Micheal’s arm and holding it at bay.

  Emily, shaking, picked up the knife.

  Sam saw her and punched Michael hard in the face but it was like he didn’t even feel it.

  “Your blood is the key. Use the blood.” Sam gasped out while choking.

  Emily hesitated, but then she pressed a hand to her bleeding shoulder, she smeared the blood on both sides of the blade.

  “Now, Emily! Stab him!” Dean said, struggling to hold Michael’s arm back.

  Emily screamed as she frantically dashed forward and plunged the knife into his chest.

  Michael stiffened. His body twitched, and convulsed again. His strength drastically dropped. Much to Dean's relief.

  Dean ripped the blade free and stabbed again.

  Sam kneed Michael hard in the stomach, and this time he felt it, releasing his hold on him. Sam reached out and grabbed a metal pipe.

  Dean stabbed him again.

  Emily rushed forward and snatched the knife from Michael’s hand and smeared her blood on the blade.

  Sam swung the pipe smashing Michael’s masked face with it.

  Emily rammed the bloody blade she held into Michael’s ribs leaving it there

  Dean stabbed him again.

  Sam smashed him across the side of the head with the pipe.

  Emily used all of her strength to kick the killer in the balls.

  Michael jerked with each strike. His strength, fading.

  The final blow landed as Dean stabbed him in his heart.

  Michael collapsed.

  They all stood there. Tired and panting. Waiting with bated breath for Micheal to suddenly stir and get back up. But this time, he stayed down.

  Dean kicked his leg for good measure. “ Is he dead Sammy?”

  Sam exhaled. “Yeah. I think it’s for good. This time.”

  Emily gasped in relief. “Finally. The last thing I want is this psycho coming after my babies.” She says rubbing a barely showing bump of her stomach.

  “You’re pregnant?” Dean asks.

  “Yes. With twin girls.”

  “Yikes… I mean uh, congratulations.” Dean muttered.“Let’s bag him up, and burn him, salt the bones.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Sam agreed.

  As the brothers walked back to the Impala, pushing a gurney with Michael on it, underneath a bloody sheet Dean muttered, “I don’t care how many times we do this, these masked psychos always give me the creeps.”

  Sam smirked. “So you’re saying you're not gonna wear your Captain Kirk mask this Halloween?”

  Dean shot him a glare. “Bite me, Sammy.” Then they popped the trunk and together shoved the huge killers body inside.

  As they drove off into the night, the corpse of Michael Myers laid there. Defeated and lifeless.

  But the wind outside whispered, carrying the echoes of something, unnatural. Waiting. Watching. Planning.

  A hungry little mouse followed an old stale kernel of popcorn blowing in the wind. The mouse chased it into the street, where it finally caught the popcorn and began to eat happily. Dean driving the impala unknowingly smeared that mouse into bloody paste under a speeding tire. After about three seconds the blood evaporated leaving nothing but dry red flakes.

  Inside the trunk, one of Michael’s fingers twitched just a little bit.

  Yes. The man known as Micheal Myers was dead.

  But for how long?