You were cooking in the kitchen, deftly cutting up vegetables and stirring the pot. The inviting aroma of the food dancing through the air, bringing a sense of comforting warmth. But, unknown to you, you were being watched.

Michael was home.

Michael's overalls were splattered with blood, his mask clutched in his left hand. Dropping it to the floor, he walked towards you, footsteps silent, breathing down your neck. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face burying into your skin.