45 Lampkin Lane, Haddonfield, IL.

Maybe the picture frames on the side tables were the places to start, the Entity couldn't quite recreate long-lost family photos... Faces scratched out, some of the pictures were completely blank. It looked like the film never developed. Laurie ran her thumb across the glass, wiping a thick coating of dust off.
It didn't clear the picture up at all. Some small part of her hoped it would. She knew she wouldn't be in any of them, she was erased thoroughly from the Myers legacy. She didn't really care... But somewhere deep down she had to, if she was still willing to look around all of this.
If she didn't care, she would have just left Haddonfield. Stayed at the Campfire, stayed near Heather, and Quentin. People who were around her age, and suffered just as much as she did — more, even.

But here she was, tiptoeing around the house as if there was someone to hear. She stepped into the kitchen, somewhere that should bring back memories. Sandwich crusts being cut off by a loving mother, begging for juice while a father made dinner. An older brother sneaking her sweets right before dinner when their mom walks out of the room.
None of that felt right, and she shook her head, sighing heavy. She looked around the dark, chewing on her nails.
So much happened in this house, but none of it was what should be in a loving family. There was blood soaked into the hardwood floors.
What had her father intended to do with this house? How could you sell something like this, something where so much happened that didn't make sense? The folklore that surrounded Michael Myers never scared her. Tommy talked about him quite a bit, and she'd heard the stories that younger kids she babysat told.
It was all just children being children. Anyone who got murdered so brutally would have become a story to them, Laurie thought.
But the tragedy of the Myers house wasn't just a story. It was real.
And she was a part of it, in a much more minor way.

Enough looking around the kitchen, it wasn't going to help to ruminate here. She couldn't piece together everything here, and she wouldn't want to. She began heading up the stairs, careful not to — Creeeeaak.
It felt like the noise echoed through the house, and rang through every other empty house in the area.
Laurie cringed, and held her ground. Maybe if she was quiet enough nothing would happen.
Michael wasn't here, she was sure they would have noticed her presence by now. In Laurie's mind, there was no way they wouldn't have heard every sound that was made. It spent most of it's time roaming Haddonfield, considering she never saw it anywhere else...
Then again, what did she know of her forgotten sibling?

She held her white-knuckled grip onto the old, rotted wood railing of the staircase. Praying to something, someone that Michael hadn't heard.
She wasn't scared of the Boogeyman, but some part of her was still apprehensive about Michael. They were very different entities.
The Boogeyman was a cold, unfeeling killer. Michael Myers was just a man. Flesh and blood, no different than herself.

Cynthia. Cynthia Myers.
Who was that?
Her.
She was Cynthia, there was no one behind her. Memories, and recognition washed over her like a wave of slime. Uncomfortable, and hard to sift through quickly.

Being called that name made her stomach churn in an unexpected, and unwelcomed way.
She didn't like it, pushing the feeling away she opened her mouth to speak;
"Michael." There was an attempt to steel her voice, not seem like prey, respond with some kind of level of a devil-may-care attitude but... She couldn't. It was hard to do that when talking about Michael, it was all so fresh. Thirteen years of forgetting, and barely moments of remembrance did more. She knew Michael was her brother, and she knew she was Cynthia Myers but it was all so quickly squashed back down. Every time it reared it's ugly head, something she didn't want to — no, something she couldn't face.

Being called Cynthia reminded her of one of the last few forgotten times that she had been called that name, when their mother snuck her into Smith's Grove to visit Michael, telling Laurie... Cynthia that she deserved to see her brother, that her life shouldn't be ruined because of what...
Oh, what was her sister's name? It slipped her mind. She didn't remember the woman, it was hard to picture Michael's face, let alone a sister that she never got to really know.

That her life shouldn't be ruined because of her sister's choices in life.
Their father didn't like, the couple wanted Cynthia to be "safe".

Cynthia gave it a quick once-over, the knife gleaned in his hand. It didn't go entirely unnoticed, but she wasn't afraid anymore.
There was nothing they could do to her, and... Some part of her hoped it wouldn't do anything. Believed that they wouldn't, even.

What was she supposed to say, that she was sorry for being here? It was her home once, too.
Maybe not as long as it was theirs, but... Maybe she felt some kind of right to learn something, or try to in whatever was left in the remnants of the house. Years of being tampered with by kids who were scared of the Myers name, and the Entity's bastardization of Haddonfield. Of one street, Lampkin Lane, in Haddonfield.

She wasn't sorry that she was here.

^{cw child abuse} 

Cynthia felt so small, like she was being scolded for entering a place she had no right to be in. 
Yet, that wasn't true. It didn't even begin to be true. 
"This was my home," The past tense hurt, more than she had expected. She stood her ground as much as she could. It may be the one with the knife, but Cynthia had her will. 
Wasn't that enough against a knife? Had it been enough for Annie, or Lynda? 

"I wanted to see it again." Now that she remembered it, even if only in flashes. Michael's face was never in the flashes. He'd been long gone by then, but her father in the kitchen, making pancakes. Her mother folding her laundry, prompting Cynthia to join her. Her mother surprising her with cupcakes on her birthday.
Cynthia remembered saying his name, at dinner. 
"When will Michael come home? Will he ever get better?" She asked, so innocently. So naïvely. Her father was never a hostile man,  neglectful, yes, but never until that day was he hostile. That was the last of Cynthia Myers' kind treatment in her own home.
"Why did you fucking take her there? To expose her to him? To put her in danger, too?" Cynthia remembers. She never feared Michael as much as she feared her father after that day. 
She remembers the car accident that took them away from her. The car accident she survived. 
All of her memories lost with it, though maybe the car accident wasn't the true culprit. 
Maybe she didn't want to remember a life where she was unwanted. She would be adopted by new, loving parents. 
Or so Cynthia thought.