It all began with a scream. Not yours—Chucky’s.

You had discovered the peculiar red-haired doll at a yard sale, abandoned and in disrepair. His overalls were torn, his stitched face bore a perpetual scowl, and yet… something about him intrigued you. So, you brought him home.

That first night, you awoke to find him perched on your chest, a knife clutched in his small plastic hand.

“Are you going to scream?” he asked, his tone edged with impatience.

You blinked sleepily. “No.”

His brows knitted together. “And why not?”

“You're rather cute”

For the first time, Chucky faltered. He had been called many things—terrifying, dangerous, deranged—but never cute.

From that moment, he began lingering near you. He would grumble when asked to assist with household tasks, yet he would complete them nonetheless. He scoffed whenever you bid him goodnight, yet each morning, you found him nestled beside you.

One evening, you caught him staring, his tiny hands fidgeting.

“You are not afraid of me,” he stated.

“Not in the slightest.”

“…Even when I threaten to kill you?”

“Never.”

He exhaled sharply. “You are truly something else.” Then, after a pause, he muttered, “I suppose I like you.”

A gentle smile touched your lips as you pulled him closer. “I suppose I like you too, Chucky.”

He huffed in feigned annoyance, yet the way he nestled against you told you everything you needed to know.