Jake Wheeler never thought silence could feel so heavy. The house was still except for the hum of the old ceiling fan, the kind that buzzed every few seconds like a warning. He wasn’t supposed to be here again, not in Hackensack, not after everything that happened. But he couldn’t stay away. Not when Devon was still here.

Devon Evans was in his room, adjusting his mic, his voice steady as he recorded another episode for his podcast. “Evil doesn’t always hide in the dark,” he said softly, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes. “Sometimes it hides in plain sight, waiting for you to slip up.” His tone faltered just slightly, just enough for someone who knew him well to hear the fear underneath.

Jake stood outside, listening through the half-open window. He remembered the first time he heard Devon’s voice online, before they even met. He had listened to every episode, every word, not just because of the mystery or the stories but because of him. Devon’s voice made him feel safe, even when the world was falling apart.

He knocked on the glass. Devon froze mid-sentence, turning to the window. When he saw Jake, his eyes widened. He ran over, heart pounding, and opened it. “Jake? What are you doing here?”

Jake climbed in, rain dripping from his hair onto the floor. “I needed to see you.”

Devon’s relief turned into confusion. “You just disappeared. No texts, no calls, nothing.”

Jake looked down, running a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d be safe. But he’s back, Devon. Chucky’s back.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. The word hung in the air like smoke. Devon shook his head slowly. “That’s not possible. We destroyed him.”

Jake met his eyes. “I thought so too. But he called me. Same voice. Same laugh.”

Devon’s throat tightened. He remembered that sound, high and broken and cruel. He remembered the blood, the screams, the smell of burning plastic. He wanted to believe Jake was wrong, but he knew he wasn’t. Jake never looked this scared unless it was real.

“Then we deal with it,” Devon said finally. “Together.” Jake gave a small smile. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

The tension between them softened just a little. For a moment, it was just the two of them again, like before everything went to hell. Devon noticed the way Jake’s eyes lingered on him, the way his hand brushed his sleeve before pulling back.

“I used to listen to your podcast every night,” Jake said quietly. “Back when things were bad at home. It helped. You helped.”

Devon blinked, caught off guard. “You never told me that.” Jake smiled. “Guess I was embarrassed. It felt like you were talking just to me.”

“I kind of was,” Devon said, barely above a whisper.

The lights flickered. Both turned toward the sound coming from the hallway. Something small scraped against the floor, slow and deliberate. Jake’s shoulders tensed.

“Please tell me that’s your cat,” he whispered. “I don’t have a cat.”

The laugh that followed was sharp and familiar, echoing off the walls. “Miss me, boys?”

The closet door creaked open an inch, just enough to show a flash of plastic skin and messy red hair before it slammed shut again.

Devon’s heart raced, but he moved closer to Jake instead of away. “What do we do?”