Jake Wheeler sat in the dim glow of an old television, its screen hissing with static. The abandoned house still smelled faintly of smoke, a haunting reminder of everything that had happened months ago. Devon Evans stood behind him, flashlight trembling in his hand, the beam cutting a pale stripe across the dusty floor.

“You sure it was the TV making that noise?” Devon asked quietly. His voice was steady, but Jake heard the unease beneath it.

Jake forced a small smile. “Chucky’s gone, Dev. We burned him. Remember?”

Devon didn’t answer. The flashlight flickered, and the room seemed to grow colder. The sound of the static deepened, a low hum that crawled beneath their skin. Then, faintly, a laugh rippled through the noise, that shrill, childlike giggle neither of them could ever forget.

Jake froze. His chest tightened. “No,” he whispered.

The TV suddenly blinked to black. Then, a blurry image began to form, freckles, plastic skin, a wide grin. Chucky’s blue eyes glimmered through the haze.

“Miss me, boys?” the doll sneered.

Jake stumbled back, grabbing Devon’s hand. The flashlight slipped from Devon’s fingers and rolled across the floor until its beam landed on a small pair of red sneakers standing by the doorway.

“Jake…” Devon breathed, his voice barely a sound.

Chucky stepped into the light, knife glinting in his tiny hand. “You two make such a cute couple,” he said, grinning wider. “Hate to cut it short ......literally.”

Jake’s fear twisted into anger. He lunged forward, snatching the flashlight from the floor and swinging it with all his strength. The blow connected with a sharp crack, sending the doll crashing to the ground. Its plastic head spun halfway around before the body went still.

Silence filled the room again. Devon’s breathing was ragged as he sank to his knees, his hand still gripping Jake’s. “You’ve got to stop keeping souvenirs from haunted psychos,” he muttered, half-laughing, half-shaking.

Jake smiled weakly, heart pounding. “Guess I just have a thing for bad memories.”