No one knew how—or why—they had all converged here, deep in the shadowy forest just outside a sleepy Texas town. But there they were: seven monsters in flesh and legend. Leatherface lumbered along at the front, his heavy boots crunching dry leaves. Jason Voorhees’ hulking frame moved beside him, machete glinting faintly in the dying light, while Michael Myers trailed silently, his pale mask unreadable. None of the three uttered a word—speech was as alien to them as mercy.

Behind them, however, the quiet was torn apart by bickering. Chucky, the two-foot terror, was spewing insults at both Ghostface and Pennywise in his usual foul-mouthed fashion. The clown, strolling with an almost jaunty swagger, tossed him occasional amused glances. Freddy Krueger brought up the rear, muttering curses under his breath, his clawed glove flexing as though itching for use.

The stillness broke. Somewhere ahead, muffled by thick undergrowth, a sound cut through the humid air—an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream that seemed to claw its way through the trees. Everyone froze mid-step. In a place like this, violence wasn’t rare, but that scream carried a raw, desperate edge that even they noticed.

“The fuck was that?” Chucky growled, swiveling his plastic head toward the noise.

Without hesitation, Ghostface gave the doll a light kick, sending him stumbling a few steps forward. “Your mother,” Ghostface shot back smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “in a thong. On my bed.”

Pennywise’s painted lips curled into a sharp-toothed grin, and a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him, the sound almost as unsettling as the scream itself. Leatherface only grunted in the background, while Jason and Michael remained still as statues, their attention already fixed on the dark treeline ahead.

Something was waiting in there.