The forest was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every breath sound too loud. Jake Wheeler moved carefully between the trees, his flashlight trembling in his hand as he followed the faint trail of footprints pressed into the wet dirt. Beside him, Devon Evans crouched low, studying the ground with the steady focus of someone who had seen too much to ever take a sound for granted.

“They’re fresh,” Devon murmured. “He came this way.”

Jake nodded, his throat dry. It didn’t make sense. Every time they thought they had finally destroyed Chucky, he found a way to crawl back. Now, after weeks of searching, the trail had led them to these woods just outside Hackensack. The rain had stopped, but the trees still dripped, every drop echoing like a whisper.

A faint laugh cut through the silence. It was sharp, high, and familiar in the worst way. Jake froze. Devon raised his flashlight, scanning the dark. “Did you hear that?” Jake whispered.

Devon nodded, his hand tightening around the flashlight. “Yeah. He’s close.” They moved together, step for step, the beams of their flashlights dancing between the trees. The laugh came again, closer this time, almost playful. Jake’s heart raced. He had faced Chucky before, but that voice always found a way under his skin. It wasn’t the kind of fear that made you run. It was the kind that made you freeze, the kind that felt personal.

A branch snapped behind them. They turned at the same time, but the only thing there was darkness. Then a voice drifted from above, cheerful and cruel. “Looking for me?”

Jake’s stomach dropped. They both looked up. Chucky was perched on a low branch, his blue eyes glinting in the flashlight beam, knife glimmering in his tiny hand. He jumped down, landing right in front of them with a grin that made Jake’s skin crawl.

“Well, well,” Chucky said. “My favorite lovebirds back in action. Miss me?” Jake’s grip tightened around the knife he was holding. “This ends tonight.”

Chucky laughed. “Yeah, sure, I’ve heard that one before. You kids really need some new material.”

Before he could move again, Devon swung the flashlight as hard as he could. The metal cracked against Chucky’s face, sending him flying into the dirt. Jake lunged forward, adrenaline burning through the fear, and drove his knife straight into the doll’s chest. Chucky’s body twitched, plastic cracking, his voice glitching as he tried to laugh.

“Aww, come on, Jakey,” he wheezed, the light in his eyes flickering. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Then he went still.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rain dripping from the leaves and their own heavy breathing. Devon knelt beside Jake, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Jake nodded slowly, staring at the broken doll. “Yeah. I think so.”

They started walking back toward the road, flashlights cutting through the mist. Devon reached for Jake’s hand, giving it a quiet squeeze. For the first time in a long time, Jake felt like maybe it was really over.

But as they reached the edge of the woods, Jake glanced back one last time. The ground was littered with wet leaves, the broken doll lying motionless where they had left it. And just beyond it, half hidden in the mud, was another set of tiny footprints leading deeper into the dark.

Jake’s breath caught, but Devon didn’t see. He just said softly, “Let’s go home.”

Jake hesitated, looking into the black space between the trees. For a moment, he thought he heard something, a faint laugh, light and teasing, carried by the wind.

You can’t kill the Chuckster.

Jake tightened his grip on Devon’s hand and didn’t look back again, his breathing was ragged and he felt uneasy

"fuck.....i hate this."