Writing Chatterer was very difficult, so I apologize if he's off. Knowing of his back story, I honestly wasn't sure what do in terms of him being a child in his human life, so I leaned more towards a somewhat of a man-child approach in his Cenobite form. While I by no means see him as an imbecile, I think of him as the most exploratory of the members of the gash he is in, given that he is blind, and how he has a child-like sense of wonder.

That being said, I felt sleazy writing this, but not necessarily in a bad way. What I love about this film series is the more taboo topics it covers (and gets away with covering). That to me is what makes something purely horrifying; the monster in the closet is good enough for a little while, but what is more terrifying is when a relevant sociological or psychological issue is repeatedly poked at, rather than swept under the rug.

She was very pretty. Then again, many of the girls who had been foolhardy or brave enough to open the Lament Configuration typically were. The scents of their sweat and perfume were utterly intoxicating, the former more so, as it held such a raw sense of primal arousal, something that a man-made aphrodisiac could not come close to accomplishing with its utterly dull chemistry. Their shrill screams, filled with fear and revulsion, which later gave away to gasps of pure agony and pleasure, were a beautiful symphony over time, pure human emotion weaved together with a most lovely sound that no instrument could ever imitate.

Yet, the novelty of fondling such a beauty was never something that lost its luster for Chatterer. Certainly, Pinhead and the Woman could experience the pleasure of voyeurism by watching these rotten yet utterly gorgeous people, man and woman alike, being mutilated, their blood dripping rapidly from their mangled bodies to the floor, their hair scalped clean off, their nails tugged ever slowly out from their fingers and toes…Oh, it never was the same, the tortures tailored to their specific desires and respective limits, the latter being, of course, stretched to the extremes and ultimately broken apart. The session itself would always be too short, but thankfully the intermission between the departed being's descent into Hell was quite shorter. Even so, nothing compared to that first meeting, when the flesh and blood of a fledgling lover was truly explored.

But to feel, to fondle, to hold, to caress… Chatterer would oftentimes trail his fingers through the blood that was on the floor, and grasp chunks of flesh and organic tissue. The others did, too, but he would almost play with them, twisting the chunks between his fingers, pulling on them. His robes would be soaked with bodily fluid during his closer examinations, and his fingernails would rip down through them. The remains of the brain were certainly a frequent toy, if only for its extreme softness, as well as sheer irony, but even more so were less thought of organs, the leg and arm muscles, and the intestines. So easy were the latter to move, and they were sometimes filled with little "prizes" that, although he dropped them onto the floor shortly after finding them, taught him at least a little more about that person. The former, while much less fun in that respect, was of its own type of interest. Whether through extensive use or otherwise, the muscles revealed at least a little more through imperfections and injury, or lack thereof.

The girl gasped as he came toward her. Chatterer could hardly contain his excitement at the soft sound, her bare footsteps retreating over the linoleum floor, and the whisper of thin cloth against her body. Seizing her behind her back, he slipped two fingers into her mouth. Flexing them softly against the roof inside of it, he dragged his nails gently across her tongue. The muscle futilely attempted to rise up beneath him. Her teeth clamped down out of pure survival instinct, with moans and groans of protest erupting from the back of her throat. She struggled roughly against him, the liquid building up in her mouth. His fingers slipped off of her tongue to fall down upon the tenderness beneath. Chatterer's other hand brushed upward over her back to grasp her hair for a moment, twisting its strands between his fingers.

It was thick, curled, and rather coarse. It smelled of sweat, dirt, and soot, quite a refreshing contrast to the piercing scent of a modern cleaning agent humans had used within this room. Its oils rubbed easily onto his fingers, and he let go to stroke her thin shoulder, its bone sticking up beneath the skin, providing a rough bump. He shot his fingers down her throat, causing her to let out a strangled gasp, followed by a slight choking noise as she arched backward against him.

Chatterer knew quite well the others were in the room, adding only to the perversity of it. If anything, he did feel just a little selfish. Certainly, Pinhead and the Woman could watch as much as they pleased, but poor Butterball could only listen. He'd share this new toy eventually, but not until after he'd had as much fun as he pleased. He considered himself a fair Cenobite, after all. Slipping his fingers back out of her mouth to constrict her neck, he allowed this girl to speak. She did so with such wonderful little squeals. Reaching up to grasp the top of her head, he attempted to hold her in place with rather meager results, considering she writhed further and further to the left, almost losing her balance and hitting the floor, had it not been for him holding her up.

"Oh, no tears, please, it is a waste of good suffering." Chatterer agreed quite well with his leader's rebuke. Although listening to her screech and cry was entertaining enough, it was staving off the main event.

"You've done this before, right?!"

Pinhead, naturally, was not hesitant in his answer. "Many, many times."

The girl lurched forward, yanking Chatterer with her by a half-step. After gasping to reclaim her breath, she exclaimed, "To—To a man called Frank Cotton?!"

"Oh yes," the Woman replied rather fondly, her voice taking on a slight hiss. Chatterer squeezed harder on her throat, having exhausted his patience.

"He escaped you!" The young lady gasped. The anger was plain to hear in Pinhead's voice as he denounced her claim, and Chatterer felt the urge to throw her, face first, down to the floor. How dare she?! The mortal was grasping at straws now. "He's here! I've seen him, I've seen him! He's alive!" She was hysterical. Squeezing her throat like a vice, he caused that strangled sound to emit from her again. He wanted to do it again for good measure, as well as his personal enjoyment. If he couldn't shut her up, he could make the most of it.

"Suppose he has escaped us, what has that to do with you?" Pinhead's irritation with her was still quite clear. Chatterer had a feeling that this subject would not be dropped for quite some time in the aftermath.

"I—I can—I can lead you to him, and you—you can take him back instead of me!"

It was not rare for offers to be made to the Cenobites, but this girl's handler decided to give her credit, nonetheless, if only for the astounding nature of this bargain. Chatterer greatly doubted that Frank Cotton had in fact slipped between their fingers, but if he perhaps did, and this otherwise unremarkable young girl did catch him, then she would truly be quite the specimen.

"Perhaps we prefer you." On the other hand, Chatterer was more willing to go along with the Woman. This girl could simply be a desperate liar, and nothing else. Tugging hard on her hair, he snapped her head back, and felt her hot, rapid breaths on his face. Besides, it would finally open the door to their little game.

"I want him to confess himself," Pinhead replied sternly, and Chatterer took his unspoken order to loosen his grip on her, "Then maybe, maybe…"

"But if you cheat us— " added the Woman, not to be outdone by her superior.

"We'll tear your soul apart!" Releasing her at last with a frustrated hiss, Chatterer removed himself from the realm of mortals, returning to the Labyrinth.

"You are taking this mortal's word?" The Woman demanded.

"Whether she is lying or otherwise, it will not matter," Pinhead's reply was simple, but sharp, "Unless you can produce to me Frank Cotton's soul, my patience for your insubordination has reached its limit." The Woman's reply was the scraping of her boots on the floor beneath her. "If anything, I wish to inquire how any of you have allowed him to pass out of here unnoticed." Not a single member of Pinhead's gash moved at his crisp words, Chatterer's teeth being only noise that broke the ambient silence.

"While this Kirsty Cotton attempts to keep her contract with us, we will seek the crux of this issue, rather than simply issuing our complaints," he ordered, raising his voice slightly. The Woman shrewdly held her peace as she followed him down the narrow corridor, Butterball trailing along behind. Chatterer brought up the rear, entertaining fantasies of just how he was going to break this new plaything once she had ultimately proved her uselessness to them.

XXXXXX

"This isn't for your eyes!" For such a clever girl, even Kirsty was not unsusceptible to curiosity. Pinhead's warning to her, as such, went unheeded, and she would have to come along with them, having seen too much. At last, the game could begin. She deserved a special treat, Chatterer decided as he tugged a transparent sheet off of one of the abandoned pieces of furniture in a side room across from the now rather messy attic.

He lamented not being able to begin his intimate autopsy once more, but only a little. Frank had been caught once before, after all. This girl, on the other hand, had greatly surpassed his expectations. She was the one worthy of his utmost attention, to say the very least. Chatterer whisked the sheet over his head, taking a moment to tug it back in order to even it out. Little girls liked playing dress up, didn't they? Either way, he could resemble a cheery little ghost to entertain her, and the sheet did partially hide him. Yes, he would allow her to have just a tiny bit of pitifully innocent fun. Anything for his favorite doll.

He waited quietly for her in the darkness, loyal lover that he was. Her footsteps pounded heavily on the floorboards as she darted around the old house, the humble abode becoming a treacherous maze to her. He listened to her harried breaths as she ran, he heard her gasp in fear when she found herself cornered, and most importantly, he took notice of the cries of his fellows as they were dismissed back to the Labyrinth. Chatterer could barely contain his excitement. Perhaps she would dismiss all but him, and he could play with her as much as he pleased, without a need to share. Yes, yes, that was perfect! His turn, however, came much sooner than he would have liked.

Kirsty's back was to him as debris from her collapsing house rained down in small chunks. Whipping around, her breath caught in her threat at the sight of his veiled form. Regardless of his cue coming up sooner than expected, Chatterer made his debut, lifting the sheet off. He swelled with pride at the fact that he could take her breath away so many times. Reaching out a hand, he grasped her wrist in an attempt to subdue her silly efforts to maneuver past such a pleasure-filled experience.

Crying out in a combination of outrage and anxiety, Kirsty grappled with him, their standing wrestling match resembling a dance for a few moments. The grunts and groans between each party involved indicated no clear winner in sight. Yet, it had to end. He raised his knife against her. If he could not have her on Earth, the Labyrinth would do.

A clicking sounded, the noise merely being a catalyst for him to speed his movement. He was too late. The Lament Configuration glowed a brilliant gold light, and Chatterer let out a hiss of defeat as he was once more taken from this magnificent doll. The sheet would cover her head next time.