Glen stifled a yawn as his teacher continued to drone from her position at the front of the class. He normally enjoyed English. He enjoyed all of his lessons, except Phys. Ed. But today, he was really too tired to focus. Maybe his mother had been right to worry; maybe he should have stayed home.
His shoulders ached as he slumped over his desk, his eyes heavy. He shook his head, he pinched his arm, and he even rested his head on his hand, digging his nails into his cheek in flagging attempts to wake himself up. He felt his elbow losing its traction on the desk, slowly slipping as his entire body sagged with the weight of sleep.
She's still talking. She's taking forever...
He dragged his eyes up to watch the teacher, who seemed to actually be slowing down as she spoke, and blinked lethargically. Her hand movements became slower, and her monotonic voice seemed to drag on, like someone had switched the speed right down.
Glen blinked again.
He looked around the classroom.
Everyone was moving in slow-motion, seemingly ignoring him.
Cautiously, he raised his hand, and then waved it in the air.
"Miss? Miss, what's going on?"
The teacher didn't answer him, or even look at him. The slow drone of her voice cut out all together, replaced with the thudding beat of his own heart.
"Learning from history..." a horrifyingly familiar voice cut through the silence, making Glen jump. Chucky strolled through the rows of desks, walking from the back to the front of the class, reading off the board. "Poems of the civil war... psh. Like that's ever going to be useful."
"D... Dad?" Glen shook, yelping and shrinking back into his seat as his father turned his ice-blue eyes on him.
"You really want to be here, kid?" Chucky sneered, climbing up onto his teacher's desk. "What good is any of this going to do you?"
"What... what are you doing here?"
"What, I can't pay my own kid a visit?" He laughed, his face just as twisted and gnarled as Glen remembered; the soft plastic gleaming in the harsh electric lights. "So come on, let's blow this joint."
"No! I... you're dead!"
"Nerd!" Glenda's voice barked from behind him, accompanied by her manic giggle. He spun around, and came face to face with the doll that currently housed his sister. She looked different to how he remembered... he wasn't surprised. He suppressed a shudder, deciding he didn't really want to remember Glenda the way he knew he'd always have to; flush draining from her pale plastic cheeks, spit hanging from her jaw, eyes rolling back into her head as blood spewed forth from the point of impact where he drove a screwdriver into her skull. He'd never be able to forget it...
But now, she was taller, her hair in bunches of deep red, almost purple ringlets, brown freckles gracing her high cheekbones... but her eyes were the same. They were large, blue-green eyes that shone with a constant malice.
"He won't come with us, Daddy..." She chuckled, her voice the same high-pitched, hoarse whisper it had always been. "He likes being in school. He's not fun."
"Don't sweat it, Glenda." Chucky grinned, standing on the teacher's desk and leaning on her shoulder, seeming disconcertingly casual. "He'll end up as one of us, sooner or later." They both started laughing, making Glen flinch again. He looked from one to the other, startled as they both giggled and cackled. It was a horrible, grainy noise, which scared Glen more than any threat or curse.
"I... I won't." Glen tried to be loud and defiant, but his voice wobbled, and he failed to meet his father's eyes. The fact that he spoke out at all made them stop laughing, though. He took a deep breath and tried again, forcing his voice to stay level.
"I won't be like either of you. I'm... I'm a good boy, I work hard at school and I help look after Mummy and Neil. I... I help people. I don't like hurting people."
"Oh..." Glenda gasped, her eyes shining with that sadistic gleam as she walked around to the front of the class. She was almost skipping. "Daddy! Glen's telling lies!"
"I know." Chucky smiled, his voice ominously dark. His eyes were fixed on Glen, like he was trying to stare straight through into his brain. "He thinks he's... better than us." Chucky spoke slowly, and with a sense of determination. Glen wasn't sure if he was amused or angry. It was like his father was toying with him, standing up there and just trying to exude some form of power. Glen tried to sit up straight and seem flippant, but he couldn't deny that he was terrified just by his father's presence.
"But I know he's a killer. He killed me."
Glen felt heat build in his cheeks, clawing behind his eyes. He bit his lip as he tried to struggle against the tears. He tried to get up, to run away, but he couldn't move out of his seat. It was like he was stuck to it, and the more he struggled, the more stuck he felt. He stared down at his lap, fat, wet tears rolling down his Elvin nose, spurred on by the sound of Glenda's stifled laugh coming from somewhere in front of him.
"He killed me..." Chucky's voice was little more than a whisper now, but Glen could still hear it carrying the same vicious glint that shone constantly in those cold blue eyes. "And he liked it."
"No!" Glen's head shot up, more pleading than denying, his eyes bloodshot and wet as tears continued to run down his pasty white cheeks. "No, it... it's not true!"
"Oh! He's lying again, Daddy, he's lying!" Glenda was practically dancing on the spot, trying to reign in her excitement. Chucky shot her a wry smile, and she seemed content that she had been listened to. She turned to Glen, instead.
"You'll love it, Glen. Finally admitting all that anger, all that emotion..." She grinned, sending shivers down Glen's spine. "You're going to be one of us, sooner or later. I'm a killer, Dad's a killer, and so was his dad... It's like genetics!"
"No!" Glen spat, struggling some more, renewing his resolution to get out of there. "I'm not like you. I won't ever be like you!"
"You sure, Glen?" Chucky laughed, moving closer to the teacher, pulling out a knife from his overall pocket and pressing it against her throat. "You sure you wouldn't like to be up here, holding this bitch hostage?"
Glen's eyes grew wide.
"Please... don't..."
"Just think about it. All those poor homework grades, those unfair pop quizzes." The light reflected off of the knife with the same terrible gleam as the one that sparkled in Chucky's grin. "Bitch would never cross you again."
"No..." Glen's throat ached as he stifled sob after sob, too tense and scared to let himself cry. He could only whisper, "Please..."
"And it's so easy, Glen." Chucky continued, speaking with the same measured patience as if he was teaching Glen how to ride a bike or hit a golf ball. "You just find your reason, your motivation. And you focus on it. And then..." He looked up, making sure Glen was watching. Glen felt like his spine had been put in a vice; he couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to.
"Then it's just a matter of finding the vein." And with that, the knife slid across the teacher's throat, slitting it from her left ear to her right, blood bubbling out of her and drenching her clothes before pooling on the floor, quickly followed by the rest of her crumpled body. Glen bit back another sob as he heard his teacher making choking gasps from where she lay, barely moving.
"Or what about her?"
Glen's head snapped around to see Glenda, two desks to his right, sat on the desk of a young girl named Clarissa he often spoke to.
"Please, stop..."
"She always was snooty, wasn't she, Glen?" Glenda gave another savage smile, like a cat that had cornered it's prey. "She'd be fine if you could do her homework for her, but as soon as she had what she wanted, she didn't care any more, right?" Her smile grew wider. "Not a real friend. And think about how easy it is."
So saying, Glenda produced a length of thin wire from her pocket, and in one swift movement she wrapped it around Clarissa's neck and pulled it tight. Clarissa emitted a few strangled gasps before slumping in her chair, Glenda breathing heavily as she regained her composure.
"You could kill them, kid." Chucky was stood on a desk at the front of the class, five or so in front of Glen. He slashed the neck of the child sat at the desk, who Glen knew as James. James fell to the floor, screaming and whimpering, and shaking as his blood pooled around him, seeping into the carpet. Glen screamed, trying yet again to pull himself free of the chair, but he was stuck fast. Glenda started laughing again, and followed her father's lead. She pulled her own knife from it's sheath in her knee-high sock, and slashed the throat of another one of Glen's classmates. It was Tyler's turn to slump, gasping and gibbering, onto the floor. Chucky and Glenda both moved to the next desk on, driving their knives into their next victims.
Glen continued to struggle, tears rolling down his face, screaming. All he wanted to do was stop the horrible sounds of his classmates slowly sputtering and dying, while Glenda continued her manic laughter. Chucky, however, seemed perfectly calm and in control. He stepped from desk to desk, sending child after child to the floor.
"You think you're safe because you're a kid." His voice was horrifyingly quiet; a whisper that somehow managed to carry over the whimpers and screams of his fallen classmates. To emphasise his point, Chucky sliced another kid's neck and moved onto the desk in front of Glen.
"You're one of us, Glen. And sooner or later, blood's gonna out." He stabbed the child in front of Glen, driving the knife downward between neck and shoulder, sending blood spurting over both of them.
Glen kept struggling against his invisible bonds, staring up at his father, unable to tear his eyes away, all the while pushing out desperate murmurs.
"No... no, no, no... please, don't... don't do this... stop it, please... I can't, I'm not like you..."
"You know as well as I do, I could kill every kid in this class, no problem. Glenda wouldn't need half a chance. Your mother would have, too, before she started lying to the world."
"No..."
"Yes. Glen, I'm a killer. Your sister's a killer. We're scum of the earth, and that scum includes you and your mother. This is a warning, Glen. If you're..."
"No!"
Glen screamed, finally managing to pull himself free of his invisible bonds, and falling heavily to the floor.
Glen stumbled to his feet, still screaming and casting around, slowly shrinking under the collective gaze of his class.
"Glen? Are you alright?"
He looked around. His teacher stood at the front of the class, giving him a curious, concerned look.
A dream... just a dream...
But it had felt so real.
Glen looked around, seeing no sign of the dolls. All of his classmates were present, accounted for, and alive.
They were also staring at him, some laughing, sneering, others more concerned. He must not look very well.
I don't feel too well either.
The world lurched sickeningly to one side, and Glen did little to fight it, grateful to slump to the floor and black out, in hopes he'd forget some of the horrible visions that were still burned into his brain.
Glen blinked awake in the nurse's office, the dim electric light casting a sickly haze over everything. Or maybe that was just his eyesight.
"How are you?" The nurse cooed, crouching down next to him. She was a pretty woman, who smelled of cosmetics and soap. She had red hair, flecked with grey, which curled and bobbed around her shoulders. She smiled her sympathetic smile at him, dabbing at his forehead with a damp wipe.
"I... uh... What happened?"
"You passed out, sweetie." The nurse stood up, giving him another sympathetic smile, and walked back over to her desk. It was a small, square room, covered in motivational posters and medical leaflets.
"We didn't call your mother; it seems like you were just a little over-tired. Have you been sleeping well lately?"
"No." Glen admitted, struggling to sit up. "I've been having... bad dreams."
"Do you want to call your mother now?"
"No, no." Glen started, causing the nurse to raise her eyebrows at him. He recovered, smiling nervously. "She, uh... she'd only worry."
"Well, aren't you a sweet little thing. I'll tell you what..." She spun around, scribbling out a note on a piece of paper, before taking a small plastic bag out of the desk drawer. "Take this note, and this little bag, and go to the cafeteria. Give it to one of the cafeteria workers; they'll sort you out." She smiled again, helping him to his feet.
"I have trouble sleeping myself. The bag is a little kit I have to relax myself."
"Thank you..."
"You're still looking a little faint though." The nurse scrutinised him. After a moment, she smiled. "Karen?"
A girl, a little older than Glen, walked through from outside the office. She had her arm in a cast, and carried a couple of books. She smiled sheepishly at him.
"Karen, can you take Glen here to the cafeteria, just to make sure he's ok?"
"Yes, miss." Karen smiled, before looking expectantly at Glen. Glen smiled nervously back, and stumbled to his feet, following her out of the nurse's office. She had long, light brown hair, which had a slight lazy curl to it. She was skinny and athletic, and was tall, about three inches taller than Glen.
"Glen. You're in fourth grade, right?"
"Fifth." Glen clutched the small plastic bag nervously. "You?"
"Sixth. Must explain why I've never seen you before. So what were you in the nurse's office for?"
"I... um... passed out in class."
"No way!" Karen gasped, delighted. "That was you? Wow, you had everyone worried for a moment there. So are you ok now?"
"I... still feel a bit funny, but I'm ok."
"Here, let me take that stuff to the cafeteria lady." She smiled as she took the bag and the note off of him. Glen sat down gratefully, sinking onto the cafeteria bench. Karen seemed nice enough, which was good. He checked his watch, seeing that there was a half hour until everyone else would be eating lunch. He had a little time to enjoy his lunch quietly, and calm down.
His thoughts returned to his dream. It had been a dream, of course. But it was terrifying.
He had been dreaming about Chucky and Glenda for a while now, and the dreams seemed more real and more horrifying each time. But today...
He'd never had such a realistic dream in his life.
He shuddered, trying to suppress the memory of his father's terrible eyes, and Glenda's twisted laugh.
That was another thing.
Glenda...
He'd had a very hard time dealing with her death, but not in the same way his mother had. His mother had cried and mourned, as you would expect any mother to do at the death of their child. But Glen hadn't He had been sad, but at times he had to remind himself that she had died. He felt... he almost couldn't comprehend that she was dead. He couldn't explain it to anyone, other than saying that he just... didn't feel like she was.
"Glen?"
He jumped when Karen returned to the table, with a polystyrene cup of what looked like tea, a sandwich and a smoothie.
"Here's the stuff the nurse gave you. I think its chamomile tea."
Glen smiled.
"I've never had that before." He tried it, sipping carefully at the hot liquid. It did relax him slightly.
"Is it nice?"
"It's... flowery."
"Blegh." Karen sniffed. "I don't like tea." So saying, she produced a bottle of water from her bag and drank from it, resting her injured arm on the table.
"Is it... broken?" Glen nodded towards her arm, his pinched expression trying for a smile. Karen nodded.
"Yeah. Only a small break though. I was trying dad's old gym equipment and I... I fell funny."
"Your dad has his own gym?"
"He's..." She stopped, glancing down at the table. "He... was... in the army. But he died."
"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry." Glen gasped. Karen shook her head.
"It's ok. I'm still getting used to it."
"I know what you mean." Glen nodded. Then, before he really thought about what he was saying, he said "My father... and my sister... both died recently."
"Woah." Karen raised her eyebrows.
"You just... A part of me keeps..."
"Forgetting?" Karen suggested. Glen nodded. Karen smiled.
"I'm sitting out of gym class right now. Mind if I have lunch with you?"
"Sure." Glen smiled. He liked Karen. He felt they had a lot in common.