2: Survival Instinct

Whelp, time to leave the house.

I've seen enough horror movies in my lifetime to know that when the killer mysteriously disappears in your house, you do not:

1. Run around the house like an idiot, armed with only a flashlight.

2. Call the useless police, 'cause they sure as heck won't be bringing back-up.

3. Try to hide. You're most likely going to hide in the same place the killer is hiding.

Nope, none of the above choices will allow me to keep my life for long. I've got to get everyone out of this house and burn this place down. Drastic? Yes. Effective? Heck yes.

Right after I get done cursing my brother for buying me the stupid doll, I get up and race to my closet, where I keep Macy's old golf clubs. She used to be interested in golfing but quickly lost interest when she realized golf is really as boring as it looks like on TV.

I still can't believe this is happening. My brain doesn't even want to register this as real. Right now, though, I'm not really thinking straight. All I know is if that little doll tries to hurt my family, I will definitely be yelling "FORE" as I swat his little evil, plastic head across the living room.

"Hey, Arnold, Macy, Mom!" I yell while running down the hallway towards their rooms. "There's something going—"

I stop mid-sentence when I see my Chucky doll seated at the end of the hallway. His eyes are as glassy as any doll's. He's not moving. The only thing that alerts me that something is wrong is that he's clutching my birthday knife in his hand.

I take a few steps back, but keep the golf club in my hand. I point it at him. "I-I know what you are, Chucky," I warn him. "Don't try anything funny or I will swing this club directly at your head."

A laugh creepier than any I've ever heard emits down the hallway. Shivers run up and down my spine when Chucky pulls himself up into a standing position. His face twists into a deadly grin.

"You're too funny, doll," he says. He begins walking towards me, swinging the knife like it's a cane and he's a fancy nineteenth century gentleman. "Look at you. You couldn't hurt a fly—"

Chucky's taunts quickly morph into a scream as I swing the club at him and send his small body flying down the hallway. He smacks against the wall and falls to the ground with a thud. He remains still.

I gasp and cover my mouth. Ohmigoodness, I can't believe I actually just did that! It was almost like a reflex…. An awesome reflex!

I pause in my elated fist pumping when I hear groans coming from Chucky, My eyes widen in horror as he pulls himself back up. He truly looks ticked now.

"You f***ing B***," he growls. He lifts the knife and starts charging towards me, screaming like a demented frog…whatever those sound like.

I mimic his scream before turning around and making a beeline for the kitchen. Chucky is literally right on my heels. His twisted laugh is echoing in my ears, tempting me to scream again. I'm literally about to have a heart attack. My heart is pounding against my chest like a beating drum, my vision is growing dark, and I can barely breathe.

I need to find another weapon, quick, quick…

My eyes land on a convenient katana that my Mom placed above the TV in the living room. I dive for it. A grin finds its way on my face when my fingers latch onto its hilt. I spin around and point the blade right at Chucky, who freezes in place. He slowly lowers his knife and fixes me with an angry glare.

"Are you seriously pointing a Japanese sword at my face?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. I cast a doubtful glance at the katana and twist it in my hands so that it's pointing the right way. I nod. "Yes, I am. And unless you want it going through your face, you are going to pack your little dolly bags and get out of my house."

"Fine, doll. You win, you win." I'm surprised when Chucky raises his hands in a show of defeat. Is he really going to give up on killing me, just like that? His eyes take on that wide, innocent look they had before I knew that he was a talking, killing machine. "I just gotta ask you one question. If you answer right, I'll be on my way, okay? No need to stab anyone."

"Question? What would Chucky have to ask me?" I ask.

Chucky quirks one red eyebrow at me. "Are you a Good Girl?"

(A/N: A golf club and katana, all in one chapter! xD

What's going happen next to Rose? She's gonna meet the man of her dreams! (Or nightmares. You'll see.))

Peace!

CR