House of Horrors: Director's Cut

by LittleLiteratureRSJ

A portal drops a select few of our beloved horror icons into the house of our protagonist, Jennifer Caddie. When she hears strange noises in the night, she realizes fairly quickly she is no longer alone. Confused and afraid, she will have to adjust to her new living situation as she navigates how to live with monsters. Turns out: Living with slashers makes for a killer headache.

2. Monsters Are Real!

I ceased all movement, breath bated as I stared into the vertical slant. Shock mingled with terror and had a love triangle with dread.

No..

Please, no.

Tell me this isn't actually happening. Please, someone tell me this isn't real.

Resisting the absentminded urge to pinch myself, I swallowed thickly, feeling myself grow cold all over as I gazed inside. Even the pounding of my heart faded away with my intense scrutiny of the sight in front of me.

Either Halloween had come early this year or my mother had lied to me about monsters not being real when I was little.

The room was a fresh mess. No doubt it was the result of all of the crashing I had heard earlier. Though that wasn't the issue. The issue? Were the people in the room; Bunched in a group, all seemingly examining either the space or the framed family portrait, stood a strange group of individuals. Strange had to be the understatement of the year. I had never thought that diversity could be so horrifying; Their appearances casting even stranger shadows in the yellow glow of my dad's old table lamp, making the white walls surrounding look like a terrifying stage for a shadow puppet show.

Eight of them..

My heart was lodged in my throat as I counted each of them inside of my head. Eight men in my house. Fucking eight! This couldn't be true, couldn't be real. It just couldn't..

Yet there they were, all fucking eight of them, seeming to be settling in amongst upturned boxes and dust. One of them began digging through the box's contents, rummaging around, as if looking for clues to help tell a story about the family-MY family in that picture.

All of them were nothing short of eye sores, nonetheless my eyes took them in one by one-

Pinhead. The name came back to me, my eyes landing on a pale, lean, and distinct form standing perfectly erect in his place. He stood back a bit from the rest of the group. I decided he had to have been the one named that seeing as his head was covered in shining pins, decorated and stuck in the pattern of small, neat squares. Not one pin lay crooked or out of place. No hair, just smooth, bone white skin and the sterling shine of pins. He wore a lengthy, tight leather piece of attire. Some kind of BDSM inspired cassock. The garment had a long, thin vertical opening above his abdomen and three horizontal openings on his chest on both sides with something red looping through them; High collared, slim-fitting around the middle, long sleeved, and darkly shining he was dressed. A deadly and sinister looking assortment of blades were attached to his hips, his attire flowing down to the floor. His face was somewhat rounded through the temples, getting slightly narrow down through the jaw and chin, with faint blooms of bruised looking blue. It looked as if he were suffering from severe hypothermia. His eyes were a solid jet black. Overall he seemed absolutely soulless and not one to be fucked with.

A movement of color caught my eye, bringing my eyes lower to discover a doll, peach colored and vibrant walking about; His movements thus making the fact that a doll shouldn't be able to move on its own even more undeniable. He was dressed well to do with dark blue overalls. Childish designs wove around the fabric. Under his overalls he wore a multicolored shirt striped blue, white, green, and red. On his feet he bore bright red sneakers, the laces a bleached white as red letters embraced them. I squinted to read what they said. Good Guy. His overalls were slightly messy and rugged, torn flaps decorating his attire here and there. He had crazed reddish hair somewhat stapled to his head. Over his right eye, stitches fought a stern battle to keep his face intact, starting from the crown of his forehead down to his chin. His right eyelid was missing, only a thin curtain of flesh a substitute, face rounded and oval like, the boundaries of facial features apparent and distinct. No doubt he was light on his feet.

My eyes were brought back up to roam over large boots and legs, trousers caked with dirt and grime, ragged with wear and tear. A filthy, brown jacket hung limply from broad, powerful shoulders. My eyes took in a massive chest concealed by an equally dirtied polo, stained and looking utterly ruined and torn. Numerous holes decorated the fabric that seemed it had been slowly unraveling for years. A tarnished and damaged looking hockey mask clung to thin, tight straps wrapping around an oddly shaped and muscular head. The mask was ill colored, chipped, and monstrously scraped; Any original colors now extremely faded with age. The best way to describe his appearance would be unusual gray looking skin with bulging veins, muscle on muscle, buff and burly like a wall of hulking mass that loomed at a frankly intimidating height. He was easily the broadest of them. A deadly and eroded looking machete was grasped in one of his powerful hands. Sharp, grime covered, nearly two feet of blade. In other words; A gray giant wearing a hockey mask.

Next to him stood another masked male, dressed simply in a dark blue jumpsuit. Its collar was popped, dirtied, and smudged. The intruder wore a white mask with coarse, brown hair stitched into the forehead's hem. A grave looking expression was seemingly molded into the white, crumpled leather of the material, cheekbones apparent along with the brows looking shadowed and intimidating. Though he wore a mask, the eyeholes appeared to be devoid of any sign of the person underneath. The expression of indifference it wore only further inspired the fear in me to heighten. Tall and lanky, his stance was upfront and stoic. His hands hung down at his sides, still, silent, although blissfully empty. He had healthy, peach colored skin with large hands, shoulders compact and straight. He seemed muscular in a different way, more lean than buff.

It then seemed to dawn on me that most of them were stupidly tall..

Which obviously did not bode well for my 5'4" height.

My eyes quickly sought out the next horrid intruder. His body appeared hunched in a way, holding my family's picture in his gnarled hands, fingertips looking like black talons of rock, jaded and lethal. This one was perhaps the most bizarre looking of the eight gathered around. Beyond human, that was for certain, his skin boasted different shades of green. The contours of his face were done in a darker shade the further back it went, along with the mouth and eyes. His brows seemed to be set in a furrowed line, sloping up at the outer ends, his cheekbones sleek and divided in strange ways, his nose button-like and chin wide. His earlobes were stretched, hanging down a little, below what I could only describe as black tentacles; Two in total hanging down. They seemed to grow from each side of his temple, curving over the back of his smooth, shapely head. The tentacles rested obediently on his shoulders, the ends seeming like nubbed worms as they wriggled slightly, rather like some sort of pudgy horns. I couldn't tell if he was wearing something or not to cover the upper part of his body. His chest and arms had the look of some sort of weird brownish armor, scales pointing down, plated and designed in a way that was surely out of this world. The lower half of him was covered in a worn, draping fabric, a deep and faded red that wrapped around his waist and trailed over the floor. It cascaded down his back like a sort of cape that was tied at the waist in an odd fashion. He eyed the picture with narrow, exotic colored eyes that were a ringed mix of yellow, orange, and red. His teeth were double edged and pointy, demonish.

Rummaging through the contents of the box grumbling to himself was an adult version of a ghost in a cheap Halloween store kind of way. Somewhat lean with a slightly broad appearance was yet another masked intruder fully covered from head to toe. A thin, sleek looking hood was pulled just over the temple of his mask, shadowing and framing it in an almost almond shaped halo of sorts. The costume itself was nearly shapeless save for the long sleeves that hung down like pointed curtains all the way to the wrist, the hands donning black gloves. More or less he seemed like a three-dimensional jagged shadow with a glowing, white face that mimicked the expression of a wailing ghost. Long and narrow, cheekbones exaggerated, the black eyeholes seemed to dip in the middle, slanted sideways in a sort of jelly bean shape. The nose was small and turned up, and the mouth gaping and forever held open in what could either be a yawn or an eternal scream. The black fabric trailed long. It nearly went past black dress shoes, pointed edges cut into the material at the bottom. A black belt cinched the waist together, making the torso look diamond shaped. A crafty, black handled knife stuck out in one hand, as the other gloved hand moved items aside, digging about noisily in an aggravated fashion.

Standing tall amongst them off to the side was another one of them that didn't look quite human. Honestly he might have been the tallest of the group. Like the other green skinned being, he shared the same coloration except darker; Taking a more textured and less plain appearance: Rubbery, coarse, slightly shining, as if the skin were wet or slicked with something. His face was structured in a way that I had never seen before. What looked like flaps hung over his cheekbones, high and prominent, reminding me of butterfly wings almost, turned down and threatening looking. His lips were thin, pulled back to reveal multiple sets of small, skinny teeth bunched together like yellowed toothpicks; Which were completely terrifying to look at when bared. The white of his eyes stood out like warning signs, shockingly white, stark, and strict with dark irises, hungry and alert. He briefly hoisted the hat from his head to sweep his opposite hand over his scalp, as if to scratch his head in confusion. The simple gesture allowed me more to view. Also bald, a characteristic that seemed to make up the majority of the group, he possessed four thin, stick-like horns. Two rested over his forehead to be brought down in a sort of widow's peak. The ends were sharp and taloned, and the other two rested and curved up along the sides of his jaws like spider pincers. He returned the hat to his head, nearly hiding the taloned features that jutted from his countenance. The hat he wore was a wide brimmed one, almost like a cowboy hat but a bit fuller, dark brown, and adamantly thick looking, upturned a little on the sides. From under the large hat spilled thin, spidery-like silver hair down past broad shoulders. He wore a long, grubby, tattered black trench coat. It was pulled open, the shoulders seeming to have curtained folds, holes ripped and jagged near the bottom starting around his knees. The trench coat was a lengthy one, nearly threatening to touch the floor itself. He didn't have a shirt, but he did have on firm fitting, torn, and grimy pants. He was definitely muscular, made evident from the lines around his abdomen and chest. The skin over his pecs formed in strange, designed ways. He was built like the hockey player, but in a more nimble and adept manner, fingers knuckled and pointed. And resting on the wall beside him, lay the dull metallic body of a fucking battle axe. It had a ridiculously medieval look to it; A brown wooden handle with three short prongs in the shape of a capital 'E'. Good fuck.

The last of them stood off to the side, leaning against the wall in between a tower of stacked boxes, seemingly bored, frustrated, and haughty. Slouching, yet still managing to look lanky, he wore thick black boots rimmed with silver holed lacings with straight legged, black slacks. The trousers themselves were shabby, stained, and filthy. Above that was a well-fitting red and green, horizontal striped sweater. It suffered a chewed and tattered look; Slightly unraveling here and there, fabric thinning from a timeline of wear and tear, holes and cuts littered about in the material. It had long sleeves which were equally as dirty. A brown, slightly rumpled if not crumpled fedora sat atop his head, ideally dented and brim stylishly shaped. However that wasn't what made him an overall eye sore to begin with. What did was the fact that he was severely burned all over: Worse than any fourth degree burn anyone could ever obtain. His skin was comprised of scars lacing over burned sears, wrapping over more scar tissue, and somewhat glimmery skin muscle. He had a full yet thin look to him, an upfront and vulgar theme. One look and it was easy to tell what his personality would be. It seemed to bleed through his appearance, threatening and vile. His face was slightly narrow with a little depth to it, high cheekbones, stout chin, a hooked nose, virtually no set of lips, however a mouth was still easy to detect. His teeth were yellowed and distorted. His ears emerged out of the ruined and seared flesh: Meaty and raw. He seemed the same even texture everywhere, even his hands. Speaking of hands, the left being angled and careful looking, his right one bore a glove. But not just any glove. It was something intensely metal, thoughtfully adapted, clearly constructed by a mind of dark ploy, obviously by an antagonist. It was all copper and metal, rustic templates, soot, ash, oil forever burning, as metallic as metallic can get in the most vicious way. All of the fingers except for the thumb had a welded blade inserted into the rounded cylinder that covered the wearer's fingers; Finger-blades, long and curving, and intently sharp. What must have been nearly nine inches of steel sprouted from the metallic knuckles. The rest of the glove was brown leather, thin, worn down, followed intimately by the starting of a chewed and soiled, striped sweater sleeve. Glinting in the soft glow of the lamp, it was undeniably clear that the blades weren't fake. They were all too real. Just as real as the rest of them.

I let their extreme appearances sink in, swallowing dry saliva, trying to stop my trembling, trying to focus, to concentrate on a plan of action. Anything rather than my fear, but the phrase 'easier said than done' definitely came to mind.

The majority of them seemed to be armed, mostly blades but somehow that wasn't the biggest problem. Then again let's face it, there were a lot of 'big' problems here..

-Eight to one: They obviously out-manned me.
-Clearly not human..
-Armed and dangerous.
-They were inside my house.
-I was all by myself.

I could go on but I digress-

I shook away my inner train of thought, watching with renewed focus as the tentacle-headed male sat the picture frame back into the ripped open cardboard box, gazing about his companions.

"What do we think?" A shiver cascaded down my back at the very sound of his voice. His voice was harsh, gruff, rapturing in on itself, with a drawled 'uh' or 'eh' at the end of his sentence. It sounded almost like some sort of demonish accent so that it came out more like: 'What do we think-eh/think-uh..' with the obvious tone of a question mark in tow. Just seeing him in action, actually there moving and alive...It was beyond terrifying, beyond surreal comprehension. It was like something straight out of a nightmare. These guys were the embodiment of fear itself.

"I think Vegas was a bust." Grumbled Casper the Not So Friendly Looking Ghost.

Vegas? Were they talking about the place or a person?

"Can it, facefuck," Snapped the doll. "Just because it didn't end how we thought it would don't mean it was a bust. You weren't even there, so I don't wanna hear it from you. Vegas is goin' down in history. You showed up at the 'after party'. Your opinion's invalid."

"My 'invalid opinion' is looking pretty valid from where I'm standing."

"And from where I'm standin', you still look like a dressed-up dumbass from that one paintin'."

"Edvard Munch's The Scream?" Suggested Tentacle Head. The doll tossed his hand up in a gesture; "Yup! That's the one," He redirected his focus back to Casper. "Don't you gotta find some bridge to go stand on?" Casper gave a short chuckle, stopping for a moment in his scouring of the box in front of him. "Didn't think you were cultured enough to make that joke." The plaything crossed his arms, responding sassily; "Shows how much you know. Tiff dragged me to an art museum once after whinin' and cryin' over how 'romantic' it'd be if we went. Nothin' 'romantic' about it. Was pretty much a snooze fest the whole way through."

"We haven't even been here two minutes and you're bitching and moaning about your wife already? You oughta get a personality, ragdoll." This time Red and Green was the one picking on the toy. Wife? The toy was married? To who? Raggedy Ann?

"Eat me, crispy. I've got more personality than you and him put together."

Red and Green chortled skeptically; "Clearly."

Pinhead took the pause in the blooming argument to provide his own grave sounding answer to the original question; "I think this will be the last time I make dealings with you, Charles Lee Ray," He pinned an explicitly annoyed glance back at the living toy. The doll.. Charles? Blew out a disbelieving "pfft" with his lips; "You act like this is my fault. You were the one that was supposed to make good on your promise. Instead you drop us off here, wherever 'here' even is. Not my fault you couldn't get the place right. I held up my end. Don't look like you held up yours."

"Are you accusing me of not keeping my word?"

"Well I ain't accusin' you of doin' somethin' right."

"I always keep my promises. You asked for me and I came, did I not? As you requested, you and your colleagues are no longer trapped in purgatory and I no longer owe you a debt. As for any further thoughts on the matter, I think you are an ungrateful fool and I think we have overstayed our welcome."

Casper snorted somewhat rudely, his arm practically swallowed by the maw of the cardboard box he searched through. "Oh come on, we only just got here. Why not," He grunted, sifting through objects and carelessly pulling them out to inspect them before the items fell onto the floor by his feet. Hot bubbles of anger began to boil in me as I watched. "Stay a while, have a look around?"

"Who knows what delights we'll find." Snickered Tentacle Head, his eyes imploring the walls surrounding.

"Time is a currency I seek to spend elsewhere." Was Pinhead's patient reply.

A multitude of colors passed by dangerously close in front of the crack in the door, successfully making my heart skyrocket to the top of my chest. My brain rapidly registered it as the movement of the doll walking directly past. I hastily retreated behind the crack, trying to frantically calm the speed of my pulse. You're okay. You're okay.

"And where are you even gonna go, huh? You got some hot spot you ain't told us about?" Pinhead said nothing. It was all the answer the doll needed; "That's what I thought. Even so, you said so yourself. That no good box of yours ain't takin' us anywhere." The doll's voice was farther away from the door and I was brave enough, or stupid enough, to take up my stealthy position again to continue spying on the intruders.

My eyes were directed to Pinhead as he retrieved something from behind him. His head was cast down to look at the object he held: A gorgeously intricate sapphire sat in the conjoined palms of his hands. Though not literally a gemstone, the thing he held so carefully in his hands was only in the shape of one. In the lamp light, the small item seemed to sparkle in black and gold hues. A strange curiosity piqued within me as I studied it. The doll had claimed it was a box, but it didn't look much like one. It looked more like a solid chunk of shape with two pointed opposite ends.

"Yes," Pinhead stated simply; "It is true that while the Lament Configuration is in this form, it cannot be used. It will be quite some time before I can return to Lord Leviathan's realm," His pallid fingers embraced the smooth looking surface, his eyes closing briefly to murmur softly, almost as if to himself; "Damnation." A swear? Or something more literal?

"Well what's the point of luggin' that thing around when it's just gonna crap out?"

"Possibly the same reason you lug that bag around with you. It serves its uses," The bag that they spoke of was momentarily lifted by the doll himself. The size and bright coloration of red, blue, and yellow made it adorable. The mini backpack was just large enough to compliment his stature. Walking by where it had sat on the floor amongst the mess that their arrival had created, he heaved it up with one fluid motion to slip both of his arms through its straps. Watching the toy shift with the newly added weight, the pale being continued; "In any case, it is by Leviathan's design and not for those of inferior mind to question."

The doll rolled his eyes and snorted; "Yeah, inferior. How's that workin' out for you?"

Pinhead's dark eyes simmered; "Just fine, little toy. Just fine."

My mind slaved over making sense of the jargon he used. Lament Configur-what-huh? Configuration? Lord Leviathan? Purgatory? Who were these...These people? Where had they come from? One moment my house was empty and the next it was filled with monsters. It was if they had literally just been birthed from nothing. How was it possible for them to be here and why were they? It appeared questions enjoyed my company far more than answers did.

"So what you're saying is we're stuck here?" Red and Green tilted his head to look among the group, the brim of his fedora hiding one eye. His mouth was set in a dissatisfied line.

Casper, apparently having had his fill of looting through our belongings, got to his feet and turned to him, crossing his arms. "Doubt it. We're just on the side of a proverbial road with no gas. Just means we'll have to walk." No one seemed pleased by this thought. The three others that hadn't spoken yet didn't seem happy with it either, telling from their body language.

"Ah fuck it. We'll get where we're goin'. But for now.." Slowing to a stop, it seemed he had made a meandering circle around the room. The doll slipped one of his hands just beneath the lip of his overalls to dig around for something. When I saw that what he had been looking for was a knife, I inhaled sharper than I intended to. He gave the others a grinning-suggestive look; "I think it's time to meet the family." His suggestion had him looking like the very definition of the word mischievous.

Looks of dark delight and insidious glee were passed around like salt and pepper shakers at Thanksgiving. It seemed the thought was one nearly all of them enjoyed, immediately transcending their gloom into vigor.

My heart violently skipped a beat at that, feeling my cold sweat intensify all over.

Suddenly the creature in the trench coat sniffed heavily at the air, his head jerking and tugging up with each drawn-out, crass sniff of his nose. Seven pairs of eyes alongside my own looked at him. "What do you smell, Creeper?" Casper gave him an expectant look. He brandished his own knife to twirl it expertly in his hands as if itching for a specified response.

Creeper. Another creep-tastic name..

Creeper seemed to sigh in pleasure, apparently enjoying the aroma he took in that no one else did but he didn't say anything. Instead, I felt a piercing and fierce sting of panic when his eyelids fluttered wildly in my direction.

I sharply ducked out of view, holding my breath, feeling my heart race and my chest growing unbelievably tight.

Oh my God. Did he see me?!

"Oh, this should be good." Laughed the doll with the most insane, little melodic laugh possible. The laugh alone could put a choir of joyful maniacs to shame, straitjackets and all. Sweet fuck!

That was when I finally took the hint to get the Hell out of there.

A series of snickers and chuckles replied back to him as I frantically tiptoed back to my room, eyes wider than ever as quickly as I could, trying to enable both stealth and speed at the same time. Which I should have known wasn't going to work. Stumbling in my blind, numbing panic, I fumbled over the toes of my foot, wobbling a little too heavily for a little too long.

Crreeeaak. One of the floorboards creaked loudly.

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

NO! Traitorous fucking floor!

"What was that?" One of the intruders asked as I then heard the sound of multiple feet shuffling. The light in the room flicked off, concealing mostly everything in darkness behind me. Wobbling, panicky, frantic, I desperately made my way back to my room, following the nightlight on the threshold like breadcrumbs in a fairy tale. Finally making it to my bedroom door, I edged myself past and quietly shut it just as I heard a long and eerie creak, signaling that they were on the move. Somehow muffling the sound of hurling my body to the ground to turn my nightlight off, I looked around my darkened bedroom in an absolute state of energized dread, memorizing where everything was. I had to hide and I had to hide NOW!

Looking around, I tried to think of a place not too convenient, not too obvious, racking my brain like pool balls.

Let's fucking see then!

The closet seemed like a sealed off dungeon of certain death. Fuck you closet!

The curtains were not even remotely an option. Fuck you too, curtains!

I could almost feel time running out while searching around for a place to hide. From behind my closed door I heard footsteps come towards my room. My eyes landed on the dark outline of my bed.

No! Christ, I can't hide there! That's too fucking cliché! As I debated in vain, the footsteps were getting louder and closer. Ahhhh! Fuck! Fuck! Fine! Diving headfirst under my bed, I quickly crawled and sidled my way under the bedframe like a soldier in the mud, scooting onto my back. I had to ignore the painful tugs of my long hair being trapped at odd intersections under me and pulling taunt. My foot hid itself just as my bedroom door was slowly pushed open.

I covered my mouth with my hands, not wanting to breathe too much, not even wanting to so much as to stir or tamper with the dust bunnies nestled around me. I tensed my body as much as possible to halt my trembling, quieting my thoughts, everything, to listen and to watch for whatever would play out next.

Be quiet. Relax. Don't move. Calm down.

It seemed my thoughts were trying to talk over each other almost, as if the words were a frenzied crowd trampling one another to be heard. I willed myself to obey them, knowing it was the only thing I could do: The only thing that could save me.

My door slowed to a sure stop. It thumped gently against the wall, now all the way open. My eyes bore into the darkness, vision adjusting and readjusting, trying to spot the intruder standing in the threshold of my bedroom. Without success, I could see no one. Curiously furrowing my brows in the dark under my dusty bed, I laid there. Frozen like a mannequin with bated breath, I willed myself to keep my stare going. I was too afraid to even blink, afraid that if I closed my eyes for even a nanosecond, that as soon as my eyes reopened, there'd be someone there.

I fucking hated jumpscares.

I held back my body's natural reaction to jump when I could hear footsteps again, sounding off into the different parts of the house. Uncomfortably I had no choice but to listen to the disconcerting sounds of doors opening and swinging closed, lights flicking on and off, as if they were looking for something.

It occurred to me that they were going through my house, searching for the family in the picture, and I could not tell you how many goosebumps prickled me in that moment.

A flinch escaped me before I could help it, bringing my attention back to my immediate surroundings. Whoever had opened my door at last seemed to enter. The unsettling shape of feet slowly prowled forward...Like a predator tracking prey. It was single-handedly one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen in my entire life.

I swallowed.

My entire SHORT life.

Don't move. Don't you fucking move, Jennifer..I mean it!

Slowing to a soft halt, the intruder stood there not moving-But oh did he breathe. Something animalistic and hungry, collapsed breathing, husky and-

The light to my room was flipped on, making me blink rapidly to readjust as I lay there under my bed like a desperate child, hoping, fearing, gazing out at two pairs of feet.

An expression of avid fear and fascination began to grow on my face as I stared out at what must have been Creeper's feet, judging from the swish of the long trench coat. He wasn't wearing shoes but that wasn't the repulsive part. Instead my eyes took in his bare feet. Feet that were clearly not human. Being the same coloration as the rest of him, the skin was gnarled, his toes were long and the nails clawed like a bird's. They clicked unsettlingly against the hardwood floor as if in thought.

Next to him were black dress shoes, the bottom of his costume like jagged teeth. The getup no doubt belonged to Casper.

Bequietbequietbequietbequietbequietbequietbequiet-

This was what I was chanting to myself furiously and almost religiously inside of my head, too stunned by the level of danger that ambushed my only true safe zone. It didn't feel right, having these strangers, these intruders, these monsters wandering about as if they had the right to. It made me sick to my stomach. The palms of my hands pressed harder against my mouth.

A moment passed by as I could imagine them looking around my room, looking over the empty bed, and glancing at each other, before black dress shoes went further into the space. It was then that a third intruder came along, faded red cloth dragging across the floor. The one with the strange accent;

"Another empty bed. Perhaps they've gone out."

I was right. They had been checking my family's rooms.

Holding back a shudder, I continued to listen, pointedly ignoring the sensation of pins and needles starting to eat at my limbs.

"If it were really empty, then the sheets would be made. Parents hate that shit." The doll's voice reached me before he entered the room. He stood at the door frame, half of him visible from the waist down. Panicking a little, I tried to shrink away deeper into the shadow of my bed.

"Teenagers are messy. You should know that." The deep, raspy voice from before, chuckling to himself at the very thought of it, black boots stopping next to the doll's red sneakers.

So many of them..

So close..

"Has to be empty anyway. We weren't exactly subtle fallin' on our asses and tearin' the room up." Snorted the doll. A whispery hiss erupted, eliciting a cold tingle to my nerves. Creeper's clawed toes curled, shifting a little. He didn't sound happy. Swiftly he stalked towards my closet, jerking open both of the doors and blocking the entrance to it with determination. I watched him lean forward, his arms sinking into clothes on hangers, stacked jeans, and other various items of my life, searching for a frightened human in there. Let's just say his attempt was futile.

I watched with hardly contained bewilderment and disgust as Creeper pressed his nose into my shirts and tops, before grabbing fistfuls of the materials and sniffing directly into the fabrics. Everything else around him went disregarded as he inhaled deeply. My face warped, very disturbed by the scene in front of me. I could do nothing but stare. His head jerked up violently with each heavy, grunting sniff, clearly checking for something but for what I didn't know. My scent? My gut twisted.

Red cloth came forth to the window across from my door while Creeper was busy ransacking my closet, and the floor-length curtains were pulled back, revealing nothing but wall, glass, and air. "Nothing here either."

A dark rumbling chuckle caught everyone's attention including mine, Creeper forgetting the closet entirely, and Tentacle Head turned to face the chuckler. My eyes latched onto the silver holed boots next to the doll. I watched them stride forward before stopping..

Directly in front of where I was hiding.

The breath died in my throat.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are.." Mockingly, tauntingly, his boots planted themselves in front of my side of the bed as if to challenge me.

Please..

Please, don't.

I pleaded with fate, staring in both anticipation and dread at his boots, practically begging them with the puppy dogs eyes I was giving them now.

That's when he lowered himself to his knees.

NO! I screamed inside of my head, feeling my vocal cords tighten a little at how loud I actually wanted to protest it, but this was beyond my control and I knew it. In fact it was painfully obvious.

I was trapped.

I was fucked.

Frantic butterflies started whirling and whirling inside of my intestines, more winding than the twister that Dorothy's house was spinning in in the Wizard of Oz as I was forced to watch my imminent doom unfold right before my very eyes.

This horrible, gut-wrenching moment seemed to stretch for an eternity: Watching the fabric of his clothes bunch a little and brush against each other, one grotesquely burned hand laying flat on the floor by it's seared and pinkened palm, the other hand looking absolutely terrifying as nine inches of steel, four pieces of it, were spread wide; The palm flattening and metallic blades clinking, and I found myself unable to look away. No matter how much I wanted to just screw my eyes shut and sink into the floor, it was like a train wreck, horrid and obscene, yet something drew my eyes to it all: The tattered and unraveling torso of red and green starting to lean down, exposing the chewed and ripped neckline, glimmery skin muscle of the neck, and-

"Come on, guys. There's nothin' here,"

The horrible, stomach-turning Hell of a moment paused, hesitated, and then quickly began to pull himself back up, retracting with reluctance and even a faint sense of boredom. The monstrous length of his blades scraped dully from the hard floor, making me cringe at the sight and sound of it. I didn't even want to think about those steel fingers touching me.

"It's a fuckin' squatter's den. We're not gonna find anythin'." Grumbled the doll, sticking his knife into the side of his overalls.

I had to resist the tremendous breath of relief that wanted to flood my system as I watched the man in the red and green sweater rise to his feet again.

"What of the creaking floorboard then?" Tentacle Head questioned.

"Old houses make noises. How the fuck should I know? If the family were here, then we would have found 'em." The doll shrugged, dismissing it before turning and exiting.

Red and Green's voice followed, clearly pouting; "Hmph. And to think, I was so excited for some good old fashioned family fun." I had to struggle against the devout shudders of disgust that craved to twist my upper body.

Another hiss from Creeper, sounding irritated and pointed seemed to argue with the red sneakers of the living toy as they started to stroll away down the hall.

"Yeah well, your nose has gone to shit."

With that the rest of them followed suit, shuffling single file out of my room. Creeper lowly growled and hissed to himself, flicking off the light switch before sourly giving a half-assed swing to close the door behind them: Their departure making my room monster-free once again. The door hadn't closed though. It was left partially open. The sounds of their footsteps grew softer and softer, fading into the other levels of the house. All was quiet once more and I was left in darkness.

I don't know how long I laid there under my bed, chest heaving, cowering, slightly curled into a ball on my back. I stared up at the dark, dank underside of my mattress. Dust bunnies seemed to be the only thing keeping me company as the universe left me alone to deal with this dilemma. The back of my shirt absorbed the coldness of the hardwood flooring, planks ever sleek and undisturbed but hard, making my bones ache as pins and needles attacked my arms and legs. Blinking up into the shadows of my mattress, I came to the conclusion that one of these days, provided that I lived long enough, I would have to sweep and tidy up under my bed.

My hands dropped away from my mouth and shakily, I dragged myself out from underneath the tall box spring.

Standing to my feet, waiting for the blood to rush back into the usual points of circulation, I realized that I was quivering and that my hands were jittering badly, nerves seemingly shot. Never once in my life had I been put in such a stressful situation. I wouldn't be surprised if those few moments had turned my hair gray.

A trembling breath escaped me, uncoordinatedly setting myself on the edge of my mattress. I buried my head in my hands, just trying to remember how to breathe. A few strands of my hair stuck to my face with cold sweat.

What in the actual fuck am I going to do?

That was a good question-

A question that I didn't have an answer to.