By some unbelievable miracle, I was able to eat most of my breakfast in semi peace. I had kept my eyes to the restricted view of the cereal in my bowl, all the while painfully aware that I was still the primary focus of the room. In between the periodical clinks of silverware and the crunching of my Alpha-Bits, the kitchen had been quiet. Too quiet. The only noises had come from Pinhead and I hadn't indulged in looking behind me to see what he had been up to, but other than that? The silence lay thick like an uncomfortable blanket.

This weird hostage situation certainly didn't invite friendly conversation. Even someone blind could see that I did not want them there. They had had no trouble ignoring my existence when they had deliberated on what to do with me. Why not let me blend in with the walls and floor? Did they get off on this? On making me practically squirm with unease? It wouldn't have been shocking if so. Honestly I would have much preferred if they had pretended I wasn't even present.

So of course the exact opposite ended up happening.

I took a moment to lean over to my left, momentarily letting my spoon rest against the side of the bowl to rub away the phantom pain that still bothered my ankle. I shit you not, not even ten seconds had passed before my actions were taken as a sign to engage conversation:

"So how'd you sleep?"

I stiffened upon the question, recognizing Chucky's voice, still in my low lean atop my stool. Exhaling quietly, I gave a final soothing squeeze to the red marks that remained on my skin and hauled myself back upright in my seat. My eyes flickered to the doll before assuming my position to continue eating once more. Brushing my hair back over my shoulder, I cleared my throat; "I slept okay...I guess." If 'sleeping okay' meant dreaming about being adopted by cannibalistic look-alikes of my actual family members, then I had slept pretty fucking okay.

Images of my nightmare raced behind my retinas. I shuddered slightly at the memories before I could help myself. My answer had Jason tipping his head. There was no telling what the gesture meant.

"Didn't sound like you did."

I blinked, my eyebrows knitting together momentarily. Pausing mid-chew, I held a self-conscious hand in front of my mouth to swallow before asking Chucky; "What?" I watched as he glanced to the side, my own gaze following his. Apparently he was shooting a look at Freddy and Freddy only grinned back at him. Chucky turned back to me to reply; "Nothin',"

Looking between the both of them, puzzled, I slowly returned to the task of eating.

He began a new subject; "When are your folks gonna be home?"

Didn't you ask this already? Did he really want to know, or was he just this bad at conversing with people instead of killing them? I stabbed my spoon into the milk, testing how much more was left in the bowl. To my dismay, there was still enough not to be able to feign being finished. "Well.." I attempted doing the math of it in my head, scrunching up my face in thought.

I was then lamely jumpscared by a tall glass of orange juice.

A familiar pale hand sat the glass down beside me, causing me to look up at Pinhead towering over me. His onyx eyes settled on my own, the faintest trace of a small lipped smile on his mouth. My eyelids stuttered in a series of blinks while I looked at the orange juice and back up at him; "Th-Thank you." Easily stepping away, Pinhead chose that moment to be seated in the stool somewhat beside me on my right.

That was just great. Now I had an entire glass to finish before I had a proper excuse to leave. The weird kindness of the gesture had me suspecting he knew this. Damn it.

"Well?" Inquired Chucky, leaning in closer to the countertop.

"Oh! Sorry. Erm, my parents should be here by," I made further mental calculations, trying to be quicker this time around. "Not this upcoming Wednesday but the Wednesday after next Wednesday? It's three Wednesdays away basically."

"And your brother and sister?"

"Not today, but uh next Monday."

He nodded to himself to absorb this information. It was information he should have already known, but I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. I didn't have the energy for it even if I had wanted to. The break in conversation had me resorting back to eating. My opposite hand reached for the glass of orange juice. I only had about a split second to hesitate. Pinhead wouldn't have done anything to my drink, right? Surely there would be no reason to drug me. They had me right where they wanted me, there was no point. Nonetheless, when I finally sipped from the beverage it didn't make me feel any better. Their hyperfixation on me mixed with my own nervousness had the punch of the juice stinging my tongue more than it would have normally. I forced myself to swallow the liquid anyway. I definitely wasn't about to offend the guy with fucking nails in his head. The sooner I could finish my breakfast, the sooner I could leave the room. And the sooner I could leave the room, the sooner I could be away from them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Pinhead curiously watching me eat. With every bite and swallow of either the cereal in my bowl or the drink beside me, he continued to watch. He seemed oddly fixated on the simple activity. It was almost as if he had never seen anyone eat in front of him before let alone at all, but surely that couldn't have been possible. Whatever the reason for his intense study, it was creeping me out.

Thankfully a distraction decided to walk into the room just then.

I hadn't realized who the distraction was until a black, gloved hand was thrust into my view, accompanied by a curt demand; "Give me your phone." I was surprised I didn't jump up into the ceiling like a spooked cartoon character. Dropping my spoon into the bowl, I reared away from the hand, blinking from how close it had come to my face.

Ghostface stood directly to my right, not quite having the looming stature that Pinhead possessed. The difference in their heights would have wrangled the same reaction from me regardless. "What?" I stared up at him, jarred by the sudden assumption.

"Did I stutter?" He asked in return. The hint of aggravation in his tone was hard not to take note of.

My reply was instinctive; "I don't have a phone."

"Well where is it?"

I looked away from him to the rest of the group seated around, a blank expression on my face. I was so tempted to ask him snarkily if he were deaf but I resisted. I returned my quizzical look to him, repeating slower; "I don't...Have a phone."

Ghostface took a quick step with one foot to the side, tilting his head to clearly scan the pajamas I wore; "Maybe not on you, but it's somewhere. I checked your room. You've got it hidden somewhere, don't you?" Before I could be offended by the thought of him invading my privacy, I was distracted by the movement of his hand. His right glove quickly dipped into the deep pockets of his robe, pulling out his knife.

I jumped as he forcefully stabbed it into the wooden top of the island, giving a slight grunt from the effort. The orange juice in the glass tremored from the force it took to wedge the blade in.

My eyes danced from the lethal looking blade to his mask, widened by the threat he imposed. Visual recollections of last night poured across my brain: Almost being stabbed. The sight of the blade inches away from my face. The sinister gleam of it in his grip during our whispered discussion. The quickening of my pulse was loud in my head. The damn thing seriously had no right to be so large and imposing. It was stupidly menacing and with the current look I wore, it was obvious he knew this. He planted his now empty palm next to the knife that stood on end, leaning in closer towards me. He asked again, rather breathily; "So where is it?"

Relax, Jennifer. Just tell him.

Truth of the matter was I used to have a phone. When I had hit sweet sixteen, my father had thought it was a sound idea to buy me one. 'For emergencies.' He'd said. But back then I hadn't been the type of gal to be in dire situations. After all, I'd already spent eighteen years on this floating rock not being chased around by costumed boogeymen. Needless to say I had never expected the pattern of peace to change. Why put myself in the dangers of the real world when I'd much rather curl up under my covers and read than have adventures of my own? You had to be brave in order to have one of those, and bravery hadn't been a trait I thought I possessed at the time. So when the device had become a relic collecting dust in my room from its lack of use, the concept of owning a cellular device had lost its plausibility quickly. After that, the position of the phone's owner had gone to Max. He hadn't batted an eye at the semi transparent, sparkly phone case. If I recalled correctly, my younger brother had been ecstatic.

The only ones not in want of a phone had been Alysson and I…And grandma Irme. Outside of that, the only other way to reach the outside world currently resided in the center of the island. I decided I would spare Ghostface the familial history lesson.

I carefully reached for the glass and moved it on the other side of my bowl, setting it on the opposite side so it was less likely to spill. It seemed he was patient enough to allow me to do this, but only just so. Forcing myself to return his stare, I pointed at the house phone in the middle of the island counter; "That's the only phone we have."

Despite the mask on his face, he didn't look like he believed me.

"Let me ask you something," I shifted onto my elbow and turned my body towards him more, full-on addressing him; "Do you really think if I had a cell phone, that I wouldn't have used it to call the police last night?" Which I would have, if the sneaky fuck hadn't beaten me to the punch first.

"She's got a point." Admitted Chucky.

Ghostface looked around the kitchen before retracting back to his full height. With one hand still planted on the island, he put the other on his hip. It was clear he wasn't quite ready to let this go; "If that's really true, how are you going to get in touch with your friends, huh? When's the last time you gave them a call? Is that something we're going to have to take care of?" The implication was blatant.

And I would have been sick to my stomach at the thought, if I had friends to worry about to begin with. I made this much clear:

"Then it's a good thing you won't have to worry about it."

He openly stared down at me.

I stared up at him.

"You don't have friends?"

"Pretty sure that's what I alluded to."

"Well what's wrong with you?"

I was taken aback by how much that felt like a slap to the face, and further so with how easily he said that to me. My cheeks blossomed red so fast you'd think a child was messily scribbling on them with a crayon. "N-Nothing's wrong with me!" Clearly offended, I faced away from him with an annoyed expression.

"Something's got to be wrong with you if you don't have any friends."

His words latched onto a secret insecurity deep within. Oftentimes in my own company, it was a sentiment that had been echoed by the venom-filled voice of my self doubt. Surrounded by the loving support of my family members, it was easy to laugh off. But when those moments came when it was just me in the lonely, stuffy solitude of my bedroom, the concept always became far more believable.

Pushing the unhelpful thoughts away, I decided to try and focus on finally emptying my bowl. But Ghostface wasn't done with the interrogation-

"How about a boyfriend? You got that special someone in your life? Hm?"

Chewing rather mechanically by this point, I responded; "No."

Ghostface's voice lowered suggestively; "A girlfriend then? You got one of those?"

"Also no."

He released a noise that was a mixture between a snort and a laugh; "This is so rich, what are you going to tell me next, huh? You going to tell me you're a virgin, too?"

DID HE SERIOUSLY HAVE TO SAY THAT IN FRONT OF..?!

I whirled on him, my face consumed by heat; "Tha-That's none of your business!" A husky laugh escaped from the confines of the mask he wore, shaking his head at me; "You are, aren't you?" I said nothing, instead choosing to turn away from him. He continued to laugh, causing the red of my face to deepen. "Ooh, this is too good to be true."

"Shut up." I all but growled.

My body cringed as he came closer to me, leaning on the island's countertop with the hand that was still planted in place. The plastic of his mask was almost close enough to touch my hair, the black eyeholes boring holes into my peripheral vision.

"Tell me something. What's the furthest you've been with a boy?"

I stubbornly bit my bottom lip, making myself not break eye contact with what little remained in my bowl. If I had to guess there was maybe a spoonful or two left of the Alpha-Bits. What was left was primarily all milk by now.

Ghostface faked a dramatic gasp of surprise when I didn't respond, his whispered words easily reaching my ear; "Don't tell me you haven't even had your first kiss yet?"

I shoved him away with an arm, beyond tired of his invasive questioning. He let me do this, snickering as he fell back a step.

"Look, I'm just not much of a conversationalist, okay? I do just fine on my own. Besides," I angrily grabbed up my spoon, shoveling a last spoonful of breakfast into my mouth to violently crunch down on; "I only just moved here, so please, give me a break."

"Where from?" I was thankful for a voice that wasn't Ghostface's.

Inhaling a small breath to settle myself, I replied to the doll; "Kentucky." Ghostface huffed out a laugh; "Oh, I get it. You couldn't get yourself a social life because you were too busy tendin' to the farm is that it, Farm Girl? Yah gunna tell me all the friends yah did have were cows and chickens?" He did a stupid, overexaggerrated southern accent as if to drive his point home.

"No-"

"Let me guess. You were bullied, weren't you? None of your old classmates wanted to be around you. Did they make school life a living Hell for you, Jennifer? Is that why you haven't got any frien-"

I ripped myself up out of my seat and surprised myself by what I did next.

With the combination of anger, embarrassment, and adrenaline, I yanked his knife out of the wood from where it stood with an ease that I didn't know I was capable of. I gripped the weapon so hard my hand shook.

There were mixed reactions around the room, some of the fiends being unbothered by the threat I posed while others had shifted in visible interest at this turn of events.

Ghostface raised both of his own hands as if in mock surrender; "Well this just got interesting."

"You talk too fucking much." I said through gritted teeth.

Between him and Freddy, it was becoming a tough competition.

"So I've been told. What are you going to do with that knife? Are you just going to wave it around or are you actually going to put it to good use? I've talked your ear off long enough. Now are you going to teach me a lesson, or are you too chickenshit to go through with it?" He slowly crept his upper body just close enough to mock me; "Faaarrm giiirll."

My breathing echoed in my ears. The beginning blossoms of a migraine had set in. I wanted to use the knife on him. I really did. In a perfect fantasy world, I would rip the stupid mask from his head and stomp on it. I'd stab him until my arm got too fucking tired to continue, then I'd turn to the rest of them and tell them to get the fuck out of my house once and for all.

But this wasn't a daydream that I could control.

Odds were if I really took him up on the offer of violence, he would probably yank the knife from my hand and laugh in my face. And that was something I couldn't take. It would be one more humiliation that I couldn't bear. However much I enjoyed the thought of hurting him, it wasn't worth the energy required to endure the failure. No matter how upset I was, no matter how determined I was, he would overpower me. I knew he would. And even on the off-chance that I bested him, there was no reason why the rest of them wouldn't jump in before things got out of hand.

I closed my eyes and let myself take a breath.

When I opened them, I cast a nod of acknowledgement to Pinhead seeing as I was now too pissed off to finish the rest of the orange juice he had given me; "I'm sorry, Mr. Pinhead," My eyes then slid to Ghostface as I spat the next words from my mouth; "But I've lost my appetite." With that, I rudely tossed his knife at him. Ghostface caught it in a semi juggle, all of them watching me storm out of the kitchen, narrowly missing the milk puddle on the floor.

Jason quickly stood to his feet, watching the kitchen door close behind her.

A moment of silence passed through the room.

Chucky's painted eyebrows raised while he shifted in his seat a little; "Geez. And I thought I was an asshole."