The scene was an odd one.

Had anyone been able to be a fly on the wall, they would have easily found the scene perplexing. As it stands, not a stray soul was able to witness it other than the very persons involved. To really put it into perspective, it would have to be the comparison to the out-of-sorts feel one gets when seeing Halloween decorations in the middle of December; Because truly nothing fit quite closer to the truth than that.

Usually a family room consisted of exactly that, a family: Complete with a blazing hearth, a snoozing pet, lovable children, and the grateful parents responsible for it all. However this family room did not house a happy home, but rather one of a far more murderous kind.

It was downright ridiculous and excusably laughable to see the forms of 'Hell's Favorite Son' Pinhead, Chucky the Killer Doll, Jason Voorhees, and Freddy Krueger lounging about the living room as if they belonged there. What made the sight even more baffling, was just how well adjusted they looked to the peculiar circumstances.

And if the hypothetical fly could come closer, it would be able to make out what they were doing.

The being unfortunately known as 'Pinhead', previously a 'Captain' Elliot Spencer, and less commonly known as Xipe Totec, sat in the very center of the living room's sofa, his posture just as impeccable as ever as he read. There was something remarkably strange about this however, and that was the fact that he wasn't even touching his reading material. His shapely hands rested neatly in his lap while the pages turned for him every so often. What made this feat possible were the multiple chains suspending the book in mid-air, all of which emerged from seemingly nowhere in dotted auras of blue light. An additional fifth chain was the one to considerably turn the pages for the Hell Priest.

The book itself was just as abnormal. It had no discernible title that could be found and it was larger than the usual textbook. Being no ordinary book, the cover consisted of differing portions of human flesh that had been so finely stitched together the seams were nearly impossible to lay eyes on. The skins that decorated the tome had long been relieved of their owners to the point where they were no longer soft and pliable. The look was similar to that of the infamous Necronomicon, otherwise known as the 'Book of the Dead', not to be confused with the Necrotelicomnicon, 'The Book of Yellow Pages'. However this deadly book was of a different origin than that aforementioned book of the damned.

The pages within suffered from a lack of normalcy as well. Instead of the typical papers ascribed with what stories were kept within, these were devoid of words. Not a single letter decorated their surfaces. Every single page wore different human expressions, as if they were all varying versions of the 'Necronomicon Ex Mortis.' Pinhead did not so much have to read as he had to listen.

Soft whispers were spilling their secrets to him, horribly deformed faces and repurposed mouths moving in their speech as if they were alive; Trapped inside, bound for all time within the hideous tome. Every page offered a new voice to tell their tale, from old, young, male, and female. Those in the room around him were not disturbed by this however, because to them they could not hear the pages speaking. Only the Hell Priest was privy to the stories they told. A cenobite's senses were amplified tenfold, making them truly the best explorers to map out new and unfathomed levels of experience. Simply put, the voices were not on a frequency mere mortals and non-cenobitic entities could hear.

Seeing as Pinhead had no way of exiting the human world for the time being, he figured he needed something to make the wait more bearable. For him, other than flaying flesh from bone, there was no greater way to pass the time than the endless pursuit of knowledge.

Ars Longis, more intimately known as Balberith, was the Labyrinth's personal curator of literature. To claim that her collection was extensive was nothing short of an understatement. If one were to fuse the Library of Alexandria and the Library of Congress, hers would undeniably put the conjoined effort of them both to shame. So many books, so little time. Though considering the shrewd needle of a woman and just how seriously she took her position, Pinhead would not put it past her if she had read the entirety of her archive twice over.

Surely she wouldn't mind a missing tome once in a while.

Even as the thought arrived, he knew it to be a falsehood. It was partly why he had chosen to borrow from her multitude of literature to begin with. There was no doubt the other cenobite would take notice of the theft. In fact, she would take note of it. It was only a matter of waiting, and hopefully Pinhead would not have to wait very long.

An image of the old crone leaving the solitude of her book-ridden home and marching right up to Lord Leviathan himself ran like a pleasant film in his mind. Oh, how fond he was of the elderly librarian. He was almost apologetic in his having to sneak the tomes from their rightful places. While he could pull objects to and from his realm, he was unable to pass along with them. A more solidified passage could only be achieved with assistance, which he did not have at the given moment.

Sooner or later the small thievery would be noticed, and Pinhead was counting on Balberith on getting to the bottom of it. If not that, then it would only be inevitable before his trusted Eremite came to him, lured by the pull of the box and the duty to guard it.

As for what the red-headed troublemaker Chucky was up to, he was sitting on the left side of Pinhead with a remote control in his hand. Leaning halfway against the armrest of the sofa, the killer doll was currently letting the flat screen tv ensnare his focus as he mindlessly surfed channel after channel after channel. Every channel would have a limited five second window of time to win him over, and if it didn't succeed, he erased it away from the screen with a press of a button; As if he were a judge and the tv channels were poor contestants pleading their case to be chosen as winner:

"Mmm!"

"That good?"

"I have to say, Rocco, this is the best chicken cacciatore I've ever tasted."

"I knew you'd like it. It's duck cacciatore, actually."

Click.

"Ask your doctor today if Nuplazid is right for you-"

Click.

A lot of the other guys could piss and moan all they wanted, but as far as Chucky saw, this conundrum of theirs was pretty sweet: No cops, no constant moving around, a whole new slate to start over with, and best of all, a roof over his head with free beer. Really the only thing the joint was missing were some babes and then he'd really be living the five-star experience. Jennifer wasn't too bad to look at, but the chick wasn't bangin' either. Not that it mattered too much. Nobody was hotter than Tiff. But outside of that? The stay was pretty damn A-okay in his book.

All though..

He considered, his thumb hovering longer than usual in his switching of the channels, allowing the current one to breathe;

"What the Hell is that?"

"What? Well, I thought-"

"You thought your human penis was going to save the universe?"

"The way you were-"

"Your genitals are of no significance."

"Well, you don't have to be mean about it!"

Click.

The place could do with some room service. Casting a quick glance around the space, his eyes fell over the scattered about shapes of the beer bottles from the night before. Some of the tidiness that had first been evident in the home had quickly gone away. Not only could he personally do with a hot meal, but the house could sure use some cleaning up. It was beginning to look like a fuckin' mess. Despite the lacking additions to improve the stay here, Ghostface's whining wasn't helping either. The guy could be such a downer sometimes.

His thumb came down over the little rubbery shape of the arrow on the remote, finally silencing the current channel he'd been letting play:

Click.

"-Most women at one time or another have faked it."

"Well they haven't faked it with me."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know."

"Oh. Right. That's right. I forgot. You're a man."

Click.

What was so bad about sitting on his ass and knocking a few back? Watching some goddamn tv like a normal person? After years of the shit he had to put up with, he figured he'd earn the right to relax.

But he wasn't really an average Joe, was he? Any semblance of 'normal' in his life had packed up shop a looong time ago and he hadn't heard from the word since. Shit, 'normal' had went out of style ages ago right along with the classic rock and a roll. Though damned if he didn't sometimes miss doing a few of the things he used to. Life was all about the simple pleasures after all. If Chucky was going to be the only one in this joint that would enjoy that, he'd have to shrug and give it an 'oh well'. Their loss honestly.

After Jen's folks came back home, then, then he'd get his overalls in a bunch over what to do and where to go and blah, blah, blah. Until then, Charles Lee Ray was ever a man, or doll, of opportunity. Letting shit go to waste had never been appealing to him. He'd save the scheming for another time, preferably when he wasn't around the guys.

Thoughts of Tiffany and the kids would for sure bum him out. And right now? Right now all he wanted to do was sit on his ass and watch some tv.

So he did.

"Ow!"

"..What are you doing here? Five words, or less."

"Out. For. A. Walk...Bitch."

Click.

Unlike the Lakeshore Strangler, Jason Voorhees was not watching his picky rummaging of the channels. As a matter of fact, it was almost as if he denied himself even looking at the screen at all. It might as well not have been in front of him. The revenant hockey player had instead elected to entertain what his mother had told him was a far healthier pastime. She shared the passionate belief that tv, save for the exception of news channels and Sunday sermons and biblical cartoons, only served to rot your brain, and after having watched Pinhead begin reading, she had wholeheartedly approved of the cenobite's choice of entertainment.

With his mother's encouragement, Jason had wandered over to the left of the room to retrieve one of the many books that lined the large shelf against the living room wall. After much contemplation, the late Pamela Voorhees had helped him pick from the moderately nice selection.

Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre was one that Pamela semi remembered from her long ago days of high school. She mainly recalled it due to the memory of a grudge she had held towards her English teacher, Mrs. Warden. While Mrs. Warden had had an admirable passion for the written word, that hadn't changed the fact that she had been every bit a bitter hag. Her name made the classroom all the more of a prison, and had prompted many of her fellow classmates at the time to warn the rest as to when the teacher left and returned to the room. One hissed declaration of 'The Warden's coming!' would have everyone rushing to return to their seats to resume their studious positions.

Even now the memory of the wretched woman threatened to taint the fondness Pamela personally had for the book itself. She supposed she could thank the woman for at least that, if only to appease the Lord Almighty. Nothing else on the shelf had been worthy enough for her special boy to peruse.

Having pulled the book from its place, Jason had wandered his way back to the sofa to sit on the other side of Pinhead, therefore rendering the cenobite in the middle. Before opening to the first page, Jason set the book in his lap to unnecessarily wipe both of his palms down the front of his jacket as if to clean them. Unbeknownst to him, this would achieve nothing as his fingerprints would surely end up marking the pages regardless. His machete had been discarded on the floor, propped up against the bottom start of the armrest by his right ankle. The four missing fingers of his right hand made handling the book somewhat frustrating, but with his mother's comforting urging he made do. Now with it open on his large lap, his mother's voice spilled across his mind like a soothing balm:

You be sure to read nice and loud for Mommy. If you stumble over some words, that's perfectly fine. Remember to use the tip of your finger to follow along the passage so you don't get lost, and take your time. There's no rush, my sweet boy. It's just like we used to do. Are you ready, Jason? Pamela was inquiring sweetly to him.

Yes, Mother.

Very good, dear. Whenever you're ready.

Jason squinted down at the first chapter, the large index finger of his left hand pressing lightly against what read Chapter 1. He traced the fading black ink with the misshapen point of his nail and took a breath to steady himself.

Before the Bad Times, the both of them would read together often. He had never been to school due to his appearance and his mannerisms, so his mother had homeschooled him for as long as he could remember. Mother had taught him many subjects, so many Jason had often wondered why she had been a cook instead of an educator. When she wasn't showing him how to tie a knot, mend a wound, instructing in more physical pursuits, or covering the basics of most education, she had taught him to read and write. When the Bad Times came however, the lessons had stopped almost entirely. There had been no more time for lessons, no more time for play, only time for punishing those his mother sought fit, those that deserved it.

In moments like this very one, Mother would hold him and always catch him if he verbally stumbled over a word or paragraph. All the while he felt like the biggest dummy and always flushed with embarrassment when he fumbled in the readings. Yet despite the constant popping up of his self-critical opinion, Mother always found a way to make it all better. Her words healed better than any band-aid. Things were strange now, that much was for sure. Though now getting to relive her teachings, Jason was thankful for the recent events that had landed him here.

While he couldn't feel the softness of her sweater, couldn't see the gentle wrinkles of her hands guiding his over the pages, couldn't hear the approving hum warming the inside of his ear when he got a particularly difficult word right, and couldn't smell the earthly scent of her mingling with the faint aromas of sage; He would cherish this while it lasted. He was thankful she was still with him at all.

Jason Voorhees swallowed, the inner ruined workings of his throat making the action challenging. For the first time in a long while, he was a bit nervous. He never wanted to disappoint Mother. Little did the silly boy realize, he never would. His mutilated lips parted from underneath his mask and began forming the shapes of the words as he started to slowly read to her in his mind:

Chapter one.

Rather than feeling her hum of approval, some portion of his undead heart fluttered when he heard it from her telepathically. He could almost imagine the sure nod of her head and her loving smile. The simple act was enough to motivate him to continue:

There was no possib...possibility of taking a walk that day.

That's it, dear. Keep going.

His finger had paused over the last word he had internally read, but with her guidance it was surely scrolling along the line of text. Though his field of vision skewed the world around him, he managed with the disadvantage the best he could:

We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so..

Admittedly he had surprised himself with how much he had been able to get through, but now the first obstacle, no doubt the first of many, sought to challenge him. Jason wasn't sure if it were a word he was familiar with. He stared at it, his chest rising and falling a tad faster in his doing so. His grip on the book tightened ever so slightly. What did it mean? Should he sound it out?

Som...Somb..

A rushed exhale of his nose had him inclining his head closer as if that would help. He was getting a little upset that he hadn't gotten it immediately.

Take your time, Jason.

He nodded to himself in thought. Thank goodness for Mother. He wouldn't know what he would do without her. Easing the tension that had quickly built in his broad shoulders, Jason attempted the word again, mouthing the letters as best as he could in order to sound it out:

Ssomb...Som..Bre..Sombre. His one eye blinked. Sombre?

Pamela released a soft, adoring sigh; That's correct. I knew you would get it, my darling boy.

There was a pleased quiver to his lip. What does this word mean, Mother?

Sombre means dark and gloomy. Think of the rains of May. The way the cabins hunch together under the shade of gray clouds when they block the sun. Think of how it paints the windows, Jason. Sombre is just like that.

Mother always had such a way to describe things. He did just that, picturing those long rainfalls back at the camp. His head tilted while he imagined the droplets spilling down glass and the wind rustling the trees surrounding. There was a brief shudder that seized him. He never had appreciated the rain, or water in general, not after the Bad Times. While he could interact with it when the scenario deemed necessary, deep down he didn't enjoy it whatsoever. It took a lot of bravery for him to endure wading through the ever cold depths.

He hadn't realized how hard he was gripping the book in his hands until Pamela softly cleared her throat. His gaze found his hands. His thumbs had been pushing forward towards the center of the book, making the pages gather and extend towards him in a beginning crease. He smoothed the mess out as fast and as carefully as he could, feeling a little guilty to see that the brief distressing of the delicate paper left visible damage. Slight, but noticeable.

Thankfully Mother's voice soothed away his guilt; It's okay, sweetheart. Please continue. Mommy has missed you reading so much.

He wasted no time in granting her request, shifting in his place on the sofa to clear his head. He refocused on the last place he had been, his finger retracing his literary steps:

-The cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.

Despite the unpleasantness of the phrase 'a rain so penetrating', Jason Voorhees continued to brave his way through the first page. Mother was counting on him, believing in him, and he would do anything not to let her down; Even when it came to the smallest of matters.

The Camp Crystal Lake killer's determination was admirable, but the charm of this attribute was altogether lost on the Elm Street Slasher. Indeed the final participant in this visual aberration of the living room was not regarding Jason in an appreciative way. Not at all. The dream demon was in fact eyeing the other slasher with open disdain as he sat in the armchair that had been situated on the right of the room, caddy-cornered at the meeting of the two walls.

While the others were essentially minding their own business, Freddy Krueger was certainly not. He had been milling about in his thoughts earlier, sure, wondering about his newest dilemma as he clawed through the right armrest like a testy feline. Perching on the end of the chair's cushion, Freddy had been contemplating what to do about poor, friendless Jennifer. Most times his dreamers had been intertwined in their own social circles, so it had made accumulating piggies for slaughter a breeze. It wasn't often he ran into someone so submerged in their own solitude that they had become used to it.

He could have an overflowing box full of toys to play with, but now all he had was a single doll, laying lonesome in his metaphorical toy chest. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't make do. Especially not at the rate he typically went through his playthings. The Ghostfuck had been right to wrestle out some information on her. Freddy would have done it himself anyway, but the sooner he could perfect his plans, the better.

Maybe he could do something with the 'old school life' topic. It was a lead, nothing quite substantial as of yet, but he'd follow it and see it through. Every minute he wasted in passing the day was actively grating on the frayed ropes of his patience. It was half the reason why he'd been destroying the armchair he sat on. Defiling and ripping through the fabric had proved to sate some inch of his bloodlust, but only just so.

He would have been cozied up in the Dreamscape instead, but it was just so..

Barren.

What was the point in going there if he couldn't relax? All the scenery would do was remind him of what he should have been doing instead: Killing, preying, stalking, and absolutely ruining any unfortunate soul caught in his web. Freddy could have a go at terrorizing the little shits that were the Elm Street Children, but something about the prospect felt stale.

He supposed being presented with the world at his fingertips, only to have it ripped from his grasp had left him feeling cheated. The usual tame enjoyment he typically gained from frightening the brats had now been paled in comparison to what he had been promised. What ought to be rightfully his.

Fresh meat.

It was no wonder he was on edge. The recent damning reminder had followed him like a persistent storm cloud, tainting his mood and drenching him with the repeated precipitation of one word: Forgotten. Over and over and over again, the fucking word had been assaulting him long after he'd left his domain last night.

When it seemed as though his train of thought would crash and burn, and in turn ignite within him a ferocious need to brutally embed his knives into the fabric of the chair, Freddy had been distracted by the movement of Jason Voorhees.

Ever since having watched him get up and pick a book from the shelf across the room, Freddy hadn't been able to tear his gaze away from the woodland giant. Scorching the other with a seething glare, his blades scratched and sliced in unison, sending fluffs of interior material to spring about and catch on his sweater sleeve and the armrest itself. Despite the heat of his expression, Voorhees hadn't picked up on it in the slightest. Of course he hadn't, the 'shit for brains' that he was.

While he always hated even having to look at Voorhees, deep down he was thankful to have something to attach his burning rage to. Loathing the drowned man gave him some entertainment value and some way to pass the time.

And funny he should think that now..

Pinhead and Jason were both reading, but it was clear as day that the latter was struggling. With the two of them being so close together, engaging in the same activity, made sighting this all the more apparent. It was like watching a live action adaptation of The Rabbit and the Turtle. Voorhees was obviously the turtle, and he wasn't gonna win this race. Since having plopped his huge self down to read, the retard hadn't turned the first page in what must have been nearly ten minutes.

The dream demon's mouth quirked, his eyes flickering from the book back up to the dumbass reading it. Why had he even bothered? Did he really think he was gonna finish the whole thing? His scarred lips were parting now in a show of teeth, amused by the thought. Picture books and pop-ups were surely more his speed.

Nonetheless, he leaned forward, his left forearm resting atop his knee while his right hand remained fixed on the mess he had created in the piece of furniture. He was about to interact with Voorhees when suddenly the larger slasher tensed. Freddy watched as his hands made an extending shape of the pages, his chest rising and falling quickly. After a moment, Voorhees looked down at what he was doing to the papers and raced to smooth them down. As always the destructive idiot.

Freddy tilted his head, his amusement growing. Was Short Bus getting a little frustrated? Perhaps Voorhees was finally coming to the realization that his maggot-infested peabrain couldn't wrap itself around all the big words. He oughta stick with words he knew, like 'friend good' and 'water bad'. He couldn't resist the snort at the joke. Maybe he should help him out, hm?

"Hey."

Freddy waited for Jason to address him. Irritatingly, the Nightmare noticed Voorhees seemingly hadn't even heard him. So he quickly started again, his lip coming up in a curl;

"Hey."

Still nothing.

He fumed momentarily. Was Hockey Puck ignoring him or was the dumb fuck really just this hard of hearing? The big oaf probably still had lake water stuck in his ears. He supposed he had to be a bit more direct. If Freddy hated anything, it was being ignored. So he tried a third time, digging the tips of his steel talons into the exposed innards of the armrest;

"Hey, Jason,"

Instead of the usual snap of Voorhees's head whenever his name would be called, Jason ever so slowly, as if his neck were a rusted part of an old machine, turned his head to look over at the child murderer. It was as if it took every ounce of his energy to keep himself rooted to the spot to see what Freddy wanted. From behind the old hockey mask, his only good eye was giving him the absolute look of death. A lesser man would have shrank away from such a seething expression, but Freddy Krueger wasn't intimidated in the least.

Throwing his head into an opposite tilt, Freddy smirked at him and said; "I know you're as stupid as ya look, but ya do know the pages don't turn by themselves right?"

Of fucking course Jason said nothing. No matter what Freddy said to the brute, no matter how many times he insulted Jason's mother, or goaded him into a brawl, the goalie never had a word to say in return. His silence had always annoyed the dream demon. At least exchanging dialogue with the others was usually entertaining, always gave him something to work with or to bounce off of, but with Voorhees? It was always like talking to a goddamn brick wall.

Voorhees only breathed at him in return. What was that supposed to do? Kill him? Honestly it was plausible by how rancid his breath had to be. The internal joke had Freddy sneering at the other killer, waiting for a response of a more physical kind. At least with that, it gave him something to work with.

But to his disappointment, one that he really should have expected by now, Jason elected to look away from him entirely. Just as slowly and ominously as he had the first time, Voorhees turned his head back inch by inch to concentrate once again on his 'reading'. If it could even be called that.

The sneer drained away from Freddy's face, but not before opting to give a chuckle and a shrug of his striped shoulders, both palms raising faceup temporarily; "Just tryin' to help."

This time there was no question that Jason Voorhees had chosen to ignore him.

Before he could push the exchange further, a fifth character strolled into the space.

Djinn had arrived.

The Nightmare Slasher leaned back into the chair, his hatted head falling back to look at the evil genie; "Well, well, if it ain't the 'Make a Wish Foundation'," He intoned, successfully earning an irked glower from the djinn. "You grant little Timmy his wishes yet?"

Djinn entered further into the living room, stopping just behind the sofa where Chucky sat. Resting both of his hands on the edge of the backrest, he growled; "As ever your sense of humor is that of the Julian calendar. Outdated."

Freddy's seared brows rose in an overexaggerated fashion; "Ohh, that's a good one. You come up with that all by yourself?" Before the Wishmaster could retort, Freddy continued to speak, comically bobbing his head in a nod and placing his gloved hand over his heart; "You know, I'm something of a comedian myself."

"Huh. That's a funny way of sayin' 'attention seekin' whore'." Wondered Chucky aloud.

Pinhead's lips secretly pursed at the insult. The cenobite couldn't agree more, but he left the fussing to them. It would be a waste of his energy otherwise. He had far too much reading and book purloining to do. Jason was the one not so secretly enjoying the jab as his shoulders shook silently. Freddy watched the quiet laughing fit of his nemesis, and leaned way out of his chair to look around him down the couch at the doll;

"I'm sorry. You say something?"

Chucky paused in his continuous changing of the channels, leaning himself to look over at Freddy; "Aw, you didn't hear me? Maybe you should clean the charcoal outta your ears." Now it was Djinn's turn to laugh. Picking on the Elm Street Slasher was an activity the majority of the group mutually enjoyed. It tickled the djinn to no end to hear their inventive ways to insult one another.

"S'not my fault his big ass was in the way." Freddy hooked his pointer blade in Jason's direction.

Chucky looked over at Jason, snorting in both disbelief and amusement; "Honestly Fred, when are you gonna stop blamin' Jason for all of your problems?"

Jason himself turned to gaze at Freddy, as if he too wanted to know the answer to this question.

Freddy's eyes slid over to Jason Voorhees, making a show of gritting his teeth as he griped petulantly; "He is the cause of all of my problems."

"All of your problems?" The Lakeshore Strangler raised both eyebrows at the dream demon skeptically. "What, you walked by an oven and he stuck his leg out?" He threw his hand in a dismissive wave, looking away from Freddy to settle back against the sofa. Aiming the remote control towards the tv, he clicked away the present channel and resumed his perusing; "Please. It ain't no secret why you look like somebody forgot they left their stove on. You did that shit to yourself."

Click.

While Freddy Krueger couldn't really argue that, he still couldn't help responding; "And I'd do it again, too."

"Oh, I know you would. You probably like that meatloaf smell that kinda permeates the air when you come around. And you wonder why I don't stick around for too long. It's because you smell like the ass end of a back alley butcher shop."

Another round of banter was starting up and Djinn welcomed it this time around. Having spoken with the Elders of the Ifrit, he felt lighter than he had before the confrontation. Though he didn't doubt it wouldn't take long before the incessant insulting would grate on his nerves again. There was only so much of their endless bickering he could endure, no matter how humorous it was to hear. With a half grin resting on his lips, he cast curious eyes to the tv in front of them.

The time of his previously brief freedom had granted him a small voyage through the modern world. Initially when Alexandria Amberson had freed him, he had taken the time to do some scouting. It was the wise choice then, no matter how much he disliked the idea of lowering himself to accomplish it; To purposefully insert himself into the filth of the human race. The lowest of their social classes. Those that were named 'homeless'. A great many things had changed in the span of time in his red prison. He had needed to see the current world of Man for himself and so he had. He had walked amongst the dredge of human life to see how the humans fared from different points of their mortal hierarchy and simultaneously learn more about them as a whole. There were still a great many things he did not understand and had not yet experienced. Tvs were one of these such cases. He had seen such appliances behind store windows and he had watched until shooed away by the store keepers. Djinn knew the moving pictures were a result of man's own magic, science. At first he had admittedly marveled at the sight, overestimating mankind's gifts. Now he knew that no matter how fantastical the luxuries they now possessed seemed, one fact had to remain certain:

Mankind had lost the know-how of magic and had to make do in its absence through other measures. He would make sure to keep this in mind. Even so, he could not pretend that the box of pictures didn't have its uses, and that he did not enjoy it. Not only did the machine provide entertainment, it proved to be a steady stream of knowledge as well. One could easily sink hours staring endlessly into its constant viewing and never grow tired of the content it produced. Where the 'tv' procured all of these different tales and perspectives into the lives of others remained lost on him. It was impressive to say the least..

Letting their squabbling sink into the background, Djinn chose to focus on what was playing from the screen instead:

"-We begin this evening with heart-wrenching news of an abduction in the residential area. What began as any other day for most residents in the peaceful city of Augusta, has turned into a nightmare for parents Diane and Hartley Nickels."

Now this definitely deserved more attention.

"Seriously, you'd think you'd dream up some fuckin' deodorant-"

"The two of you can quarrel another time. Listen!" Hissed Djinn as he leaned over the top of the backrest, waving an arm at the tv in hopes of silencing them and reigning in their focus. Thankfully the sudden redirecting of attention worked. Everyone cast their gazes to the flat screen. Pinhead gave a wave of his hand, making the book almost shut entirely. The chains kept it just agape as if to act as a bookmark. Even Jason, though reluctantly, stalled in his reading to listen.

"The victim, twenty-seven year old Joshua Nickels, was kidnapped just last night." A photo of the missing youth appeared in a gray box of text listing his physical descriptors. A fairly regular brunette looking male stared back them with matching brown eyes and a smile, clearly taken in a time that had surely been before his recent disappearance. What remarkability his countenance possessed was due to the silver ring of a pierced right eyebrow. The voice went on; "With no video evidence or any witnesses to go on, police are baffled. We go to mother Diane Nickels to hear her recount of events. We must warn you, what you are about to hear is disturbing."

The news caster that had been relaying this information vanished from sight as the screen switched to the view of a different woman, assumedly the mother. Her brown hair was messied and her eyes were bloodshot as she sat clasping both of her hands just ahead of her mouth. Noticeably older and peering at the strange group from what had to have been a webcam, she was sniffling and going on to say: "Josh had been going out to walk the dogs. We have two of them, they're both such good boys but they always want to go out once it gets d-dark."

Fighting back sobs, her image went away to be replaced by footage of the surrounding area where the kidnapping must have taken place. Rolling video of a nice looking neighborhood, not entirely unlike the one they were in, continued as her voice proceeded over it in the background:

"I had just gotten done asking him to take them for a walk. Just a walk. An-And it wasn't five minutes later that I...I heard him scream."

Some of the slashers shifted, some eyeing each other and others leaning forward in interest.

"I ran outside, calling for him, but...But he wasn't there! All that was left was the leash and the do-the dogs were barking and howling like crazy! I-I'd never seen them like that bef-before! And Josh! He was gone! I looked everywhere, Hartley and I, but we couldn't find him."

The scenery that had been playing out amidst her words changed back to Diane's image, now progressively more distraught; "It-It was like something came down an-and done snatched him up! All that was left was.." The heartbroken mother shook her head, her hands pressing to her lips; "Was a leash...That's all there was!" Now her desperate gaze pleaded with the onlookers that watched; "Please, PLEASE, please if you know anything! Anything that could help find my son-"

Chucky took the initiative to lower the volume so that the mother's words were nothing but a passionate murmur in the room. Inhaling and turning to look around at everyone else, he mused; "Who's handiwork do you think that was?"

When the doll's eyes finally halted on the dream demon, Freddy leered at him; "Do I look like I can fly?"

Chucky gave an absent nod of his head, asking; "You don't suppose..?"

"If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck.." Prompted Freddy.

"Well slap my ass and call me Charlie. Didn't think Creeper'd leave so soon. He usually gives a goodbye."

Chucky almost sounded wounded by the notion. While he hadn't really known Creeper too well, he knew that Jason could vouch for him. While the guy, or thing, or whatever the Hell he was, could be a little freaky, Chucky had no qualms with the entity known as Creeper. While his own family had gone to shit, this weird Addams Family thing they all had going on had admittedly grown on him.

"Actually," Interrupted Djinn, waving a talon upwards at the ceiling; "Your winged friend remains with us still. He has taken roost upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Wondered Pinhead, inclining his head slightly in the reading that he had resumed.

The djinn swiftly clarified; "The attic. I found him sleeping."

Chucky belted out a laugh, his arm angling into a point at the elbow as he grasped his thigh; "That bastard went for some fast food! Wonder what he did with the poor fuck."

"Does it matter?" Asked Freddy, almost as if he were bored. A more acute ear would have heard an undertone of jealousy.

The doll considered only for a moment. With a shrug he turned back to the tv; "It might. Depends if he'll be in an arts and crafts mood."

Djinn squinted at the words. "He partakes in crafting?" Obviously he didn't know.

Chucky leaned backwards against the sofa, moving his head all the way up until he was looking at the djinn upside down; "Ehh, call it whatever you want. I take it it's a hobby of his. Takes the bodies and," His remote-holding hand waved side to side. "Strings 'em together like one big puzzle."

Now the cenobite was interested. He gazed over at the killer doll curiously, intrigued for the first time since their collective arrival; "A puzzle?"

Chucky gave a short laugh, shifting his weight against the cushion as if to get more comfortable. "I keep forgettin' you two are new. Yeah, Creeper likes to take what he doesn't use and be creative about it. Why? Can't tell you. All's I know is he likes makin' what's left into his," Charles Lee Ray air quoted with both of his hands; "'House of Pain'."

Pinhead's mouth pursed almost imperceptibly in thought. "I should like to see this 'House of Pain'." The Hell Priest too often found that the word 'pain' was horrendously overused and not properly comprehended. He fancied the possibility that a non-cenobitic individual could fathom the true essence of the term. Even cenobites could be outdone in their mastery, though not often.

Chucky pushed out a humored exhale from his nose; "That won't be hard. Creeper's a bit of a showoff like that. You ask about his art project and he'll yap your ear off about it. Trust me, you'll be sorry you asked."

Now it was Freddy's turn to be surprised; "That thing talks?"

Chucky looked around the room then, blinking, as if seeing the people in it for the first time. "Christ. Am I the only one in the loop around here?" He cast a dubious look at Jason. The bigger killer only half-heartedly shrugged in return.

Shaking his head, he answered; "I wouldn't call it talkin' so much as wheezin' and clearin' his throat a lot. If Creeper can talk, I'll be just as shocked as the lot of you." Then a moment passed, and now it seemed as though something began to dawn on him. He turned halfway in his spot on the couch to peer up at Djinn. "What were you doin' up in the attic?"

While he typically wouldn't have cared to ask, Chucky hardly knew Djinn. He had only just met the genie due to recent events. Those in the house he were more acquainted with had only gotten a small window of time to get to know the other two. While he had met Pinhead once before, the meeting had been exceptionally brief. Weirdly enough Ghostface seemed to know all about them. The guy had an uncanny way of knowing everyone's business. However despite his insider knowledge, he hadn't clued everyone else in. With this being the case, Chucky was going to take a page out of Michael Myers's book by keeping his guard up around them. He wasn't too sure he could trust them just yet.

To make him seem more suspicious, the djinn studied the doll for a minute before he answered; "Jennifer was giving me a tour."

Now Chucky was studying him; "You couldn't use your own two legs to do that yourself?"

A near cat-like smile shaped the genie's lips while he replied evenly; "I thought she might appreciate the company."

Chucky snorted. "Yeah, and I'm Johnny-fuckin'-Cash and I'm about to perform Ring of Fire courtesy of the burn victim just over there." He lazily gestured a hand at Freddy. Freddy's mouth contorted viciously at the jab to growl right back; "Go choke out a rendition of I'm A Barbie Girl with Ken's dick in your mouth."

The toy smiled thinly to simply say; "Ah, everybody's a critic."

It was Pinhead that diverted the conversation, turning his upper torso towards the djinn to wonder aloud to him; "How is she?" There was no connecting of the dots to be done as Djinn knew exactly who he meant. He looked ahead and up, as if in the direction of the girl's room above them; "As well as one can given the circumstances." Pinhead's lips lifted at the ends only for a second as he concluded; "So not very well."

"I don't blame her. Fred couldn't even wait a day before climbin' into her dreams like some murder-starved bedbug," Chided Chucky.

Freddy rolled his eyes while he picked away some of the armchair fluff from his sweater sleeve.

The doll continued; "If I were in her shoes, I'd probably hate us too. It's a wonder she hasn't thrown herself out a window yet."

No one noticed the way Djinn smiled a little too sharply at that.

When Chucky turned back to look at him, the smile had safely vacated his mouth. "Y'see what she was up to before you came down?"

"Your phantom companion exchanged less than favorable words with her. As far as I am aware she remains in her bedchambers."

Jason's head rose quickly at the information.

Chucky heaved a sigh, his head falling back against the sofa. "Of coourse he did. Apparently he thinks he has such a way with words. Shithead couldn't charm a dog to a ball. She'll probably never come back out now."

"Are you so certain she will appreciate your company?" The djinn was giving him a cutting look, as if insulted at the idea that the possessed toy would make a better companion than he would.

Chucky looked back up at him, his small nose scrunching up as if he too were offended; "For your information," He rested a hand over the breast pocket of his overalls. His head swayed with sass; "I'm a fuckin' delight to be around. And as much as I like havin' most of the gang back together again, I don't know if you've noticed but it's become a goddamn sausage fest,"

That's when he looked around the living room, making a grimace at the mess surrounding.

"Besides, this place could use a woman's touch."

"Charming." Stated Pinhead, the most he could manage at being sarcastic. Chucky blinked at him; "What, am I wrong?" Pinhead only shook his head, looking entertained by what he was about to point out; "You hope to charm her out of her misery with housework?"

Now Chucky appeared rather sheepish; "Well...When you put it like that you make me sound like an ass."

"If the shoe fits.." Reminded Freddy.

Chucky gave him a scorching glare. Pointing an index finger at him, he said; "I oughta let Jason go over there and fold you like a lawn chair."

Freddy wheezed out a laugh; "Why, because you can't do it yourself? Ya need someone bigger and stronger to do it for ya?"

The smaller of the two rolled his eyes; "Fuck off, I could take you."

The dream demon didn't looked convinced. "You?" A wry smile twisted his mouth while his head knocked to the side to look at his glove. Flexing some of the finger-blades, the Nightmare continued snidely; "Mm, I don't know..You're just so.." With Chucky watching him with growing disdain, Freddy scrunched his hooked nose for emphasis, fighting the impulse to laugh; "Delicate, dolly. I wouldn't wanna break ya."

Charles Lee Ray narrowed his sky-blue eyes at him. A balled fist struck his lap while he insisted; "I could."

The other's eyebrows hopped up momentarily, before letting his hatted head hang back against the armchair. "Then what're ya waiting for, huh? I'm right here," His scarred hand traveled south to his thigh while the blades tapped. Freddy rubbed and patted a spot on his lap with his left palm, drawing the possessed toy's eyes where precisely intended, encouraging the Lakeshore Strangler to violence. "C'mmoon," He mused. "Show Daddy a thing or two."

Chucky contorted his face in disgust; "Ahh I would, but you'd probably like it. Fuckin' freak,"

Freddy responded to the insult with a coy wink.

"Yeah I thought so."

Jason Voorhees himself rose from his place on the sofa. Scooping down to take up his trusty machete, he headed towards the entrance of the room with the copy of Jane Eyre in his other hand. Chucky's voice chased after him; "Didn't mean to scare you off, Jay. Y'know how it is with him," He sent a chastising glance towards the Nightmare. "Sausage dick just can't keep his trap shut." As if to prove him right, Freddy put on a show of provocatively flicking his tongue at him and chortling. Revulsion returned to the plaything's face.

Thankfully the giant came to a sharp halt to turn back towards Chucky, easily taking his attention away from the other. Slowly he shook his head and then nodded, before pointing up at the ceiling with the book.

Chucky looked from the ceiling back to the Camp Crystal Lake killer. After a second he understood. "Oh! You gonna check up on her?"

Jason nodded once more.

"Guess I'll tag along. Nothin' good to watch anyway." With that he tossed the remote aside and scooted forward to hop down onto the floor. As Chucky walked on past him, Djinn skirted around the killer toy to take his place on the sofa. Personally the djinn couldn't believe his ears. Surely they had deceived him. Nothing good to watch? The plaything was out of his mind. The picture box was capable of conjuring an unlimited supply of imagery for years on end if it so wanted to. It always had things to tell, things to share, if only the watcher would listen. If the toy was going to take mankind's advancements for granted, then the djinn would let him do so without pity. That was another infuriating thing about the human race. No matter how good they had it, it was never enough for them. And yet they still had the gall to insist that their filth of a race was worth saving. He oftentimes wondered if their greed outdid his. Either way he took Chucky's departure as his chance to commandeer the remote control. Now with the wand linking the picture box to his command, it was only a matter of figuring out how to work it..

Before Jason could start turning to leave, Pamela's voice emerged to softly admonish him;

Jason.

He stilled immediately. Yes, Mother?

What do we do when we borrow something?

He blinked. Just after the motion, the meaning of her words truly sank in. A figurative worm of shame wriggled its way into his chest, now feeling a bit guilty. We return it. He could almost imagine his mother nodding gently at him and 'mhmming'. He pulled back the glass door of the bookshelf to return Jane Eyre to its rightful spot. Once safely nestled inside with the other books, he closed the door to it and went to finally leave the living room. That's my sweet boy.

With the warmth of Mother's words, his shame eased completely in an instant. Sadly the feeling hadn't lasted long as he nearly walked into Freddy also leaving the room. The burned man gave him a dirty look before following Chucky who had gotten a head start on the stairs.

Jason's breathing deepened for a moment, staring angrily at the back of the striped sweater striding away from him. He was half tempted to chuck the machete into the space between Freddy's shoulder blades as if he were wielding a tomahawk instead.

Vengeance is mine. I will repay. In due time, their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things to come hasten upon them. Deuteronomy, Jason. 32:35.

Pamela quoted a passage of scripture to him and in that instance he felt reassured.

Letting his eye close for a fleeting moment, Jason took a breath and exhaled before walking forth to follow. By the time he had reached the top of the stairs, both Freddy and Chucky were positioned in front of Jennifer's bedroom. The pair waited there, watching as Jason slowly but surely crossed the space.

Freddy Krueger was as impatient as ever. This he made abundantly clear by huffing in an annoyed manner; "Took you long enough." Jason looked away from him to the door instead, enjoying the visible tensing of the other at being ignored.

Chucky shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes a second time as he turned back towards the door and knocked on it. He had hardly finished his knocking when Freddy stepped forth on the other side of the door frame and knocked too.

The smaller murderer furrowed his brows and frowned up at him, giving him a 'really?' kind of look; "The fuck you doin'?"

Freddy was just as sour in return in the way he asked; "What?"

Chucky gestured with both hands at the door, nodding his head towards it. "What are you, blind and deaf? You didn't see or hear me knockin'? You just couldn't wait two measly fuckin' seconds-"

But the transgression was forgotten completely when her voice came to life through the wood:

"G-Go away!"

The trio looked upon each other.

Still giving Freddy a heated look, Chucky shook away his irritation to respond; "Not until you open up."

"No!"

"No?"

Freddy looked down on him, saying smugly; "Now who's deaf?"

Chucky waved him away as if to shoo the words from the air. To Jason and Freddy, he said; "Gimme a sec. Just need the magic words, that's all."

It seemed they were going to have to undo a lot more of Ghostface's damage than they had thought.

Freddy scoffed. He planted his back against the wall to the left of the door and angled his body to rest against it. Tugging the brim of the fedora down over his eyes, he crossed his arms and shimmied against the wall to get comfortable. His actions were practically insisting that it was going to take a while for Chucky to 'get the magic words'.

The doll scoffed right back at him; "You're such a drama queen, I swear." Then in a more audible tone of voice, he called through the wood; "You know, uh, we came all the way up here to talk to you. Least you can do is open the door."

"..What do you want?"

"You to open the door?"

There was silence on the other end.

Chucky looked back at his two companions, scratching idly at the stapled scarring at his chin. Freddy was still bein' an ass and Jason was staring at the door, visibly breathing. He decided maybe humor was the way to go. He cleared his throat loudly;

"Open-Says-Me."

Nothing.

Chucky inhaled and exhaled. He was trying to be cordial but she wasn't giving him anything to work with. He had half a mind to tell her himself to open the fuckin' door right now or else, but being the aggressor wasn't gonna get the house clean or the meals made. So he'd be the Good Guy and play nice…For now. Though at this rate she'd force his hand..

He decided to level with her.

"Hey uh, Jen...Can I call you Jen? Listen I'm tryin' my damndest to be real polite here and if these guys know me well, and I like to think they do, they know I'm not too great at it. I don't really do polite,"

He turned back to gaze momentarily up at Jason as he continued to speak:

"I ain't gonna threaten you or anything, but we got two hundred, seventy-five pounds of muscle out here that could turn this door into a pile of wood chips if he wanted to. All's I gotta do is ask the big man to open the door for me. I uh, I don't think you want that...So uh, how bout' you open up and we can have a nice, decent conversation like consentin' adults."

Stressing and moving his hands over each other, he turned his head to the side as if by doing so she'd hear him out and in addition he'd be able to hear her better; "How bout' it? Hm?"

The sudden click of a lock being undone was his reward.

The doll and the dream demon looked at one another, Freddy having inched his head up so the doll could catch his eye. The Nightmare Slasher could only "hmph" at the pleased look on the Lakeshore Strangler's face.

Chucky dusted his shoulders off cockily, and spread both palms out while nodding in satisfaction; "What'd I tell you? I got the magic words."

No 'Ade due Damballa' even needed.