•𝙉𝙤𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙪𝙣• [𝘾𝙝𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 14

Lorraine reached the third floor, existing the elevator and going to her storage room to pick out a few things to continue cleaning. She left the door opened with a small crack, turning away from it as she readied her cleaning tools.

A freaked out expression crawled onto her face as she heard the door creak open from behind her, causing her to turn around before it shut with a bang infront of her fear stricken face. She screamed in unison with the door being slammed, now surrounded with pitch black nothingness, feeling trapped in the small dark space.

She heard a spiral of laughter sound from below and just a few steps away from her, causing her to whimper as she searched for the light switch that turned on the dim yellow light of the room with a push.

She gulped, eyes landing on the same doll she had previously had an encounter with, who stood a few inches away from her.

She felt her body stumble backwards as she received a forceful push to her legs, causing her to misbalance, falling onto the hard floor with a loud thud, her scared expressions similar to the one she had pulled back in the room.

“P... Please..." She managed to sound out, voice breaking as she pushed herself away from the doll, her legs sliding on the damp floor as he drew closer.

“Oh god!" She cried, increasing her pace as she backed against the wall, breathing in and inhaling sharply.

“Ya ain't gonna meet him where you're going..." The doll grinned, nearing her shaking form.

“Now shut the fuck up and get what's coming to you!" He barked, bringing his knife down and impaling her stomach, feeling the small drops of the familiar substance splattering onto his face, the cold feel filling him up with satisfaction as the twisted smirk he held on his plastic face grew, if that was even possible at this point.

Her pale, once afraid, face now held an even more bone chilling countenance.

Her blank eyes focused on nothing, lips dripping with blood that she silently vomited and coughed out, yet her breathing indicated that she was still alive.

The sharp metal was then yanked out, her weak, motionless state making it easy for the psychotic doll to bound her wrists together from behind her back tightly with a rope, soring her radiocarpal joints with it's uncomfortably painful and scratchy feel.

Though she was silent, her pain was still felt, unable to fight off the crazed doll as he now dragged her to her own bucket of old mop water, shoving her head down into the soapy liquid, her eyes stinging as they met with the cloudiness.

The stick of her own mop, pushed onto the back of her head, shoving her deeper.

The doll held the backwards mop firmly onto her head, counting the second before he finally stopped putting pressure, successfully stopping her life as the water filled her lungs.

He showed no remorse for his actions, numb to the fact that he had just killed another person.

He used his sleeve to wipe off the droplets of the thick bright red substance from his face, looking at the result of his actions with a twisted sense of pride, cleaning off his bloody weapon before, once again, sliding it back into his front pocket.

He then left her inside her own cleaning room, her head still hanging down low as her neck now rested on the end of the bucket, face still submerged. Chucky exiting the door as he walked back to the room he shared with you, balling his hand up into a fist before placing 3 firm knocks on the wooden surface, hearing your footsteps approach before the door was pulled open.

He walked in without an exchange of words, leaving you standing their as he walked past you.

You debated on asking him where he had went and what he had done in the period of time he wasn't in the room with you.

You let the door shut behind you, silently questioning his silence.

“So, what did you end up doing?" You asked curiously, waiting to hear what his response would be, but it never came.

Was he mad at you?

“Look, if this is about what I did earlier, I'm sorry." You apologized, assuming that the reason he chose not to speak to you was because you slammed the door in his face.

You were met by his glance, a firmly serious one that, for some reason, caused you to become increasingly more worried.

“Is... Is everything alright?" You asked, a part of you regretting the decision you made by asking him that question, your tone sounded as if you cared too much.

“Yeah, peachy.." you heard him grumble lowly as he turned away from you, but remained standing at that one place.

“O..kay..? So, uh, where did you go-"

“It doesn't concern you." He told, interrupting you sharply.

Truth was, he knew that telling you the information of what he did during his short outing would only fuel your already impulsive traumatization, you had finally managed to control your anxiety from peaking with the knowledge of his violent acts and what he did as a ‘hobby', that was hard enough as it was. But knowing he had just killed another, who you thought to be innocent, person, would only set off an unwanted breakdown, or what Chucky would personally label it mentally as, ‘an emotional tantrum'. Swear to God, he even wondered whether you were on your period from how you'd react to what seemed like such insignificant details to him.

“Okay..." He heard you respond softly.