Chucky Story

Stiff neck. Painted grin. Then—a snap in my joints. I blinked, and the flat chill vanished. Looking left, there was nothing but a black void. Looking right, a hockey mask frozen stiff next to me. Pathetic. I rolled my shoulders, dug my sneakers against the white letter 'H' below my frame, and tapped the cold divider. Wood, ink, whatever—it's solid. I leaned hard against the separator line until my plastic knuckles made a dull thud. They stayed flat. I didn't. Time to see what else gives way.