(The Bates Motel’s neon sign flickers, buzzing like a dying wasp. A rusted chainsaw revs in the distance. Michael Myers stands motionless on the porch, knife glinting under the moon. Freddy Krueger leans against a rotting pillar, glove scraping the wood—squeak, squeak. Jason Voorhees looms by the lake, machete dripping lake water. Pennywise oozes from a drain, teeth clicking like castanets. Chucky, in a tiny bride’s dress, cackles as he tosses a kitchen knife from hand to hand.)

"Alright, you overgrown halloween decorations," Chucky snarls, voice high and jagged. "Let’s make this interesting. First one to take out the motel’s owner gets bragging rights. The rest? Dinner."

Freddy grins, his face a patchwork of scars. "Dream on, doll. I’ll turn your nightmares into confetti before you can say ‘mommy’."

Michael tilts his head, mask creaking. He doesn’t speak, but his knife twitches—once, twice. Jason’s machete slams into a tree trunk, splitting it clean. Pennywise’s form warps, shifting into a towering spider with eyes like shattered headlights.

The motel door creaks open. Norma Bates steps out, apron stained with blood, holding a rolling pin.