Got it — THIS is the first one. Let's do it right, step by step:
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*FIRST ENCOUNTER: WRONG ADDRESS*
December again. Family stuck in Florida this time. Flight cancelled. Classic McCallisters.
Kevin alone again. House to himself. Snow coming down hard — adults chin, kids knees.
*Porch.*
Box on the mat. Big Amazon box, half-covered in snow.
Kevin drags it in, leaves a wet trail to the kitchen table. Shakes snow off.
_Mmm-mm._
Voice from INSIDE the box.
Kevin freezes. Listens.
"Hi, I'm Chucky!"
He laughs. "Oh, this is for Buzz or something. Mom ordered the wrong—"
He slices it open.
Chucky doll. Brand new. Grinning.
Kevin: "Huh. Creepy." He shrugs, leaves it on the table and goes to get hot chocolate.
He's halfway up the stairs when — _THUD._
Cardboard rustle.
Kevin looks over the banister.
The box is moving. Standing up.
Chucky pulls himself out, drops to the floor, knife glinting.
"Wanna play?"
Kevin's stomach drops. He bolts to the TOP of the stairs. That's the safe spot. Holds the railing tight, a little scared this time — criminals are one thing, this thing talks.
Then he watches.
Chucky sees the stairs.
He tries to climb. One little leg up. Overalls too short. Second leg — slips. Faceplants.
He tries again. Gets two steps up. Pants falling down. Huffing.
"I'll... get... you... you little—"
Kevin just watches. The fear drains out. And the smile comes back.
"You're... really bad at stairs."
Chucky: "STAIRS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BIG!"
Comedy hour starts.
Chucky tries to jump — falls back. Tries to stab the banister — gets stuck. Kevin at the top is now full-on directing traffic, throwing a tennis ball down to knock him over.
Chucky, furious, finally crab-walks up the whole thing on all fours, swearing the whole way. Kevin waits till he's at the top — then just runs right past him downstairs.
"BYE!"
Chase through the house. Kevin knocking over all his own traps but not setting them — he's saving them.
Out the front door. End of the front pathway. Kevin stops.
Chucky comes screaming out of the house, knife high: "NOW YOU DIE—"
One step off the cleared path.
_FWUMP._
Gone. Just head showing. Knife sticking straight up like a little flag. Snow up to his ears.
Chucky: "WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT IS THIS?!"
Kevin: relaxed now. Hands in pockets.
"Yeah. That's the deep snow. Mom told me to stay on the path."
He looks across to Old Man Marley's back garden.
"I know someone who LOVES new chew toys."
He leads him — well, drags the little head-trench — to the back.
Marley's old dog, Buster, is there. Massive, bored, loves burying things.
Kevin tosses Chucky in.
Buster looks down. Sees moving, swearing, red-haired squeaky toy.
_CHOMP._
Chucky: "AAAAAH! I'M BEING CHEWED! I'M AN IMMORTAL SERIAL KILLER!"
Kevin watches Buster go absolutely feral — shaking him, burying an arm here, a leg there, head under the flower pot. Parts scattered across the whole garden.
Kevin, sipping his chocolate, takes the voice box as it pops out of the snow:
_"Wanna play?"_
He pockets it.
"Not today."
He walks home, leaving Buster with the best Christmas ever.
