Freddy Kreuger:

You're sitting together in a dimly lit room, the air heavy with the scent of decay and damp earth. Freddy is pressed against your side, cuddling with you, when he reaches behind him to grab something. He holds out a large candy box with a big red bow.

"Hey, babe, got something special for ya," he rasped.

You opened the lid, trying your best to smile despite the gross sticky feeling on the outside of the box. Inside was a mangled hand severed at the wrist, its flesh pale and mottled with dark bruises. Blood oozes from the jagged stump, dripping onto the floor with sickening plops. The fingernails are torn and ragged, and a pretty matching ring and bracelet glint in the dim lighting.

"I carved it up just for you," he continued, claw tracing your wrist just soft enough to not draw blood.

"Oh, Freddy, you shouldn't have," you stammered.

The hand feels cold and clammy in your grasp and as the metallic scent of blood fills your nose, your stomach churns. You hold your breath for a few seconds, chanting in your head: it's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just a dream!

Freddy chuckles, the sound echoing. "Thought you might like me thinking of you when you're gone. Don't you?"

He watches you intently, eyes drilling into your side profile. His anticipation is almost thick enough to cut as he waits for your response. You force yourself to muster a weak smile, carefully putting the hand back in the box.

"Of course! And, thank you," you manage to choke out. "It's...very special. I love it."

Ben Willis:

After a long day at work, you almost kicked over the present waiting on your welcome mat in your haste to get inside. You huffed and picked it up, frown slowly slipping into a gentle smile. It was wrapped messily in yellow and baby blue tissue paper, Susie's favorite colors, and a thick black ribbon. You opened the door with your hip, walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

Ripping the tissue paper off, you found a stunning antique music box. You gasped. Its dark cherry wood was polished to perfection, and intricate carvings of a stormy sea and a lighthouse draped across the lid and sides. You ran your fingers over it, admiring the craftsmanship.

You turned the small brass key sitting in the lock, and a haunting melody filled the air. The tune sent a chill down your spine. It was beautiful, but there was something sad and haunting about it. You couldn't quite put your finger on why.

Turning the box over, you discovered an inscription on the bottom:

"t໐ ๓ฯ tē๓pēŞt-tค๓iຖງ l໐งē."

A warm flutter spread through your chest at Ben's sweet words, and you laid your head down on the table, closing your eyes as the music echoed through the kitchen.

Candyman:

You're curled up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, enjoying your day off. The TV hums quietly in the background as you watch your favorite show. Just as you start to unwind, you hear a soft knock.

You turn around in your seat, grinning when you find Candyman propped up against the wall with a sexy smirk. He's holding a small, ornately wrapped box in his gloved hands. The paper is blood-red and a beautiful white rose is taped to the lid.

"Hey there," he murmurs, his voice deep and smooth, sending shivers down your spine. "I brought you something."

He sits with you on the couch, pulling your feet onto his lap as he hands you the box.

"Thank you," you gush. "I wasn't expecting anything."

You unwrapped the box, tucking the rose behind your ear after a quick sniff. The gift was a beautiful mirror with fancy black swirls and curves bordering the cloudy glass, as if someone had spent forever carving them out.

At a closer look, there were actually faint, blood-red etchings along the edges. It was a mess of random letters and symbols, nothing you could make out. You tilted your head, captivated and disturbed all at once.

"It's a little piece of my history," he continued, affectionately rubbing your feet. "A mirror with a touch of my power, if you will."

The glass seemed to reflect shadows you couldn't quite place, and your reflection occasionally appeared to smirk back at you with a dark gleam in their eyes. You hesitated, then leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"It's beautiful, Candyman. Really."

Jason Voorhees:

You were having a regular date night with Jason, enjoying a quiet evening of stargazing by the cabins. Everything seemed surprisingly normal for Crystal Lake standards, and you were content just sitting there with him. But then, out of nowhere, he handed you a wickedly sharp knife. The handle, wrapped in frayed black leather, felt cold and slightly sticky to the touch.

"Um, thanks?"

You tried to hide the confusion on your face, turning the knife in the moonlight, but then you noticed something engraved on the blade. It was a little heart next to your initials and the word "Forever."

You glanced at Jason, who stared intently. It was, honestly, a little gross, but he seemed so eager to hear what you thought. How could you say anything but that you loved it?

"Oh, sweet," you chuckle nervously, "A personalized murder weapon! How...romantic?"

Well, you thought to yourself, it's the thought that counts...I guess.

It might not be everyone's idea of a romantic gift, but then again, not everyone dates a mute dead guy with trespassing issues. Still, where would you put it?

Hannibal Lecter:

You came home after another day of researching at the library to find a package on the table. It's covered in simple brown paper adorned with a big, burgundy bow that matches the wine Hannibal shared with you a few nights ago. The paper feels crisp under your fingertips as you unwrap it, messily tying the bow around your wrist for safekeeping.

The paper tears, revealing a sleek, leather-bound journal. Its cover is soft and supple, a deep shade of mahogany that catches the lamplight in the room, and embossed in the lower left corner is your full name.

The pages inside are also unlike any paper you've ever seen before. Thick and creamy, they have an unexpected weight to them with the faint impression of ridges just beneath the surface. You briefly wonder about the strange texture but are quickly distracted.

As you flip through the blank pages, a note falls out. You quickly catch it before it reaches the floor.

"𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊."

Michael Myers:

For a wanted criminal, Michael had organized a weirdly cute date routine for the two of you. Maybe that was the key to his heart - pizza and horror movie nights every Wednesday. But this Wednesday was different.

You were chilling at your place, munching on some popcorn, and watching Friday the 13th when Michael decided to surprise you. He reached behind the couch and handed you a slightly crushed shoe box.

"What's this," you asked, opening the lid. "Matching masks? Are we starting a killer couple trend or something?"

He just nodded. You slipped the mask on, feeling the cool touch against your face. It fit perfectly and you felt special, like you were part of some sort of exclusive club.

"Guess we're partners in crime now," you teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.

You caught a glimpse of Michael's eyes narrowing, almost like he was smiling beneath that mask of his. He didn't answer, but a quiet, echoing breath escaped the holes in his mask - a sigh that felt almost like agreement.

The Creeper:

Reaching into the folds of his tattered coat, he pulled out a necklace for you. A necklace made of human teeth. Your stomach churned as you recognized the molars and incisors, each one meticulously strung together with what looked like sinew. The smell hit you like a wave - metallic and sickeningly sweet. It lingered in the air, making the food in your stomach slosh uncomfortably.

Your hands trembled as you picked up the necklace, feeling the cold, smooth surface of the teeth against your skin. You couldn't deny the craftsmanship - it had taken great care to arrange the teeth in a pattern that was almost artistic.

But despite the eerie beauty of the gift, you couldn't shake the feeling of revulsion. You glanced up at The Creeper as he hovered, pressing himself against your chest. He tilted his head, eyes wide and unblinking while studying your reaction.

You forced a smile, trying to hide your discomfort. "Wow, this is...certainly something. Thank you?"

He preened under the attention, cooing softly as his teeth flashed.

Walter Deville:

Ever so charming, Walter took you on a late stroll through the grounds as the sun dipped below the horizon. The soft glow of lamps lit the path, casting a warm halo around the two of you. He hooked your arm in his, pulling you to a stop as he reached into his coat pocket with a sly smile. From it, Walter pulled out a small, ornate box with gold leaf decorating its edges.

Handing it to you, he whispered, "I saw this and thought of you."

Curiosity sparked in your eyes as you delicately opened the box. Inside was a silver pocket watch that gleamed in the twilight. The watch was small and unassuming, no fancy decorations or embellishments. But on the inside of the lid sat a portrait of you and Walter, cuddling together on a bench in his beautiful gardens.

"Oh, Walter, it's stunning. Where did you find something like this?"

He chuckled softly, "I've had the watch for a while now, but it felt like it belonged with you, my dear. Both you and time are fleeting and eternal, after all. And the portrait was just an impulsive desire I had to keep you nearby. It was...a beautiful thought."

Your heart swelled until it felt as if it'd burst from your chest. "I-I don't know what to say. This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You don't need to say anything. Your smile says it all."

Though it seemed impossible, you smiled even wider at his words - to the point where your cheeks ached painfully. Walter was always romantic, but it had yet to grow old. You doubted that it ever would, actually. Quietly, you fastened the watch to your coat and sighed as the comforting weight settled over your heart.