Kobold

Chapter 1: How To Float

Jeremy did not so much awaken as become aware. The last thing he remembered was pain. Pain everywhere. In his skin, in his muscle, in his bones. Tiny pin-pricks followed by jarring jabs of metal rods, rods that broke both skin and bone indiscriminately. He remembered hearing a rushing in his ears as his blood was pumped from his veins by a frantically beating heart. What he remembered best, however, was the Freddy head.

That Fucking. Plastic. Head.

Bonnie – the toy Bonnie, the one with a face and girly eyelashes and an annoyingly high voice for a male – had held it above his head as the rest of his body was slowly crushed, showing him the molded plastic and promising that Toy Freddy's blue eyes were much more handsome than his own 'muddy brown.' Thankfully, he'd passed out from blood loss not even seconds afterwards, and had been blissfully unconscious for the rest of the ordeal.

Somehow, it appeared he had survived the ordeal. Jeremy frowned, crossing his arms and looking around the Parts and Services room (which had always appeared capitalized in his mind). On the table was a Toy Freddy suit, that was dripping oil. The night guard took a step forward, squinting in the weak light, and tapped the plastic head. It rolled off the endoskeleton with a creak, chipping when it hit the floor, and Jeremy found himself staring at his own crushed and bloody face.

Ah, well, he had not survived the ordeal then. Jeremy had just enough time to wonder if a ghost or spirit or whatever-he-was could faint, before the world went dark before his eyes.

This time, Jeremy came awake slowly, his mind filtering through all that he had learned during his last foray through consciousness as he sat up. He was dead. Dead. Dead. How was he dead? Why? Wait, that was obvious, Faz-fuck and his gaily made-up group of clowns had shoved him into a plastic Iron-Maiden style death trap. That answered the how, not the why, but he wasn't as concerned with the why right now. Partly because he would have time to figure it out, partly because he was floating.

He was still sitting – but could it be considered if he wasn't sitting on anything? While thinking, he'd begun levitating, raising a few feet above the floor, his legs still firmly crossed before him. He looked down at either side of him, seeing no supports or strings. It didn't feel any different than sitting on a surface – it felt like he was perched on a super soft pillow, to be honest. Carefully, slowly, he unfolded his legs. His toes barely skimmed the floor as he straightened his body out. Curious, he stretched his ankles and calves, willing his heels to touch the floor. They did, and he found himself standing on a solid surface once more.

"Odd." His voice didn't echo in the dim back room as it had earlier that evening, when he was hollering bloody-murder.

Hmm. A lot of English vernacular and colloquialisms were based on death, weren't they?

It seemed like this floating-flying-levitating thing was based on thought. He focused for a moment, and his feet left the ground. He rose a few inches, then focused on stopping. His body – spirit? Ghost? - obeyed, and he bobbed in the air beside his body.

Corpse.

Beside his corpse.

He obviously hadn't been unconscious very long, since he – no, his corpse – was still shoved in the suit. The blood had stopped dripping at least. Jeremy frowned, trying to remember when he had been caught. It had been three, maybe 3:15 or so, when he was caught. Toy Chica and Chica had both ganged up on him, distracting him while he had the Freddy mask on. They had chatted about that 'darn guard' that was avoiding being put in his proper suit. Foxy had managed to surprise them, launching himself down the hall and over the desk in order to tackle the guard knocking his mask off. The Chicas – angry at being tricked – had helped cart him off to the backroom, where Foxy and the two Bonnies had helped them prep a suit and properly 'take care of' him. Freddy Faz-fuck had overseen the whole thing, a smug smile on his ugly mug, top hat tilted back at a jaunty, equally-smug angle. The whole thing had taken, what, half an hour? Maybe forty-five minutes? Death was surprisingly quick and efficient when done by a group of animatronics who had obviously done it before. He had fought back, but they'd easily overpowered him at every turn.

That meant it was around four in the morning, and there were two more hours in his shift. He moved to lean on the table containing his bo – corpse – and was surprised when his elbow went straight through the table. Well, that made sense – ghosts weren't tangible, so obviously they would have trouble touching the world around them.

Hmm. If he could go through the table, then could he go through something horizontal? Barely focusing on the thought, he bobbed through the air towards the door and wall that connected to the stage, wondering if he would ever get used to this weird float-y feeling. He paused beside the thin wood door – there were voices on the other side. Familiar voices.

Jeremy growled at nobody and nothing in particular at the sound of Faz-fuck's laugh. He placed his palm flat against the door and pushed. His hand seemed to fade as it passed through the door. Grinning wickedly, the former night guard floated through the door to confront his murderers, fully prepared to give him what-for now that the threat of death had been removed.

AN: I AM SO SORRY. I swear I have no idea where these plot-Bonnie's are coming from, but this one wouldn't leave me alone! It's been following me for weeks. I know I need to focus on my other stories, but I had to get this one out. I love Jeremy's attitude in this. He's going to give those Animatronics hell for what they did, I can assure you.

Reviews, especially critiques, are very much appreciated, even if it's only one or two words!