Things are quiet tonight.

They have been for a good while. It happens, these lulls in activity, times of rest to separate one forest fire from another. No matter how deep the anger or hatred, there was only so much energy anyone could spare for an extended amount of time, especially when that time is measured in decades. In the early years, she'd lashed out every night. A constant hail of torment, she'd torn me apart with all the rage of a thunderstorm, over and over again, until it was hard for me to think of a time that I wasn't in constant pain. Those were the days, the novelty of revenge so fresh that it was the only thing she could focus on.

It was never going to last, of course. Now we've become something close to resembling casual. There are times where we talk, discuss one useless subject or another. There are times we bicker, little arguments like what old friends might have. It's reached the point where I actively have to bait her, pull her into a discussion and hit at her old wounds before she'll snap. Let her settle into the routine, wait until she reaches the point where she's starting to forget, and then I remind her who I am. I like to watch her eyes. It's always the best part, seeing that split second of shock, like she's startled, only to slide over into a glare, her teeth clenching, a rekindling of that old spark.

We're in separate rooms for the moment. I'm in the closed off area, way in the back, behind the wall. I'm always here, technically, my body still stuck in that springlock rabbit. Slouched in the corner, leaning against the wall. Head bowed in a way that'd give me a hell of a stiff neck if I wasn't dead. It's a strange situation, this ghost thing. I don't have to be connected to my body, that's not how this works, but I do have to be connected to something physical. The fact that it happens to be my body isn't the point.

I'm tied to that skeleton, it is me. For lack of a better word, I'm...possessing it. Which isn't to say I can move it, no, I can't so much as twitch. I simply live there. That's not to say I'm immobile, though.

I can project myself. Step outside my body, wander about, walk and talk and prance. No one can see me, of course, no one but other spirits. No one can touch me but other spirits, too. I've long since lost the nerves with which to feel pain, but it's still possible. This projection is an image of my soul, my essence, if you will. Strike out at ones' soul, and of course it's going to hurt.

It goes without saying this is something she can do, too. She wrote the book on it, but more on that later.

It's about time I head out. The silence is getting to me, isn't it you? You're not here for a story about the guy who sat around and did nothing all day, after all, and I'm nothing if not a gracious host. Come, let's go check on Miss Mary.

Mary wasn't always her name, you know. None of them kept their old names, so that isn't a surprise there. I remember what they used to be called, every one of them, but once they found themselves tied to their own animatronic, they adopted that animatronic's name. Bonnie, Chika, Freddy...Foxy...

But the important one in this case is little Marionette. She's the one that started it. Started everything, sure, but this specific thing, I mean. See, Mary's original name was Alice.

The pizzarea has seen better days. Worse now than it was, what with people stomping around the rotted floorboards and tearing apart whatever isn't nailed down. Freddy Fazbear's was already in disrepair, and it's only gotten worse now that it's been rediscovered. Like a rusty toy found by an over-enthusiastic toddler, delicate parts tossed against the pavement by the one who claimed to love it the most. That's just human nature, though, isn't it? We all bring destruction to the things we care about most.

I remember this place as it once was. I was here when they built it, here to see everything when it was still fresh and new. It's been closed and reopened and moved so many times, but the basic ideal remains the same. A place of adventure, where fun and fantasy come to life. It's nostalgic, even if this particular location isn't the one I would have chosen to be trapped in.

She's not even in the building. My search for her brings me outside, though not far. The thing about being tied to something is that you can only move a certain distance away from it, so my movement is limited.

I can just reach her, where she stands. Drawing close, I linger at her back, eyes on her while her own linger upward, on the billboard sitting opposite us.

She doesn't need to hear me, and I don't have to get a response to know she knows I'm here. We feel each other, sense the other's presence like a heaviness of the air. Mary's shorter than me, the top of her head reaching about the mid-point of my chest. Long, wavy hair, falling just short of curly, light brown. She's a teenager, fourteen, although she doesn't have to be. We can choose what age to project ourselves as. I died an old man, but I like being young, so I take the form I had when I was in my twenties.

Reaching out, I rest my hands on her shoulders. She doesn't move. See what I mean about casual? Once upon a time this would have gotten me thrown against the wall.

"Few more days." I say. "Wonder if they'll stop coming once they have something new to chew on?"

"Doubt it. It'll encourage them."

I smile at that. She's upset. Not at me.

"Maybe the building will collapse on the next group to come in?"

"That'll just bring more of them."

"Ha. True."

It doesn't take much. A few inches. I trail a hand along her shoulder, under her hair, to brush the side of her neck. I touch one of the bruises left there, a test, but she doesn't even flinch. Her eyes remain on the board.

Her neck usually a sore spot, considering how I'd killed her.

I'd always had an interest in small things. Rodents, birds, the occasional kitten. I was always careful not to get caught. I never went after anything human until I ran across her, little girl standing out alone one day. I didn't plan it, the opportunity simply presented itself.

Freddy's was a diner back then, the Freddy Fazbear diner, with a single animatronic and a fresh new image to attract people to its doors. No cameras yet, though, and there'd been no witnesses. We spoke, exchanged names. Hers was Alice, mine was Richard. She didn't have any money to go in, and the place was reserved for a party, anyway. Turns out she was there for nostalgia purposes. Her mom had taken her a few times, and said mother wasn't around anymore. She told me about her dad, he'd probably be upset she skipped school, but he'd understand.

He probably would have. Didn't get the chance though. I strangled her, no one noticed.

And I mean that, not just in terms of the people inside, but in general. Imagine my surprise when, several days passed after the murder, and not a single mention of it could be found in the paper. There was a reason for that, of course, though I didn't know at the time. Turns out someone from the company noticed the body first. One of the higher ups. Instead of reporting it, they took it inside, and tucked it away. Didn't want the bad publicity. That more or less summarizes the franchise as a whole, doesn't it?

I press the palm of my hand over her throat, and finally she reaches up and pushes me off.

"Stop that."

Frustration, not anger. It was something, I supposed, though still disappointing. She could have cared less about me at the moment. I let her go and step to her side instead. A passive move, easy to give in to her demand. She was in charge here.

I look at the billboard, the new focal point of our existence.

It reads, 'Introducing Fazbear's Fright, The New Horror Attraction.'