The door flung open and William stumbled in, noticeably tipsy. Well, 'tipsy' isn't the right word. More like completely intoxicated.

'You're later than usual,' Michael sighed as he switched off the television. 'I mean, you're usually back at about midnight. It's two am. Did something happen at Freddy's?'

'None of your business,' William sneered, slamming the door.

'Something happened. What was it?'

'I said, none of your business!' William paused. 'Some kids went missing. Had to deal with the parents and the police.'

Michael raised an eyebrow.

'Don't give me that look!' William threw the rucksack on his back to Michael. 'My uniform's in there. Wash it.'

'Fine,' Michael groaned, standing. He headed into the laundry room and started loading the clothes into the washing machine. As he lifted his father's purple shirt, he noticed something... off.

He held it out in front of him, looking closely. Red stains were peppered on it.

Michael could immediately tell it wasn't ketchup. He dropped the shirt.

Some kids went missing...?

Missing or murdered?


'Fritz!'

The red head turned around at the sound of someone yelling his name.

'Oh, um, hey, Michael,' Fritz replied. 'Good to now you haven't ditched me yet! ...Like all my other friends did...'

'...Okay, we can talk about your issues and insecurities later. For now, there's something I really need to talk to someone about. Now, you're the closest thing I have to a friend. So, uh, do you mind if I share some disturbing theories about my family?'

'Well, you've already told me about the deaths of your sister and mother and the story of how you put your brother in a coma, so... I think I can handle whatever you want to tell me.'

'Okay... I think my dad's a child murderer.'

'Well... that's worse than I was expecting.' Fritz raised his eyebrows, eyes wide. 'How can you be sure?'

'Yesterday, Dad came back late. He told me some kids had gone missing at Freddy's. After, when I was doing the laundry, I noticed that Dad's shirt was splattered with blood. Coincidence? I think not!'

'Um... are you sure it wasn't just ketchup?' Fritz asked.

'Yes.'

'Oh... hey, um, I know we only met yesterday, but... do you think it would be best if you stay round my house for a bit?'

'Nah. If I do that, Dad will know that I know, and that you know, and then both of us will probably be next on his hit list,' Michael sighed.

'You... You're okay with spending everyday with a murderer?' Fritz questioned.

'Nope! But it's better than risking your life,' Michael replied.

'Maybe you should just call the police...'

'I literally have no proof. The shirt was washed, so I don't even have the blood stain to back me up.'

'I see... Well... maybe keep a knife in your room for defense,' Fritz advised.

'Way ahead of you, buddy,' Michael replied, recalling when he hid a kitchen knife under his mattress.


Check the bed. Left door. Right door. Closet.

Nothing.

Check the bed.

Freddles. Use the flashlight to clear them.

Left door.

Breathing. Pull door closed. Wait until I hear receding footsteps.

Right door.

Breathing. Pull door closed. Wait until I hear receding footsteps.

Closet.

Foxy. Pull door closed. Check. Pull door closed. Check. Pull door closed. Check.

Plush.

Begin cycle again.

Night three... please be over soon...