Thursday, August 6, 1987, 10:35 AM

Phil's head pounded. His sweaty hand twitched as he put pen to paper and filled out the first of many employee evaluation forms. Despite his hangover, the irony wasn't lost. If anyone needed to be judged, it was him.

The building came alive as he worked. Footsteps of busy servers echoed down the hall while the Band entertained what few children there were. In a few minutes, the noise would exacerbate his headache, but he felt fine for the moment. It shaped up to be a normal workday – except for one thing.

Since waking up, the conversation he had with the golden creature haunted his thoughts. Memories of dreams tended to quickly fade, yet this one grew more intense the more he remembered. He could almost hear it whisper, a voice filled with static. Though tempted to write it all off as a bizarre nightmare, part of him wanted it to be real.

Having a family… he'd almost forgotten what that meant. People who unconditionally cared for and supported each other. Until recently, he took it for granted; now he realized how difficult it was to live without one. A small cry escaped his throat as his trembling hand paused.

I'm a fucking adult, he thought. I should be over this.

If only it was that easy. He wanted nothing more than to forget all the pain inside – the sleepless, lonely nights, the hopeless days. Other people could deal with such loss, but it was clear to him that he never could. Reaching for the can of beer on his desk out of habit, he forced himself to stop. What if he could have people to love him again? The question rattled around his head for a solid minute. Pulling his hand away, he stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything without his migraine flaring up.

All he had to do was accept the being's offer. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

While it was difficult to suddenly believe in the paranormal – and even more so that this creature would approach him of all people – he couldn't let the opportunity pass him by. At worst, it would turn out to be a bad dream. But if it was somehow true…

He couldn't ignore it. If he did, he knew that the mystery of "what if" would torment him for the rest of his life. As the thing said, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. "Why the Hell not?" Phil muttered, returning to his work. He had nothing else to lose by trying.

…

The white void stretched seemingly without limit. Maybe it was truly infinite; maybe it was the size of a single room. Without any horizon or reference points, space became impossible to gauge. Phil stood frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe. This was it.

A shrill hum shook the air. Startled by the noise, he barely noticed the golden fog appear before him. The figure was there again, just as shrouded as before. For a moment, they stared at each other; Phil felt the two points of light piercing through his flesh. Whatever this thing was, it emanated intensity.

"Have you reflected on my offer?" it asked, wasting no time for pleasantries.

"Y-yes," he stammered, scarcely believing his answer. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would make a deal with… well, not a demon – what kind of evil spirit helped the needy – but something supernatural. I suppose that means I'm not an atheist anymore. "A family would be the greatest thing in the world right now."

Within the mist, Phil saw its mouth curve into a wily smile. A chill ran down his back, but he reminded himself that this thing, no matter how shifty it appeared, had done nothing wrong. "Excellent. Now, let us discuss the stipulations."

That, however, gave him pause. As someone who regularly worked with legal documents, words like "stipulations," "preconditions" or any other fancy way of saying "rules" made him uncomfortable.

Sensing his hesitation, it asked, "Did you think I would offer this gift freely?"

"Well… yeah." The being had approached him, not the other way around. Perhaps it was naive to assume this creature operated purely out of kindness, but then again, he'd never talked to any other spirits before.

It suppressed a laugh, trying to remain serious. Nevertheless, space trembled slightly as it snickered. Phil watched what he little he could discern of it more carefully than before. "Phillip, you're a businessman. You of all people should understand that nothing in this world is free." It moved a few feet closer; if he wanted to, he could reach through the cloud and touch it. "Nothing is free in any world."

"Fair enough." Though he was intimidated, there was no way in Hell he would show it. Dealing with difficult people was one of the few managerial traits he possessed. And he was about to make the most important deal of his life. "But I'm only human. What could you want from me? My soul?" His heart skipped a beat as he realized that was a genuine possibility.

"Nothing so Faustian. My desire is very simple. You see, I am a lover of games."

Phil didn't see any connection between having a family and entertainment. "What, like Monopoly?" It looked at him with slight bewilderment. Maybe that wasn't the best example.

"I prefer games based more on skill. Chess, backgammon, mahjong – those are my favorites. However, I also create competitions of my own." It paused, trying to decide how to best reach its point. "In fact, while watching you, I invented one that surpasses all the others. One that will be remembered."

"So, in exchange for giving me a family, you want us play."

Another smile crossed its face, just as crafty as the last. "Precisely." On the surface, it seemed innocent enough. This spirit – if it could be called that – simply wanted some occasional amusement. Understandable. Floating around all day sounded like a boring existence. Still, it seemed too easy. It wasn't giving him the whole truth.

"Tell me more about this game." The being's smile faltered, and its eyes flared up for a moment. God, that's creepy.

"Suffice it to say that it will keep your restaurant open if everything goes according to plan."

Plan? What plan? How could playing a game get him money? Why wouldn't this thing tell him more? Questions flew about his head like a swarm of mosquitos. Then came the words he dreaded.

"Time's up." Its voice was dry leaves crackling in the wind. "There are many people as desperate as you. I will have no trouble finding someone less… inquisitive." Overwhelmed by uncertainty, Phil didn't respond. "Very well. Enjoy your life. May you find happiness." Whether the words were genuine or mocking, he couldn't say. However, they pushed him back into the moment.

"Wait!" The figure looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. "You win. If you give me a family, we'll play your game." This deal would be worth it. It had to be.

"You're an intelligent man, Phillip. I'm pleased we could reach an agreement." Phil stuck his hand into the gilded mist, which elicited a blank stare.

It might not know what a handshake is. Hell, it might not have hands at all! But then he felt something wrap around his palm. It didn't have texture, it didn't have shape. The only word to describe it was cold. If life was heat, then this was the absence of life. The moment it let go, Phil yanked his hand out, shivering from both alarm and frigidness.

"Lest I forget, I require one more thing." That would have been nice to know about before they closed the deal. "A body."

"What do you mean?" The first thing his mind jumped to was demonic possession a la The Exorcist.

"Perhaps 'body' isn't the correct word. 'Vessel' is more precise. A receptacle to contain my essence on the material plane." That made sense; it couldn't play its game if it didn't physically exist. "Preferably something with arms and legs – it is the height of tedium to roll around everywhere as a vase."

"I'll take your word for that."

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Phil again noticed the buzz in the background that he tuned out. "Then our business is adjourned," the being said. "I expect we will both benefit from this arrangement." God, he hoped so. This thing made him suspicious, but it also had him by the balls. At least it seemed they would stay out of each other's ways. "Remember, we will not be friends. It would be best if you thought of this as a business contract. A profitable one."

A wave of exhaustion washed over him as the surroundings faded to black. The eyes, however, stayed through all the rest of his dreams that night.

Friday, August 7, 5:20 AM

Phil stepped out of his car into the warm, unusually dry air. His car's lights shone briefly before flickering out, leaving only the moon for illumination. The asphalt seemed to scream with every stride. Grabbing the pizzeria's key, he took a moment to consider whether he was crazy. He had made a pact with some otherworldly creature less than an hour before – most people didn't do that! The skeptic within him still claimed that this was a trick brought about by a desperate subconscious, all the same.

Whatever, he thought, opening the door. If it turns out I imagined the whole thing, it's time for me to get therapy. His hangover was finally gone, though.

After flipping on the lights, he walked over to the half-dozen arcade machines and played a couple rounds of Super Mario Bros., trying to invigorate himself. Unable to fall back asleep after waking in the middle of the night, he decided to drive down and put the whole "I need a body" thing to the test.

A few minutes later, Phil was as ready as he'd ever be. Sighing, he pulled open a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. A horde of disembodied heads stared at him with eyeless holes as he entered, mouths hanging open in silent screams. The Backstage seldom bothered him, yet this time the felt faces seemed to follow his every move.

Several empty suits lay decaying at the back of the room. Unlike the heads and other individual pieces of fur-covered-latex, which were regularly swapped so the animatronics didn't look worn-out or dirty, there was rarely a need to replace a robot's entire skin. Therefore, the costumes remained mostly forgotten, stashed behind a box of servos.

Beating the cobwebs out of each under many ominous gazes, he took stock. Conveniently, Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy were all represented at least once. Let's assume this actually works, Phil thought, rubbing the back of his neck. Which of these do I want to use? After a minute mulling it over, he gave up and shut his eyes. Running his hand over the pile of dusty faux fur, he picked one up at random.

The empty sockets of a Freddy suit gaped back at him. Its plastic teeth, usually white, were stained brown from years of exposure to dirt and grime. The fabric was overrun by mold in places, creating hideous green patches. On top of that, it smelled awful. The others weren't in much better shape, though.

Phil threw the rest back where they came from and brought the decaying suit out into the dining area. He would go home and get a couple more hours of sleep after this.

"Hey." Though he spoke at an ordinary volume, the tiled floors and complete stillness made the word nearly deafening. "You. You know who you are." He tossed the musty suit to the ground; it landed in a crumpled heap between two party tables. Popular culture told him this usually involved sacrificing a goat or the like, so hopefully the spirit didn't leave that part out. "Here's the body you wanted."

He stared at the costume for almost a minute. There was no change, no movement, nothing. Just an insane man trying to summon an extradimensional entity in the middle of a children's restaurant at five-thirty in the morning. Slumping against the wall, Phil rested his head on his knees. He wasn't angry or upset: just tired. In the morning, he would call a psychiatrist to try and get help. Probably should have done that sooner. Until then –

Pop. Phil hardly noticed the sound. It could have been a dozen different things: a vent's rattle, a branch falling on the roof. Crack. No, it was too loud, too close to be either of those. Crunch. A sinister feeling rolled over him like a wave. Snap.

What the Hell's making that noise? Looking up, his jaw dropped at the anomaly in front of him.

The costume violently convulsed, its limbs twisting in unnatural positions as if being controlled by an incompetent puppeteer. For a moment, his mind stopped, unable to justify the aberration. Then it jerked across the floor toward him, which sent him running and screaming into the corner. Despite his terror, he was too enthralled to turn away. With a racing heart, he watched the suit spasm.

The clumsy flailing of appendages became slower, more controlled. Eventually, it stopped moving altogether, laying still on the linoleum floor. Phil's breathing slowed, his mind calmed, and he was pleasantly surprised he hadn't pissed himself. Then something only a little less frightening happened. The costume started to change.

He noticed the suit inflate slightly; it was no longer empty. Some force filled it, giving it "life" and shape. More dramatically, the faux fur shifted color. The muddy brown fibers got lighter and more bleached, stopping at a pigment burned into his memory.

Gold.

A throbbing buzz came from the suit, which rose to its feet, still a bit unsteady. Phil was right back to being terrified.

"My fucking God. You're real. You're actually real." It took everything he had not to flee shrieking in fear. The costume turned to look at him. Its eyes were more than black – they were black holes: the darkest things in the universe. All that existed within each was a single golden pinprick at the center, the very same it possessed in his dreams. Though it moved its mouth to speak, all that escaped was an earsplitting blast of static. After a few more attempts, it finally managed comprehensible speech.

"Of course I am. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here." A surprisingly philosophical answer for a six-and-a-half-foot tall bear costume. Speaking of which, it examined its new hairy arm. "This is a fine body. Better, at least, than the ones I often take."

"I'm g-glad you like it," Phil replied, gingerly walking toward the being. Though it didn't breathe, the air wafting from its mouth was ice cold; he felt it on his face from across the room. Stopping several feet away, he was astonished by its size. Though it was only a few inches taller than him, its presence engulfed everything. Maybe that's because I'm talking to something that shouldn't exist. "Gold's your color?" he asked, needing something, anything to make the situation slightly more rational.

Before responding, it pulled a chair out from one of the tables and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. Phil did the same; his knees were starting to give out. "All beings in the universe have a chromatic energy about and within them," it explained, voice intertwining with white noise. "An aura. It reveals the individual's disposition on the most intimate level. For most, however, it is hidden by the flesh, visible to only a few." Phil half-listened, still unable to completely believe what he saw.

"But I exist beyond that. I am pure qi, and my aura pervades whatever arbitrary form I occupy. It is potent and relentless." The thing shifted in its seat, still getting used to its new shape. "Gold is the color of power. Of grandeur. Of transcendence. I am those things, and they are me. My physical appearance adapts accordingly."

A lot of that was beyond him, and Phil didn't want to test this thing's patience, but he was curious about something. "W-what color is my aura?"

It leaned forward, literally staring into his soul. He recoiled from its penetrating gaze and freezing "breath". "Black. Associated with depression, anguish and self-loathing." Sounded about right. Phil slumped back in his chair, rather disturbed that this thing could read him like an open book.

But why the Hell were they still talking about this? There were far more important things to discuss. "So," he said, driving the bleaker thoughts away, "what about my family?"

"We will discuss that some other time. There are a few things the two of us need to review in greater detail." Phil opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it. There was no reason to believe this thing was lying. Besides, he was already mentally exhausted from learning that humans weren't the only intelligent beings in the universe, after all. A week or two to let it all sink in didn't seem like such a bad idea. Then another question sprang to mind, one he should have thought to ask long ago.

"What's your name?"

"I don't have one. I simply am." The answer was unsatisfactory. Phil didn't know how long this arrangement would last; he wasn't going to spend months calling it "you".

"I have to call you something. That's just how humans operate." With a grunt, it motioned for him to continue. OK, what to call it. A faint memory from long ago surfaced: him naming the animatronics in that very room. Feeling nostalgic, he glanced at the drawn stage curtains – they were just behind them. He'd probably gotten a little better at that sort of thing with age.

A slew of titles raced through his head, most of them silly or unsuitable. He wasn't going to give it a human name like "Joe," but he also didn't want to invent a word himself. After a minute of this, the being's face shifted to an expression of boredom. And then it came to him. Out of nowhere, a flash of inspiration filled his mind; he had the perfect label.

"Auric." A smile crept across Phil's face as he said the word. None was more appropriate.

"Auric," it repeated, pondering the name. "I like it."

…

Hello! I got this update out a little quicker, which makes me feel good. I was very excited to finally write this, as the first meeting between Phil and Auric is something I've wondered how to handle for a long time, and I think I did it pretty well. Tell me what you think!

By the way, if anyone doesn't get it, "Auric" is a double entendre. On one hand, auric is an adjective used to describe gold. On the other, it relates to the concept of metaphysical auras, which Auric also has control of. I apologize if that was unnecessary, but I just wanted to be clear about it.