June 23rd, 1991, 5:23 PM:
"Mmhhh..."
Michael groaned, eyes wearily cracking open.
As he woke, he was suddenly aware of how horribly his body was aching, feeling as if every bone were broken and every inch of skin bruised.
His eyes scrunched closed again at the pain and he breathed in stale air... Or maybe it wasn't the air that felt off. Something else felt wrong. Where was he?
He'd been outside... he'd felt sick, horribly sick... and Henry was there?
...That couldn't be right.
'Before that...' he thought deeply. 'What happened before that?'
Michael gasped, eyes fluttering open as his last memory from Rentals crossed his mind.
He stared up at a familiar ceiling as he remembered cold metal cords that bound his arms and legs, wrapped around him like terrible snakes as a figure beyond grey glass activated a trigger that pulled him into darkness.
A cold sweat gripped him as he felt the phantom sensation of the scooper striking his abdomen like a viper. His arms quaked where they lay motionless at his sides, eyes warily beginning to examine the room he lay in. He recognized it to be his bedroom while he slowly started to recall what happened next, forcing himself to try and sit up.
Cold, and darkness. A multitude of voices seeming to weave in and out of his mind, some he thought he recognized.
But he hadn't any control.
What happened?
His eyes wandered, spotting boxes of bandages and water bottles on his nightstand as well as a plethora of other care-items, wondering how he'd gotten back home... maybe what he thought he remembered was real, after all. Michael shuddered, recalling something that had been expelled from his stomach when he suddenly realized how much his throat was burning.
He tried further to push himself to a sitting position, leaning on the wall for support with a strained grunt, but even that effort was draining and he lay against it, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out how he was going to get out of his bed.
He breathed, feeling his energy slowly slipping from him again, and he closed his eyes, feeling the cool wall against his cheek. He hadn't the motivation to open them again as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway.
"Michael...?"
The boy's eyes blearily cracked open again. He knew that voice.
"Henry..?" He questioned in a cracked whisper, confused. Through blurry vision, he saw a blonde-headed man approaching beside him on the bed, feeling a hand comb through his hair tenderly.
"Oh my goodness-" Henry spoke. Michael thought he could hear a tone of disbelief in his voice. "You're awake," the man continued in a relieved tone.
"What... are you doing down here..." the boy inquired breathily, every word requiring more effort than what was conceivably necessary.
"To check on you," Henry said obviously with a scoff. "And it's a good thing I did. You might have died."
"Feels like I'm dead," Michael retorted with a painful cough. It felt as though tar were clinging to his esophagus like a sticky goop.
He tried to swallow back whatever fluid was in his mouth, but that resulted only in more coughing that forced him to double over as dark spittle stained his clothes. Henry's hand held his shoulder, keeping him steady until the spasm stopped before one arm looped under his knees and hoisted him to the air gently to reposition him back onto the mattress.
"What happened..." he murmured in a slur as he felt a cold rag dabbing his forehead with pillows now propped behind him before Henry sat in a chair by the bed.
"That's precisely what I've been wanting to ask you," he said in a low voice.
Michael frowned, hearing what was unmistakably a hint of suspicion and maybe even frustration in his tone.
"I came down here and hadn't yet reached the house when I found you doubled over on the road, puking up pieces of machinery," the man elaborated flatly, and he sighed, leaning back with a tight frown, hands clutching the towel in his lap. "I don't know how you survived. You looked dead. You should have been dead."
Michael grimaced as his head began to throb. "What are you talking about...?"
Henry's sharp eyes met his, looking at him almost in disbelief at the boy's presence. "Your skin was purple, Michael. You were missing bits of your flesh. There was blood coating half of your body. And yet, you were walking, until you collapsed. Here you are, talking to me with little trace of your condition only days ago."
The boy's headache appeared to be growing.
"H-Henry, you're not making any sense..." he trailed off, brow furrowed as he gazed at the man beside him. Henry proceeded to scoff, tapping his chest with both hands.
"Oh, I'm not making any sense?" He cried incredulously. "I came rushing down here when Laura confessed to me that the two of you had faked your college admission- faked it- I expected to find you hurt or worse when she explained that you'd stopped returning her calls without reason, refusing to answer mine, and I then find my son limping down the road looking no better than roadkill! I'm not making any sense?!"
Michael winced at the man's tone, feeling self-hate and guilt swirling within him like a terrible whirlpool. It was clear that Henry was just anxious for his safety, but the words still stung... and rightfully so.
"I just..." the man trailed, apparently at a loss for words.
Michael averted his gaze, biting his lip anxiously as he heard Henry give a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hesitantly glanced down at his arms. A few bandages lay wrapped around them both in various places, skin slightly discolored.
The man took notice.
"It's looking a lot better than it did even yesterday," he breathed in a tired tone. Michael looked at him questioningly with a narrowed brow.
"I don't know how to explain... I only half believe what I saw." He leaned forward, carefully tightening one of the wraps. "It was like you died but were still walking. You looked... decomposed. You had lacerations and holes all over... presumably from the metal pieces that had been in your body."
Michael felt as though he were listening to someone recounting a horrible dream, not able to sympathize with such an image or reality. The man continued.
"A... mass of machinery came out of your mouth. It somehow wound up in a storm drain, I didn't bother to go after it. You'd passed out; but I thought you dead," he spoke lowly, eyes unfocused before he sighed wearily, drawing a hand over his face. "And Charlie insisted on taking you home-"
"What-?" Michael interrupted, not understanding who he could have been talking about. "Who?"
At that, Henry gave a small, dry smile, apparently sympathizing with Michael's questioning. "Charlie. My daughter? I believe you caught a glimpse of her before you blacked out."
Michael's mouth opened in shock at the man's admittance, thinking back to his small moment of consciousness days prior- but the few images he remembered didn't seem to match. Recognizing his confusion, Henry continued.
"She looks different than you remember."
Mike maintained a bewildered expression, so the man sighed. "Charlotte..." he said softly, head turning slightly to his shoulder. "How about you come out so this boy doesn't think I'm mad."
Michael's eyes followed the direction Henry was looking, widening in surprise as he spotted a figure he'd missed in a shadowy corner of the room. Dark orbs looked back at him, as if considering him before emerging from the darkness. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
It was the puppet he'd found on the kitchen table not even a week ago. But full size, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, a human figure, and two white lights in her black eyes for pupils.
Her feet didn't touch the ground.
"Hello, Michael," she greeted quietly, hovering behind Henry. "It's been a while."
The boy just stared with an open mouth. He knew that voice. It was unmistakable.
Charlie.
"W-What-" he stuttered in disbelief. Henry maintained his dry expression.
"You're not the only anomaly here, sport. And no, you're not dreaming, either," he assured him in a calmly.
"Anoma- what is going on?!" Michael protested, head pounding from the sheer inconceivability of the situation. He could swear the marionette laughed, a dry, raw cadence barely audible enough for him to hear. "Is this really so shocking for you?" She giggled raspily. "After everything you've put together so far?"
The boy's brow narrowed, eyes open wide as he considered that.
"B-But Charlie died- she wouldn't be talking to me right now," he mumbled shakily.
She tilted her head. "By that logic, you and I are in the same boat." Michael scoffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "N-No, no- no, this is crazy- last I remember, I was in-"
"-the Rentals?" Henry interrupted in a flat tone. The boy felt what little color there was drain from his face, heart stopping. Uh-oh. The man knew. And by his expression, it was obvious he knew Michael felt he was in some trouble.
Henry's eyes narrowed with crossed arms, observing him. "Yes, Laura was quick to tell me that too, realizing what kind of danger you'd gotten yourself into. Care to explain why you lied again and proceeded to go directly against what I had asked? Because it must have been very important for you to be dishonest twice," he spoke in a sarcastically crisp voice, indicating his vexation.
"U-Um..." Michael trailed in a cracked voice, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, almost like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I-It's hard to explain..." he mumbled lamely.
"Lucky we have time, then." Henry said flatly, killing any hopes the boy had of delaying this conversation.
Michael dropped his head, turning to look at the wall. "I..." he trailed. "I wanted... answers..."
The man paused. "Answers to what..?"
He frowned, staring at the patterned surface as self-disappointment fell over him like a heavy blanket. He felt so pathetic as he sighed, contemplating his answer. "I was looking for Dad." He finally said in a low, monotonous voice.
He heard Henry take a sharp inhale, and his eyes scrunched closed, hands kneading into the quilt covering him, feeling absolutely, and totally ashamed of himself.
"W-What would you want to- and why now-? Why didn't you tell me?" He questioned in a stutter, tone riddled with shock.
Michael frowned, eyes opening as he looked at the wall. "Why do you think..." he mumbled. "I'm not supposed to miss him. We both know what he did."
He caught the reflection of Charlie's crossed arms dropping in the window above the bed, her cherry-colored lips parting at his words. Henry sighed regretfully.
"O-Oh, Mike..." he murmured in a soft, broken tone. "I'm so sorry."
The boy felt his eyes glaze, mouth tightening at the lump in his throat. He was such an idiot. He didn't need that man when he had the one beside him, caring for him like his father should've. What more was he looking for? What was he seeking in someone he knew to be a monster?
Answers, maybe. To the millions of questions stirring in his head.
Silence passed in the room for a minute before Charlie's voice interrupted it.
"...Did you find him?" She asked hesitantly.
Michael caught sight of Henry's hands tensing in his lap before he nodded slowly. "In an old pizzeria near Richfield." He said monotonously. He sensed the two exchange a glance. "The second location..." Charlie murmured contemplatively. "I thought I'd left him for dead."
"Guess not," he mumbled. "He was spry as ever." He hesitated a few moments before speaking again. "But spring-locked," he added.
"Spring-locked?" Henry questioned aloud as Michael forced himself to sit up, facing them.
"That sounds right," Charlie acknowledged thoughtfully, tapping her chin as the boy leaned against the wall. "He tried to hide in the Bonnie suit, but it backfired. We thought it killed him... that's why the others were able to move on."
Michael looked at her, brow furrowed. "Others?" He asked.
Henry eyed the boy wearily. "Those children you heard about- specifically the ones that went missing. They were haunting some animatronics of mine and your fathers. Dana witnessed it first-hand," he answered, arms crossing over his chest. Michael goggled at him. "W-What's Dana got to do with this?" He questioned, surprised that she too was wrapped up in this.
"A lot more than you'd think. I met her investigating Charlie's death; she helped me case your father's crimes," Henry answered.
"You told me you guys met at a work convention!"
The man shrugged. "We didn't want you to have to know about all of this. Not that that worked out for us, though."
Michael rolled his eyes, feeling some strength finally stirring in his limbs as he turned, putting his back to the wall. "Not really. But I deserved to know, didn't I...?"
Henry sighed, glancing at Charlie who'd turned her head to the window, arms folded tightly over her chest. "Perhaps. I didn't want to cause you further harm, which is why we chose to keep this a secret. Perhaps you deserved to know, but... we were trying to protect you. Though, in the end, I suppose all we really did was drive you to this because we kept you in the dark," he said lowly, in a regretful tone.
Silence fell in the room, the three too deep in thought to break it. Michael picked at a stray line of thread on the quilt draped over his knees, rolling it between his fingers anxiously.
"Though..." Henry murmured after a minute. "That doesn't excuse your sneaking about with this."
The boy frowned. "...I know."
The man waited another moment, studying him with crisp blue eyes. "And I expect the full truth about what's happened down here and why you left. The full story."
Michael sighed. "I know."
Henry gazed at him for a few minutes as the boy hung his head, a frown at his mouth before breaking the quiet a second time.
"But..." he started softly. "I'll answer any questions you have." Michael looked up as he spoke, mouth opening in surprise. He watched as the man offered a solemn expression. "As you said. You deserve to know," he admitted. The boy nodded slowly before looking down at his knees, mind spinning with what he wanted to ask- there was so much.
"Could you start from the beginning?" Henry questioned before he could voice as such.
Michael glanced at him and swallowed. He took a deep breath, pushing the shame lingering inside him to the back of his head before nodding once. "I came across a notebook on your desk last year..." he started nervously, not able to meet the man's gaze.
"I wasn't trying to snoop or anything, really- but I saw something about my dad in it. I was curious, so... I paged through it, and... you know..." he paused, staring at a pattern on the quilt. "A lot of things started piecing together about what happened to my family. I wanted the truth."
He sighed, hands tensing as they toyed with the dark blanket covering him. "...Not that it's any excuse."
Michael grasped the covers, glancing at Henry whose gaze was to the floor, expression full of contemplation before he swallowed, continuing.
"I didn't think you'd like the idea of me investigating it. So, I came up this stupid idea to come here and pretend to be going to school so I could look into things. I told Laura about it, and she kept trying to convince me to tell you, but I just... didn't listen," he trailed regretfully with a frown. "I applied to work at the last place murders were reported at a Fazbear location; they turned it into a haunted attraction thing. I got a job as a nightguard."
He could peripherally see Henry looking up at him. He couldn't find it within himself to return it.
"Nothing turned up for a few nights until I went to check something out in one of the back hallways..." he trailed. He paused.
His eyes caught the sun disappearing over the roofs of houses through the window, the yellow light piercing his eyes.
He frowned, continuing. "...That's when I ran into dad." He recalled his father's fingers wrapped around his throat with surprising strength, and his jaw tensed. "I could hardly believe it was him at first, he looked dead. I still don't get how he was alive. He'd been trapped in a saferoom since the day I ran from home."
He sensed Henry and Charlie exchanging glances. "Was he... still wearing the Bonnie costume?" The girl posed hesitantly. The boy glanced at her and nodded once.
"Yeah. It wasn't in good shape, though."
Henry scoffed. "I believe it. The only question is... how is he still alive?" He asked slowly, gaze turning to Charlie.
"Don't look at me- I had nothing to do with it!" the girl replied defensively, raising her hands. "There's no way I'd keep that piece of filth alive."
"I know, I know..." the man reassured. "I only wondered if you knew anything about it." Henry's eyes turned to Michael who appeared zoned-out, staring at the bedsheets.
"Mike..?" He asked.
He blinked, looking up. "Y-Yeah?"
Henry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, studying the boy's expression. "Can I ask what you were doing at the Rentals?"
"U-Um-" he stuttered as Charlie turned to face him again. "W-Well... dad sent me..."
The man's brow furrowed, sharp eyes focusing on him. "He sent you? Why?" Michael swallowed, picking at the quilt. "The pizzeria was burning down and he thought he wouldn't make it... he told me to go there to find Elizabeth. He told me to 'put her back together,'" he murmured quietly, mind wandering back to Baby's betrayal. Some payback that was.
"Elizabeth... your sister?" Charlie questioned from the corner of the room. Michael nodded.
"I don't understand what she'd have to do with this; she's been dead for some time," Henry spoke lowly. "And why there? What about the Rentals is significant?"
"She died there," Michael spoke flatly with a frown. "It'd been her favorite place..." he trailed, eyes flicking up to meet those of the man sitting across from him. "Henry, you asked me last week if I believed in ghosts. You said that everything that happened that year made you believe it... you found out then that hauntings exist, didn't you?"
The man's blue eyes turned to his tiredly. "I did when I realized my daughter was trying to fix this all on her own," he answered, and the girl looked down almost ashamedly, dark hair falling over her face.
"And... those kids, the ones that my father murdered..."
"Susie Harding, Fritz Todd, Jeremy Drake..." Charlie recited lowly, not looking up. "Gabriel Brown. I knew them. They haunted the animatronics at Freddy's."
Michael's mouth tightened. "And you're haunting this animatronic, the one your dad made you."
"...Yes."
The boy exhaled deeply, sorting through the mass of information in his head. "Dad... admitted he was trying to bring Evan back, somehow. I think he tried to do that through his victims- Elizabeth, her death, he didn't mean for her to die, but the design of those machines proved he was still trying to kill..."
His eyes narrowed as things began to come together. "He was trying to figure out how hauntings worked..."
"And in the process..." Henry murmured, coming to the same realization. "Subjected Elizabeth to that fate, necessitating her rescue."
Michael nodded, breathing deepening as he recalled the events that followed the burning of Fazbear Frights. "I got hired as a night-manager and had to work with the animatronics every night. I talked to Baby, a lot- she was sentient enough to communicate," he spoke, catching Henry's bewildered expression.
"It was like she wasn't entirely... machinery. She saved my life a few times, even. I suspected something else had to be going on, I didn't really want to believe it was supernatural," he explained slowly, pondering his actions from that long week. He bit his lip nervously, hands entwining with one another. "Henry... I wasn't honest about those fainting spells I've been having..." he admitted quietly, and the man lifted his head, eyes narrowed in confusion.
"When it started in the winter, it was nothing, but... then I started seeing things when I passed out. Like visions," he muttered, recalling the many images he'd witnessed over the last year.
His mouth thinned, hands trembling as he began to speak a little faster. "But the last few months, they've been more vivid. I saw my dad when I went out on my birthday. I-I know it sounds crazy, but-"
"Mike," Henry interrupted, hand on the boy's shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see the sympathetic look on his face. "It's okay. I believe you."
Michael studied the man's expression for a moment, realizing he'd been worried of what he'd think. He nodded stiffly, thinking about how he needed to do better at trusting him... the incidents as of late proved as much.
"T-They..." he started in a whisper. "They don't feel like dreams. They feel so real. I can't be making them up."
He sighed as Henry's hand relinquished, eyes opening as he remembered his recent night in the kitchen.
"I didn't want to believe Elizabeth was trapped down there in that thing," he spoke, the words falling from his mouth without really thinking of what they were. "But... one of the last nights, I fainted again a-and..."
He stared forward at the wall with a parted mouth, the faded blue pigment staring back at him eerily. He could almost see the kitchen spinning again, could almost feel himself sinking to the floor in a disoriented heap while Henry and Charlie waited patiently for an answer. "A-And, I..." he murmured quietly, the strangeness of the occurrence becoming clearer as he recalled it aloud.
"And I saw... dad... when he'd realized Elizabeth was trapped..." he whispered. "I heard her."
Charlie gazed at him with a small frown, brow furrowed and arms relaxing, an expression of recognition on her face.
"You saw his memory?" She asked.
"I think so..."
The girl raised a hand, cupping her chin with one arm braced over her torso, eyes narrowing in thought. "Is that possible?" Henry asked hesitantly, looking up at her with a similar expression. "I mean..." Charlie started quietly. "I've been able to create illusions. But I've never inspired images in people's heads... that doesn't mean it's not possible, but..." she trailed before sighing. "I don't know."
Michael looked at the two, hands clutching the bedsheets tightly, face drawn into an anxious expression as silence passed between them.
"D-Do you believe me...?" He posed gingerly after a minute, voice wavering in a way that made his ears turn pink with embarrassment.
Henry looked up, sharp blue eyes meeting Michael's, and the man sighed, pausing before he spoke. "I believe that something beyond your control is influencing you, be that good or bad. I don't know what it is or why it's happening to you, but... yes," he answered. Charlie gave an approving nod, arms once again crossed over her chest and the boy gave a sigh of relief.
Henry tilted his head thoughtfully. "Did that- vision- spur you to do anything?" He inquired.
Michael swallowed, jaw tensing. "Y-Yeah..." he muttered. "I tried that night to get her out of there... but it backfired." He spoke bitterly, feeling a wave of betrayal and anger swirl within him like a sickening snake. A scowled frown pulled at his mouth, recalling the metal cords that had bound him in the underground in response to his gesture of safety.
"What happened?" Henry asked softly, sensing the boy's distress.
Michael tried to bite back the snarl on his face. "She- Elizabeth, Baby, whoever it was- lured me to the scooping room. The last thing I remember was her triggering it."
The man's eyes narrowed, a dangerous look flashing in them for a moment. "The scooping room- with the mechanism for dismantling animatronics- she used it on you?" He asked, an angry undertone simmering beneath his words.
"I guess she did," Michael muttered with a frown. He couldn't help but feel frustrated with himself over something he should have recognized as a trap.
Charlie had yet to say anything, eyes opened wider with some glaze of realization on her face, figure rigid and tense. "Michael..." she posed slowly. The boy looked at her questioningly. "Did you actually see Baby down there when you were attacked?"
"Well- she got scooped before then, I saw something that looked kinda like a fuller framework," he amended sheepishly. "She was talking to me, though. If I had to guess, it was her endoskeleton," he answered.
He and Henry exchanged a glance as the girl didn't reply.
"W-Why..?" He elaborated worriedly.
Charlie shuddered, eyes shut for a moment. "That explains the stuff you puked up," she answered simply. "She was trying to leave and needed a... disguise."
Michael's face paled, suddenly remembering Baby's words in those short moments before he'd been struck.
"If we looked like you, then we would have somewhere to go."
His face scrunched, eyes shutting closed tightly as he held back the urge to throw up. "Oh. Yeah. That's what she meant," he mumbled in a strained voice, feeling queasy. "She wanted to wear me like a Halloween costume. What a nice idea."
"Oh my word..." he heard Henry murmur in a similarly nauseated tone. "And now she's out doing heaven-knows-what."
Michael finally opened his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Also explains why I looked so gross. Doesn't explain how I'm okay now, though," he spoke, hand moving to pry up one of his bandages to view a healing laceration. "Or whether Elizabeth was really there or not."
"There are still a lot of things that need explaining," Henry said tiredly. "Why Charlie hasn't moved on with the other souls, for instance," he exemplified, and she gave an affirmative nod. "How your father is alive, or why you've been seeing things like you have."
"But..." he trailed with a long sigh, checking his watch. "I think maybe we'll worry about that tomorrow. You need some food."
Michael raised an eyebrow before realizing it'd likely been over a week since he'd last eaten- it was an odd realization. Henry caught his expression, standing as he offered a joking smile.
"You've somehow lost weight," he spoke, starting to the door while Charlie hovered in place. "But we'll get something down you, just as soon as-" he said, stopping himself just outside the hallway. "Oh, hello, dear," he greeted, apparently speaking to someone Michael couldn't see.
He thought he heard a familiar voice beyond his room as the man nodded. "Yes, he's awake- go in, I'm sure he's anxious to see you," Henry said, stepping aside to reveal a woman on the other side of the door.
She stepped inside, emerald-green eyes meeting his and her mouth dropped, a small cardboard box falling from one lithe hand to the carpet.
"Michael?"
He couldn't help but smile.
"Hey, Laura..."
WELCOME BACK, AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN, DEAR FNAFERS!
Hey, everyone! So good to be back. I'm very excited to finish the final installment of this series that's been in progress for three years now- it's crazy to think it's gone this far! I had no idea how successful The Man Behind the Slaughter would be, and it's all thanks to you readers. You guys are awesome.
On a different note, updates for this book will likely be further spaced apart as my school schedule's become much busier (thanks, college life), but I intend to finish this thing no matter what! WE'VE GOT THIS!
