The third door in the room with three doors creaked open as Jessica practically threw herself inside. Immediately, she was hit by an awful stench. Her hand flew to her nose as she tried her best to keep her stomach in check. The stench in this room was unbearable like something had crawled in here to die. With watering eyes, Jessica began moving through the room.

"Do you smell that, Kyle?" she asked. There was no answer. With widened eyes, she turned behind her. He wasn't there. "Kyle? Where are you?" Panic began to set in. Had he run in another direction? She hoped not. The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere in the building by herself. Her anxiety was heightened when she heard the loud thudding of the creature just outside the door. With a small shriek, she turned and moved further into the room, trying to ready herself for a quick escape. Her heart was practically leaping out of her chest and her breathing was sporadic. She could hear a loud thudding. She reached the thick metal door on the other side of the room and yanked the doorknob. It moved an inch before stopping. "No, it can't be locked! No!" she cried, yanking on it for dear life. It wouldn't budge. She turned around slowly, half anticipating the demonic-looking monster to be charging toward her. To her great relief, there was nothing there. As she tried her best to slow her breathing, she realized that the thudding she had been hearing while she ran was her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

"At least I'm not trapped," she said, remembering there was more than one way to go back where she came. As she calmed her breathing, the smell came back to her and she quickly pinched her nose. "Seriously, what is that?"

The room was absolutely cluttered, more than any of the other rooms she'd seen. There were boxes of papers, old bolts, even some strange chemicals. It was amazing that what was clearly supposed to be a horror attraction in the middle of nowhere was so disorganized.

What, did something happen to him? It looks like his life fell apart after he built this place. Oh, who am I kidding? His life was always a mess!

She began working her way back toward the door, amazed that she had run right around most of this stuff without realizing in her panic. She couldn't tell what the smell was, but it seemed to be growing fouler and fouler with each passing second. She had to get out of here, but she couldn't just walk back into the previous room unless she was sure that the beast wasn't in there. It was certainly an odd place...a building with a large radio antenna in the middle of nowhere that gave off the appearance of an abandoned radio tower but on the inside looked like a haunted house, both of which masqueraded its true purposes: to torment and even kill kidnapped children. Jessica couldn't help but wonder how many children had been brought here and forced to run through this maze of terror. Could Michael have been one of them? Or even Charlie? The thought brought tears to her eyes but she shook them away.

Focus, Jessica. Right now, there are other things to worry about.

She felt something against her hip and before she could do anything, a box fell to the ground with a loud crash. She stood silently in horror, holding her breath listening for the thumping footsteps of the beast. After about fifteen seconds, she heard nothing. As she bent down to inspect the contents of the crate-like box, she was suddenly overwhelmed by its stench.

"This is what's been causing that horrible smell!" she whispered, covering her nose. "Ew!"

It looked like a glass jar broke and a brown, murky liquid was leaking onto the floor. It looked like beet juice, only thicker and more sludge-like. Against her better judgment, she turned the crate upright and peeked inside. There was a mostly-undisturbed row of similar jars at the bottom. While not that big or heavy, the box still looked big enough to have once housed a few more rows of the stuff, but only a few had fallen out and broken. Jessica wondered what they could possibly be used for.

As she made to turn away, something caught her eye. Sandwiched between one of the jars and the inside wall of the box was a piece of paper. Curious, she carefully pulled it out, taking extra caution to not even touch the jars. It was an old note that showed definite signs of its age: yellowing paper, fading ink, and tears along the edges. There was a faded but still legible message.

Will,

As you requested, here's our latest work. I'm not sure why you suddenly need this so badly. Based on what you told me, those animatronic suits your partner made sound perfectly safe to me. But hey, it's your decision.

Anyway, this is our newest creation, fresh from our labs. It's a unique combination of adrenaline boosters, blood coagulants, and all the other bells and whistles you'd expect from such a mixture, only we've greatly modified the dosages to work much faster and stronger than anything we've made before. We've also provided you with a syringe and needle with all of the instructions on how to dose this stuff on a daily basis. Should anything happen with those suits, this should keep your body functioning long enough to get help.

However, I must warn you, my friend: there have been some concerns about some infectious side effects. We tested some on Pedro last month after he somehow got a knife to go through his hand. His initial healing process went very well. We were quite pleased, but since then, he's lost about twenty pounds and his face is looking much paler. He's also been having some bad vomiting episodes. We think some of the chemicals we introduced may have some unforeseen reactions with metal. And before you ask, the knife was a kitchen knife, so it was clean. Of course, it could be a coincidence, given some of his habits (you know the ones), but honestly, if I were you, I'd try to avoid putting myself in any situation where I'd need to use this stuff. In the event of complete body implement, it may buy you some time, but it still probably won't save you in the long run unless you find some other way to enhance it, and that may worsen the side effects. Personally, I don't think it's worth it. But again, it's your decision.

Take care, my friend, and be careful.

Ramirez.

Jessica shook her head. Taking another glance down at the undamaged jars, she couldn't help but suddenly step back. Knowing their connection to Afton and his plight, she suddenly wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

It didn't make sense. Charlie had mentioned the spring locks and their dangers many times, and they had all witnessed it first hand when she allegedly killed Dave, the disguised Afton, at the end of their first night of terror at Freddy's. He looked awfully thin and pale, then, and Carlton had mentioned the scars all over his body. She could've sworn she'd even caught a glimpse of a few herself here and there. Obviously, Afton already had experience being nearly killed by the suit. But when had it originally happened?

Is this really what kept Afton alive after all these years? she wondered. But the letter said that complete body impalement would still most likely be fatal. With hesitation, she thought back to that awful moment in Circus Baby's, listening to the wheelchair-bound Afton gloating over his masterpiece, staring down at the lump of animatronic on the table, which was writhing in unspeakable agony. Its core was orange, a glowing light of the mysterious remnant of Afton's design. It was the same material that Carlton described that had been injected directly into his heart. Surely that was much more than a simple chemical mix that he'd imported. She shook her head. What did Afton do?

Suddenly from nearby came a loud crash that echoed from the doorway. She jumped and let out a small shriek.

What was that?!

The sound of a siren began blaring through the hall. She cupped her hands over her ears. It sounded a lot like the fire alarm at her high school. As soon as the thought entered her mind, the unmistakable smell of smoke came through the open doorway from which she came, accompanied by an intense burst of heat. Her eyes widened.

"Kyle!"

She made her way back over to the door as quickly as she could, tripping over things as she went. She emerged into the room with the three doors only to see that the other two were no longer there. Instead, she was looking into a wall of burning rubble that was completely blocking access to where she and Kyle had been only minutes before.

"Kyle?" She squinted her eyes, trying to see through the smoke and flames. She heard a groaning sound coming from above her. She glanced up at the ceiling and noticed that the intact part above her was bending down toward her.

"Kyle! Where are you?" she called again, much louder. "Kyle!"

"Jessica?"

"Kyle?" Her eyes darted nervously through the burning debris, trying in vain to locate the source.

"Jessica!"

"Kyle? Is that you?"

"I'm here! Can you see me?"

He stood up on her toes, trying her best to see over the barrier now separating them. Between the debris, flames, and thickening smoke, it was hard to make out anything specific in the rubble.

"No, I can't! What happened?!" she cried.

"I don't know. That thing cornered me and I guess I panicked. Next thing I know, there's a fire!"

"How did it happen?"

"I may have shot at the thing with my flare gun."

"What?! Why did you do that?"

"I don't know, Jessica! Like I said, I panicked! Look, I'll be fine. Go get John and signal Clay outside. Take the gun."

"What about you? What about Sam?" she protested.

"I'll find my own way out!" Kyle shouted as a piece of metal fell from the ceiling onto the burning debris pile between them, causing the flames to surge upward. "I'll be fine, Jessica. I'll try and find Sam, too, unless he already found his way out. Just go! We need to tell Clay where we are. Take the flare gun. I'll slide it to you."

"But-"

She was interrupted by something emerging from beneath the rubble and hitting her feet. She bent down and picked it up.

"Just go, Jessica. I'll be fine! Grab John, signal Clay!"

"Be careful!" she shouted back through the flames as she heard the sound of footsteps running away. She looked down at the orange plastic pistol in her hands. It felt warm like he had been gripping it tightly.

A low rumbling noise came from above her. She looked up and saw the ceiling beginning to dip above her. With a frantic breath, she turned back to the door from which they originally came and sprinted toward it, barely crossing the threshold before a loud crash came from behind her. She turned back to see the room she had been in seconds before now completely filled with a mess of parts. Despite her panic, she let out a small chuckle.

"And they said only track runners can be fast. How was that, Mom?" she said, a brief moment of relief that was soon replaced with somberness once again. "Good luck, Kyle."

She turned and continued moving back toward the entrance.

You're mine, Nightmare said again, a menacing grin on its face. As Sam continued staring into those white eyes, he could swear its shape was changing. No, it said, you're not losing your mind. At least not quite yet. How about I change into something a little more familiar?

Immediately, its shape began distorting and flexing in a mass of blackness. After a few moments, Sam could begin to distinguish certain features. It was familiar, but what was it? He saw rounded ears and a hat. Then came the big round eyes, nose, and hinged jaw. It looked the same as before, only this time, the fur was yellow. By the time the chest and bowtie began to take shape...

No, he thought.

Yes, Nightmare said, a hint of amusement in its voice. How do I look? Not too old and gross, I hope?

Sam took a step back. "You...you're not Fredbear." Had he said that already? He didn't remember.

No, I'm not...at least not as far as you think. Nightmare grin widened, its eyes flashing white.

"Get out of here," said Sam, gathering up as much courage and determination as he possibly could. "Get out of my life."

Nightmare laughed, a high-pitched, insane sound.

Get out of your life. You actually believe I take orders like that? You must be out of your mind. No, wait. You're trapped in your mind...with me.

"I'm not-"

"Sammy!"

Sam's eyes widened. That voice came from right behind him. Could it be?

He turned slowly. Standing only feet from him, clean and pampered with a smile on her face, was Charlie.

"Charlie? What are you-?"

"It's time to play, Sammy," she said, her voice distorting halfway through the sentence. Sam let out a wail as her eyes suddenly turned red and her teeth became crooked and pointed. Within a matter of seconds, her appearance had completely changed into that of a demonic-looking beast.

There was a flash of bright light. Sam shut his eyes, his injured brain crying out in severe pain as the ringing in his ears intensified greatly.

Make it stop. Make it stop, he thought desperately.

Suddenly, it did stop. There was dead silence. Sam was afraid to open his eyes. What would he see this time? Afton? Nightmare in another one of his frightening appearances? A deranged version of his father?

He jumped back a little when the sound of a nearby grandfather clock echoed from down a hallway. He knew that sound! It couldn't be...he couldn't be…?

His eyes slowly opened and he almost choked on his own breath. He was standing in none other than his bedroom, the same one he shared with Charlie, only she wasn't there. He was alone. It was nighttime, although there was some light from the moon coming in through the window, exactly like one would expect to see in a horror movie. The door was cracked ever-so-slightly, not enough to see outside by enough to hear.

He shook his head and reached up to feel his forehead, wondering how much he was sweating, when he noticed he suddenly had a flashlight in his hand.

"What is this?"

Thud.

He gasped. That sounded heavy. Heavy and familiar.

Thud.

He turned to the door behind him. It was getting closer.

Thud, thud, thud.

He let out an audible gasp as he heard the footsteps come from right outside the door. He ran over and grabbed the doorknob, listening intently for any sign of life on the other side. A large puff of air blew at him and he immediately shut the door, trying his best to keep it shut with his shaky hands. His breathing was rapid and irregular and sweat was pouring from his forehead like a river.

A dark, low laugh came from behind him. Turning frantically, he aimed the flashlight he had in his hand at the closet. The laugh came again, this time a little longer and deeper.

There's something in there! He charged at the closet and pulled it shut, briefly illuminating Nightmare's smiling face inside as he did so.

"What is this?" he asked aloud, hoping that someone or something would answer.

Another laugh, this time from back outside in the hall. He hurried back over and held the door shut, not even bothering to check outside.

"Get out of my head," he said. "I'm tired of these games."

"Sammy?"

It was Charlie's voice again. He turned with wide eyes. She was there, standing in front of her bed, her young tear-soaked eyes looking up at him, fixated on his face.

"Ch-Charlie? Is that really you?"

"I thought you loved me, Sammy!" she said, her young voice echoing through the halls.

"I do, Charlie. Please…" He reached out his arms.

"No!" she cried, moving away. "You let the bad man take me! It's your fault I'm dead! It's your fault Daddy's dead!"

"Charlie!" Sam cried. Tears were flooding down his face now. "Please, I love you."

"No, you don't! You didn't protect me! You never came back for me! It's all...your...fault!" Her voice greatly intensified on the last word, sounding thunderous to his ears making him jump back.

"Charlie…"

Without another word, she rushed past him and out the door.

"No, Charlie. Wait!" he cried, making a break for the door.

As he peeked out, he nearly screamed. It was Nightmare, no question about it, only much uglier. Its face had decayed from the blackened version of Fredbear it'd been masquerading as. Its jaw was sagging downward as if melted. Its ears were twisted, one bent backward at a slight angle. Its hat and bowtie were both lopsided and its eyes, while still white and piercing, were angry. Somehow, it looked even deranged than it already had.

Sam slammed the door shut with all his might and fell backward onto the ground. He covered his face, trying willfully to block out the noise of the thudding.

It's not real, he thought to himself. That wasn't Charlie. That wasn't real.

Yet his thunder heart and frantic breathing wouldn't stop. He tried in vain to calm himself in the wake of the impact that was surely coming.*

But it didn't come. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he saw that he was back in the same room he'd been in before. It took him a second to remember that he was still in Fazbear's Fright trying to get out. As he looked around, something was off.

"Where's the stage?" he asked. "And all of the other diner stuff?"

I told you, came Nightmare's sneering voice. It was all in your mind.

Sam turned and saw Nightmare standing a few feet away from him, more composed but still slightly more decayed than before.

"Leave me alone," Sam said weakly again, turning down to face the floor as he coughed. The air was getting thicker...and hotter. It smelled like smoke. Something was on fire.

Nightmare let out a low chuckle. It's time.

Kyle slowly stumbled his way back toward the center of the room. He hoped that Jessica was able to make it back to John okay. As for him...he hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Finding his own way out? Easier said than done. He was hoping that his optimism had been enough to convince Jessica to get out. There was nothing she or John could do for him now except signal Clay. Hopefully, they'd even get the firefighters' attention. He needed them. He couldn't do this by himself, finding Sam and getting out alive. He needed help. He wasn't going to allow his pride to get the better of him again, not like…

Focus, Kyle! Find Sam and get outta here!

He heard a loud crash behind him. He knew what it was. From what he was able to make out through the smoke, the ceiling above where Jessica had been looked like it was losing strength fast. He closed his eyes. Please, Jessica. Please tell me you made it outta there okay.

He continued moving as best as he could toward the center of the room. There had to be some vantage point from there, some way to see where else to go. Perhaps the door from earlier had been unblocked or there was a hole in the wall somewhere.

"Hello?"

He jumped in place and froze. It was that little boy's voice again from the speakers. But this one sounded close...very close. Only a few feet away.

Don't be there. Don't be there, you little robot kid.

Slowly, he turned his head. In the midst of the smoke was the distinguishable silhouette of a young child, eyes glowing.

"Hi!" This time, the voice sounded noticeably distorted. It was like the sound chip inside of him was damaged.

Okay, thought Kyle, not daring to make any sudden moves. It's just a small animatronic. It won't-

He heard a foul scream and saw it lunge at him, arms outstretched, ready to grab him.

It was a clear night. The school grounds were covered in colored leaves. Despite the partial cloud cover, the glowing crescent moon seemed as bright as a fresh bulb. The wind brought a chill as it rustled the jackets and dresses of those who decided to leave homecoming dance a little early. Many of them were the upperclassmen who decided they had more important things to do with their dates on such a beautiful Chicago night.

Kyle scanned the crowd. He didn't seem him anywhere. Where was he? There were only so many places that a young man in a simple shirt and tie could've gone. He wasn't anywhere in the gymnasium or the bathroom.

And then the thought came: Perhaps outside. Last I saw him, he looked bored out of his mind.

Kyle moved toward the doors and walked through the almost vacant halls and out the front doors. Sure enough, there he stood, staring up at the night sky, his light jacket covering his shirt and tie. Kyle moved up.

"You know, the ladies are getting a little antsy in there," he said with a chuckle. Sam said nothing, only continued to stare out at the sky. Kyle sighed. "Come on, Sam. Lighten up. I know it's been kind of hard for you, but it's been months, now. You gotta let Cyndi go. She's an airhead, anyway. Who cares about being rich or famous?"

Sam scoffed. "You're the one to talk."

"Sam, in case you haven't noticed, my circumstances haven't exactly helped me become the most popular guy in school for the last ten years." Kyle shook his head. "Seriously, leave Cyndi behind. If she needs to have a tall, strong football quarterback by her side to be pleased with herself, then she's not a woman worth pleasing."

Sam finally broke his gaze and turned to Kyle, an eyebrow raised.

"My dad told me that," said Kyle. "He's very inspirational about this stuff."

Sam shook his head, a smile starting to form on his face as he turned back to the sky. "Tell him I said thanks for the words of wisdom."

"Oh, I will. That'll probably make his day," Kyle laughed. "He loves you, Sam. You're like a second son to him, you know."

"So I've heard," said Sam.

"Hey, I'm only saying it because it's true. Now, come on. Let's get outta here and go cruise the city!"

Sam laughed. "Oh really? A couple of sophomores with no licenses...or cars, for that matter?"

"Hey, whatever I need to say to get you talking is fine with me," said Kyle. "Come on. Jimmy and Eric said we can head over to the studio and mess around a little bit."

Sam's face lit up as he turned to his friend, amazed. "You're serious?! Jimmy's uncle is actually letting us use his studio? For free?"

Kyle nodded. "That's right. We just gotta be outta there by nine, which is in…" He checked his watch, "...an hour and a half."

"Well, then. I'll call my mom and ask if she can maybe bring my guitar over. This is great! I'll be right back!"

Without another word, Sam turned and rushed inside. Kyle scoffed. He certainly knew how to get Sam's attention. Music always did the trick. It was good news for him, too. He had no more reason to be here than Sam did, but he figured if nothing else, it just might finally get Sam's mind off of the girl who dumped him several months earlier. If anything, it just made them both depressed. They were just two ugly fish in a sea of prettier ones. Kyle was the easy target and Sam was simply guilty by association. But it didn't matter. When Eric had stopped by to deliver the news, it put an end to the self-loathing. After a summer of waiting, their music career would finally begin. Kyle smiled as he looked up at the night sky. Yes, it was a good night after all.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of pain in his head. He found himself on his hands and knees, his mind reeling as he tried to process what had happened. After a few seconds, his vision cleared enough to see an empty beer bottle lying on the grass near his hand. Behind him came the unmistakable laugh of the three people he didn't want to see tonight.

"And down he goes!" laughed one of them. "Nice shot, Johnny!"

Kyle pushed himself aggressively off of the ground and turned to his attackers, fists clenched. "Yeah," he said boldly as he stared down the leader. "Nice shot indeed. Twelve years of practice and you finally managed to hit someone. Coach Thompson would be proud."

"Oh, shut up, Jackson," the jock retorted as his friends continued laughing. "Don't act like you're not humiliated."

"What are you even doing here?" Kyle asked. "I thought you said dances were for pansies with nothing better to do?"

"Easy targets like you," Johnny said with a laugh of his own. "What's the matter? Your boyfriend leave you here to rot in misery?"

Kyle's fists clenched even harder. He felt his nails digging into his palms and his hands shook.

"What about you? Your girlfriend finally realize she can have someone who doesn't smell like a dead fish in a gym locker?"

"You should return that book of comebacks to wherever you got it," said Johnny.

"I would, but I don't know where your mom lives nowadays," said Kyle with a smirk.

"Watch it," Johnny growled, closing the distance between them to a few feet, "'cause I'll beat some respect into that empty head of yours."

Kyle made a mocking face as if shocked by the threat. "Sorry. I promise I'll be much more considerate of you from now on whenever I watch Charge at Feather River. I'll even tip my hat during your arrow scene. I'm sure you made your parents proud."**

Johnny scowled. "Speaking of parents, how are yours doing?"

Kyle said nothing. Knowing Johnny Wilhelm, this could go a few ways.

"Are they still crying over your pathetic performance in school? Or the fact that you can't seem to find any friends other than that loser Anderson? Maybe they would've preferred a daughter, instead. Someone who could at least turn more heads with her looks like a cheap whore. After all, if you can't follow in Mommy and Daddy's footsteps, you gotta do something to make money, right? Maybe that's what they wanted from their only child?"

Kyle huffed, his hands visibly shaking, his nostrils flaring and his teeth clenched tight. "You know you spit a lot when you talk?"

"Oh, wait," said Johnny, holding up a finger in mock realization, his beer-scented breath much more evident the more he talked. "That's right. You weren't even supposed to be here at all. You're a mistake."

"Dude, don't go there," said Kyle.

"All that protection they had and you still managed to grace us all with your ugly face!"

"Shut up."

"What did your dad say? Did he blame himself or your mom? Whoever's fault was it that you were born, they owe the world a big apology!"

"Well you know, Johnny?" shouted Kyle. "At least my parents are happy together and I wasn't conceived in some lowlife rusty bar! Maybe you're the real disgrace here! No wonder your mother ran off with that millionaire stockbroker and left you with that disgusting alcoholic!"

The world suddenly flashed as Johnny's knuckles made contact with Kyle's jaw. He felt the rough unkempt cement dig into his hands as he spit a glob of blood onto the ground.

"Why you little..." came the voice above him, shaky and seething with rage. "I ought to break your arms and legs right here, right now."

"Go ahead and try," Kyle said, looking up at his attacker. "With your performance at the last game, I doubt you'll give me as much as a scratch."

Johnny leaped at him, but Kyle rolled to the side. Johnny's fist hit the ground and he screamed in pain. Taking his chance, Kyle stood up and kicked Johnny in the side, causing him to double over. Kyle attempted another kick, his mind screaming in a blind fury, but felt four strong hands grab his arms and hold him steady as the angry jock stood up to face him. Kyle struggled against the guy holding him still, but they wouldn't loosen their grip.

"I think it's long overdue that you learn to show us some respect, Jackson," Johnny muttered, gripping the front of Kyle's shirt and pulling him forward, their faces inches from each other. "This one's from my father." He punched Kyle square in the left cheek. "This one's from my mother." An identical punch on the right side. "And this one…" Johnny laughed. "This one's from me."

He pulled his arm back far. Kyle closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable punch.

Suddenly, Johnny let out another cry of pain. Kyle felt himself drop to the ground. Before he could push himself up, a shoe struck his head and caused the world to flash once more. His vision blurred, and all he could hear from above him was the commotion of a scuffle.

"Not this time, Johnny!" came James' voice.

"Yeah, that's it. You better run!" That was Eric.

Next thing he knew, Kyle felt himself being dragged across the ground. He looked up to see Sam's angry face staring back down at him, blood coming from his nose.

"You're a real idiot, you know that?" he said forcefully. "I told you a hundred times not to get dragged into anything with him. You just HAD to provoke him, didn't you?"

Kyle opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had no words. In all of the demeaning exchanges he and Johnny Wilhelm had ever had, this topped it all. He had never felt so much rage toward anyone in his entire life. He looked over at the scene, where teachers and other administrators who'd heard the commotion were pulling everyone apart. James and Eric looked a little roughed up, but nothing too major. Johnny and his friends likewise had some scratches and bruises but looked fine otherwise. Sam, on the other hand, looked like he had taken a good punch in the face, and Kyle couldn't imagine how he must look. His head was pounding and his arms and legs felt like they were made of pudding.

Johnny and his friends were escorted inside, and Johnny's eyes looked vengeful as he passed. Now that the heat of the moment was long past, Kyle began to tremble as he replayed the events in his mind.

What did I do?

Within minutes, Sam and Kyle found themselves sitting on a bench being looked over by the school nurse.

"Alright, Anderson. You've got some bruises, but you'll be alright. Jackson, you might need to be checked out at a hospital to make sure you don't have any brain damage. Both of your parents are on the way."

Kyle's heart sank. He knew he would be punished, but he didn't care. He was more worried about Sam. Before he could say anything, Sam said in a light voice:

"I'm dead."

He buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe this! Why did you do that?" came his muffled voice.

Kyle groaned, his head still ringing. "But he said-"

Sam looked up. "His usual crap, I know, but then you just had to keep running your mouth, too, didn't you?" Sam's voice was loud, rough, and a bit strained. "Is it really that impossible to keep your mouth shut and just walk away?! I told you I hate having to pull you away from him! This time, we're done for."

"You don't know that," said Kyle optimistically. "Maybe they'll understand. Everyone knows Johnny Wilhelm. Maybe we can convince them it was self-defense."

"SAMUEL!"

The voice made them both jump. Moving swiftly yet boldly toward them, menacingly, like the grim reaper, was Sam's mother. Her mouth was quivering. Her eyebrows were drooped into a frown so low it looked like she was fighting gravity to keep them up. And her eyes...they looked like two deadly hurricanes about to strike. Kyle shifted nervously in his seat, not wanting to look, but afraid to take his eyes off of the new threat.

"M-Mom," stammered Sam. "Look, I-I can explain."

"Yes, you will. In fact, you'll be seeing a lot of me more for the next few weeks!" said Hannah, her voice booming across the yard and reverberating off of trees and walls. She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the car. "Say goodbye to Kyle, Sammy."

Sam turned and gave Kyle the angriest look he'd ever seen from him. In those few seconds of eye contact, Kyle saw anger, humiliation, and even betrayal. In the weeks that followed, it wouldn't be the three-day suspension or the month-long grounding that would plague Kyle's mind. It would be none other than that look.

"Sam," he said softly as he watched them drive off into the night. "I'm sorry."

A siren broke the silence as he turned and squinted into a bright light, holding a hand up to shield his eyes as he made out his parents approaching him with ambulance lights flashing behind them.

"Warning. Ventilation offline. Reset system not responding."

Kyle found himself lying on the ground, his head resting on the wall where he had fallen. He glanced around the room, his head still spinning as the alarms blared and lights flashed.

"Oh, yeah. Still in the horror house."

He slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, though his arms and legs felt weak. Either his body was also reliving the memory or the smoke was starting to seriously affect him. Either way, he found it hard to keep his balance. He rested one hand on the wall and put another to his forehead. He realized he was sweating, too.

"No, I can't. Not until I find Sam."

He began moving further into the room, struggling to regain his composure. The smoke was fogging his vision, making it increasingly difficult to see too far ahead of him. The best he could do was go step-by-step. He couldn't even tell where in the room he was anymore, though he figured he had to be somewhere in the middle because even with his vision quality worsening, he could occasionally see beyond a few feet and no walls were visible.

A sudden urge to cough overcame him and he stopped near a support beam, retching and gagging as his system tried to clear the carbon monoxide from his lungs. He leaned against the support beam, his body collapsing on it stronger than he anticipated. He was getting weaker much faster than he thought. He needed to get out of here. There had to be some other way to go. He tried peering through the smoke for anything of importance, anything that could help him, but he saw nothing. An awful gut feeling dropped like a stone in his stomach.

What if this is it? What if this is how I die? Trapped in a burning building looking for my best friend? This is how we die.

He slumped further down against the support beam, almost completely on the floor now. He needed air. His lungs felt like they were on fire, consuming him from the inside out. To make matters worse, the roaring inferno near the entrance was rising and spreading faster than he'd ever seen. It was like it was being fed all of the air it needed to continue growing.

Wait a minute!

He looked up. There was an air vent above him. He followed it along the ceiling as best as he could through the black smoke until he eventually found a grate on it near the corner of the room.

Maybe that's my way out of here!

He began slowly making his way over toward the corner, eyes on the grate trying his best not to lose it in the smoke. He tripped over things, and into old shelves, and even had to duck away from a burst of flame that shot at him after something fell into it from the roof nearby.

I hope I didn't get singed! Kyle held a hand to his face. That would be a nightmare to explain to Mom and Dad!

After what felt like hours, he found himself staring up at the vent grate above him. He looked around for a box or shelf, anything that he could climb on. There was a shelving unit nearby that looked supported enough. He stumbled over to it and placed a hand on one of the shelves. It was hot, but not unbearable. It would work.

He placed both of his hands on the shelf and lifted a foot onto one below. As he hoisted himself upward, he noticed two red dots on the other side of the unit. Embers? He squinted.

A large puff of air suddenly shot at him and knocked him back onto the ground. As he landed, he heard a loud crash. Scrambling to his feet, he saw the shelving unit knocked over, and standing where it previously had been was none other than the beast.

"I found you again!"

"John?"

He said nothing. He didn't even move. His eyes were glued to the monitor.

"John? What are you doing?" asked Jessica. She was still ignored. She slowly approached him. Once she got within a few feet, he finally looked up at her, his eyes wide and blank as if he wanted to feel something but couldn't figure out how to show it.

"This is how it happened," he said in a low, almost inaudible voice.

"How what happened?"

He shook his head, a tear falling down his cheek as he turned back to the monitor. She noticed movement on-screen.

"What is that?" she asked, approaching him. A scream came from on the screen, causing Jessica to jump. John made no movement. He continued to watch in desperation and horror as he sat with his eyes transfixed on the scene playing before him.

On the screen, a large, yellow rabbit was wrestling with a little girl of only a few years. He was struggling to keep her within his grasp, but she kept wriggling out and trying to escape before he would grab her again.

"What is this?" Jessica whispered, her voice cold.

"Look at her, Jessica," said John in an almost inaudible whisper. "Really look at her."

She squinted down at the screen. With all of the movement going on, it was hard to make out any details. The rabbit was obviously Afton in a suit, but who was the girl?

"John, I really don't-"

Suddenly, the little girl managed to slip from his grasp and ran to the other side of the room, trying to hide under the desk. Afton stood in front of the door, effectively blocking her only escape. She looked back at him with tear-filled big brown eyes, her small mouth quivering. Jessica gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks, too.

"Is that-?"

"Charlie," said John. "The night she was kidnapped. He brought her here."

Afton took a step forward, making Charlie move further into the corner, looking up at him fearfully.

"Listen," said Afton in an unusually calm, friendly voice that John and Jessica hadn't heard since the night they met him as Dave. "I'm trying to help you."

Little Charlie only shook her head.

"I'm trying to save you from the monster out there."

"No!" screamed Charlie. "You are the monster!"

"No, I'm your friend!" Afton said desperately, taking another few steps closer to the trembling girl. "I'm here to save you!"

"Leave me alone!" Charlie cried. "I want Mommy and Daddy!"

"I'll take you to them," said Afton, making Charlie stop and look up at him. "I know where they are. I can take you back to them."

She sniffled. "R-really?"

"Yes," said Afton, some of his usual sinisterness creeping into his tone. "I can make you happy. I can give you your happiest day."

Charlie looked up at him. Even at her young age, John could tell she was seriously pondering what she was being told. She slowly stood up. Afton continued looking down at her.

She took a curious step toward the giant rabbit she had formally loved towering over her. John could only imagine the confusion his young friend was going through.

She took another cautious step...followed by another. The big yellow rabbit continued watching her every move. While he wasn't completely sure, John could swear he could make out a scheming look in Afton's eyes.

Finally, Charlie got within a few feet of the rabbit and slightly raised her hand. In a flash, Afton immediately grabbed her and pulled her into a strong embrace. Charlie screamed and resumed her struggling from before.

"I want to help you," Afton said. "You're safe from the scary monster out there. I'm only trying to help you, take you back to your family!"

"No, you took me away! I want to go home!"

She swung her small arms at Afton's suited face. He leaned back to avoid the blows. As he did, his free arm slipped behind him and grabbed a small syringe from the nearby table.

"Shh!" he said, still struggling to keep hold of the little girl in his arm. "This will hurt less if you hold still!"

"NO!" she cried when she saw the syringe. "NO! I don't want to!"

"Be still!" said Afton, moving the syringe in syncopation as best as he could with Charlie's movements.

"NO! I WANT MY DADDY!"

She swatted at the syringe again, giving Afton the opportunity he needed to hold her arm out of the way with his own. In a quick second, he leaned in and planted the syringe deep within her neck.

Charlie screamed, making John cringe. Even though she was years younger, he recognized that scream all too well.

"There. That's a good little girl," said Afton in a much calmer voice.

Charlie, tears streaming from down her face, threw both of her small arms at the mask. They found their way into the eye sockets.

"Wait!" shouted Afton, but it was too late. As soon as Charlie's young hands removed themselves from the eye sockets, there was a loud snap. Afton immediately threw Charlie away from him. As her neck made contact with the edge of the desk, a loud crack sounded and she slumped to the floor. Afton was desperately clawing his own hands at his mask, struggling to get them inside, but a few seconds later, he dropped to the floor as well, twitching. Almost immediately afterward, a pool of blood forming beneath the suit.

"Oh my!" said Jessica in a low whisper.

Charlie coughed weakly. She tried to get to her feet, but her arms gave way. She coughed some more, crying while she did so. Her coughing grew worse and worse as the seconds passed. Soon, she sounded like she was coughing up a lung. Finally, she laid her head down on the ground. Her eyes were bloodshot and yellowing, and blood began leaking from them. She coughed a few more times.

"D-d-daddy…" she managed to murmur, and her eyes floated upward in her head and she laid down motionless next to Afton, still quivering in a pool of his own blood.

The screen went black. The room was silent at first, but then, even with the alarms still blaring, John's sobbing became more audible.

"John," said Jessica, struggling not to cry herself. "Please, that was years ago. We have to go." She was amazed at what was coming out of her own mouth. After witnessing first hand her best friend die as a child, she wanted nothing more than to curl up right there with him and sob. How was she actually being rational enough to remember their mission? Perhaps it was because she wanted to be as far away from this place as possible.

John didn't move. He only shuddered as his muffled sobs continued coming from beneath his arms.

"John, please! We have time to grieve later. The building's on fire! We need to get out of here."

John still didn't respond, though his crying stopped.

"Afton's dead, John," said Jessica, suddenly finding herself filled with a sense of indignation and justice. "This place is the only place left that he could still torment people without even being here, and it's about to burn to the ground. Justice has been served, but if we don't get out of here right now, we'll be dead, too. Charlie wouldn't want that, would she?"

John raised his head slightly, staring down at the desk in front of him. Jessica hoped that he was taking her words into account, though the thickening smoke that was creeping in was still running down the clock.

"John?" she asked, concerned.

John turned to her, his eyes still red and wet but with a look of determination on his face.

"You're right."

She smiled. "Now let's get out of here, already!"

A loud crash sounded right outside the room as part of a wall across the hall broke off and came hurtling toward the window. They quickly dove to the side right as the wall piece smashed through the window and crushed the desk and monitors.

"Let's get outta here!" Jessica cried, pulling John to his feet.

The pair ran back toward the main entrance, fighting off the intense smoke and blistering heat as best as they could.

"Wait!" John called. "Where's Kyle?"

"We got separated! Don't worry, he'll be alright!" she called back. Hopefully, she added to herself.

Making sure he was still right behind her, they hurried into the storage closet and out the vent into the clear night air.

REFERENCES:

*This scene is based directly on the main gameplay of Five Nights at Freddy's 4, purposed here with adding to the impact of Nightmare's power and influence.

**This is a reference to the 1953 film The Charge at Feather River. Although it was not the first film to use the famous Wilhelm scream, it was this film that give the scream its iconic name due to the character Private Wilhelm letting out this dubbed scream after being struck by an arrow.