Sorry for a short delay in updating the story! I haven't been busy because it was more like I was getting a little impatient with having to type up the story on Docs (yes, it's archived in an actual notebook so I have it on me constantly). Well, other than that, here's what you guys have been waiting for!
(P.S. There are little references and small lore hints in this chapter that I had fun sneaking in. I wonder if they can be found...)
Enjoy!
He was dreaming.
The house was dark and covered in shadows. Light bulbs were missing from the overhead lamps. A breeze gently stroked the inside of the house, trying to bring a sense of comfort to Michael. But he witnessed the opposite effect.
Fear.
Fear. There was something wrong with the house. Fear. There was something walking outside, gravel crunching, causing Mike's heart to skip. Fear. Gentle moaning, a soft breath caressing the inside of his ear. And it didn't matter if something wasn't there because his adrenaline convinced his brain and body that something was definitely there.
Fear... But Mike wasn't that afraid.
The creatures that wanted inside the house weren't hungry at his source of fear. They were trying to feed on someone else's.
Mike picked up on the sound of doors closing and opening, squeaking on hinges. His breath fogged before him. Why was it so cold?
He walked across the kitchen, bare feet sweeping across the fine marbled tiles. The neighbors next door had this front porch light that flickered on. It shone through the window above the sink. It illuminated all of the utilities and dishes and the stove, and almost scared the shit out of Michael. The light flickered a few times, a fully-formed shadow covered in silver strings pressing its face upon the glass. Red dots for eyes stared past him.
Mike took a few steps back. The hallway behind him opened its mouth. Fluorescent gems stickered the walls. Gems in the shapes of eyes and mouths and fingers and noses. Screaming faces. For a second he considered he was losing his mouth, that the stress of the past year was now finally catching up to him. He also considered he was dead Or maybe trapped in a box, with nowhere to go.
A whisper dragged itself through the hallway, gem eyes blinking. It curled around Mike's neck, next to tightening like a noose, but quickly lost interest. Disappearing like a shade, it broke apart in a dazzling show of foggy particles at a scream.
Instinctively, Mike reached up to cover his ears at the sudden high cry, but the scream dissolved into soft cries that came from the hall. The cries broke away at his heart. They made him feel horrible all the way down to his core. The only source of unimaginable guilt he felt towards one person...
A hand pressed against the glowing yet smooth wall, Mike listened. He listened to the faint voice crying, whispering, muttering. A door closed. A door opened. The struggle for survival. The monsters, so familiar but also so grotesquely foriegn, to find a way inside the house. A house that was empty except for the terrors that were created by a child's mind.
Mike's brow furrowed as he listened.
Evan?
Once the tormentor, Michael never once thought if he'd cause any actual psychological damage to his brother. Now one of tormented, he understood. The gems in the wall seemed to morph into almost distinguishable shapes. The smallest shapes of the smallest of children, pressing against the finest layer of their prison. Bubbles ripped as they tried but failed to speak words their crystal lips could not form. He watched them as they, all at once, attempted to reach out for him, movements all harsh and rage. Something changed when he walked down the hall. The children turned into piles of gelatin flesh. Sticky holes for eyes and a sticky voice for a mouth.
He urged himself to walk faster.
The house was not the same format that Mike remembered it was. Too many doors layered the walls, some too small, some too tall, and some even crooked. Normally, it only took less than thirty steps to reach the end. But he'd barely even walked half the amount with no sight of the last door.
No more children were trying to force themselves from out the walls. The endless collection of doors became a geometric walkway of rectangles and boxes. Then just boxes; two dimensional and decorative like wrapping paper on a gift box. Mike did not expect the change to shift to presents as well.
Behind the walls, which had now become transparent glass, were tables. Tables with triangles on their clothes. Piled on top were beautifully wrapped boxes, each with a bow. He heard nothing but saw children appear from the shadows and run around in glee. Five children, every single one of them younger than Mike. He could barely see their faces.
His foot came in contact with something. It was accidentally kicked against the transparent wall. Michael looked down, eyes widening when he noticed the small present. He bent down to pick it up. The paper was striped blue and purple.
A cold breath licked his cheek. He shivered, and looked up. The five children were standing in front of him, shoes as close to him as the strange barrier would let them. They all looked down at them as he looked up.
They had no faces.
Mike almost dropped the box in shock. They had no nose, no mouth and no eyes. Just perfectly sculpted, perfectly blank heads. Like a mannequin.
One of the children pointed at him, the one with long black hair.
The others moved, fists shaking against their chests, heads turned to the one pointing at him. Mike noticed a girl with yellow curls.
Didn't you say you'd find us? A strain of hushed whispers said to him. Mike looked at the children, but there was no indication shown they had spoken. A promise, as we'd recall. But there's many things we were promised. A dog. A family. A talk with a bunny. A birthday wish.
He stumbled to get back up on his feet, the little box in hands. Michael squinted at the children, listening to words that contradicted their movement.
We were also promised no pain, but now we feel it all the time. Pain for the robots that hold us close. Pain for the one who unwillingly gave us the gift of life. Pain for the one who wants to take it all away. And pain for the souls who fight this evil, in life and and in death.
"My father," Michael muttered.
Some people think the evil consumes the son as well, but that has proven to be false thus far. Tainted with your own evil, you also regret. That is the difference between you and the man of purple.
He looked at the children, watching them as they morphed into blurry anthropomorphic animals. Five animals that took away his breath. They all looked at him with eyes of color corresponding to their kind. Then, all at once, each of them pointed at Mike. Even the golden one, who had not lowered its arm.
Open the box.
He looked at it. At the delicate little present in his hand. He teased at the little purple bow, then tugged at it gently. It fell apart, gathering around his feet, melting away into oblivion as it touched the ground. With the pulsing of the house's heart playing with his own, he pulled the lid off.
Inside was a little figure. Of the Puppet. Its small arms were painted symmetrically black and white, the paint on its face so delicate and precise. He handled it like china.
Michael went to look back at the odd children, but they were gone. The see-through wall was gone too. Where he once saw the tables and boxes was nothing but classic darkness.
The box the figure was once in dropped from his hands. Mike dashed to the wall, slapping his hands against the surface. "Wait. Wait!" He pounded on the wall. "Where'd you go? You're supposed to tell me how I can find you! Come back! Come b-"
A door closed behind him. His words vanished from his mouth, hand suspended in the air.
Slowly, he turned his head. The hallway itself was so black. All but except the small line of light flashing underneath a door. Michael pulled himself away from the wall, giving the door his full attention.
The Puppet became elastic around his wrist.
He stepped closer to the door. So close now that he could almost smell the faint wood cleaner his mom frequently used. Weird, earthy lemon. Mike opened the door, so slowly and quietly. The room became visible even in the limited light.
He choked. He knew this room. Eyes scanned every inch. The bed. The closet doors. The dressers. The door opposite of him, all the way on the other side of the room. Michael could make out some of the toys that lay abandoned on the floor. Toys meant for a kid just barely out of his toddler phase. A purple phone and a colorful worm. He also spotted a digital alarm clock perched high up on the dresser and flashing a series of nonsensical numbers.
Mike found him, curled up in a shaking ball in front of the bed's footboard. He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn for that entire week. Gentle sobs came from him, a beam of light shot up at the ceiling from the torch in his arms.
The door was pushed akar some more as Mike let himself in the room some more. He took a step forward. "Evan?"
Evan went stiff. His head jolted up, those large blue eyes staring at Mike with a bloodshot gaze. He hadn't been sleeping. Evan's face was shadowed with his curly hair sticking to his face and those deep bags under his eyes. Fear. He was too afraid to sleep.
Nonetheless, Mike smiled. He was okay. He hadn't been thrown up into Fredbear's jaw yet.
"Hey Ev-"
"Go away!" Evan screamed, jumping up on his feet. He pointed the flashlight at him like a gun. "I beat the time! Go away!"
"It's just me!" Michael shielded his eyes from potential blindness. "It's me!"
"I fought the monsters. I-I made it to the time!" The little boy wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't know what I did for you to hate me..."
"I... I don't hate you."
Evan didn't reply. He just stumbled to the ground, hands covering his face, knees pulled up to his chest. The flashlight rolled towards the closet. Forgotten. Sounds of sobbing came from him, and Michael couldn't help but feel like he failed as a brother. He was supposed to protect Evan and Elizabeth, but he couldn't even protect one of them. How could he even protect the other?
Michael looked down at the figurine that weaved around his arm. He peeled it off, dangling it by its now rubber-like arms. "You're not even the real Charlie," he spitefully said as he threw it into the void.
Wasting no more time, he invited himself completely into his little brother's room. Ignoring the long scratches on the walls and the floor, he made his way towards Evan. He embraced him in his arms, holding Evan close to his body. The younger version of the two didn't protest, immediately clinging to Mike's shirt. He didn't mind the tears or the snot.
The warmth of Evan faded when he opened his eyes. Michael's lips were sticky with sleep, his sight foggy. He wiped his face and threw his blanket off. The clock read 1:35am. But he didn't care too much as he threw a shirt on and exited from his own room.
Reality had a funny way of making the dream world feel and look like a distant memory. He barely remembered how horrifying the hallway liked to become inside his own head. Right now, the cool air from the air conditioner blew on his neck as he passed Elizabeth's empty room. He stopped in front of the next door.
The hall was cloaked with a comfortable silence. The same silence made its way into the room too. Except for the emergency IV stand, the vase of flowers and small bottle of pills on the nightstand, everything was more or less the same.
Evan's figure shifted on the bed at the sound of Mike opening the door. That face that cried on him in the dream looked so different from this groggy little boy. MIke closed the door behind him and walked closer to the bed.
"Mum?" Evan asked.
"No. It's Mike."
"Oh. Mikey." Evan yawned, arms stretching over his head. Mike smiled. "What time is it?"
"Uh. An hour past midnight."
"Oh."
Miked moved onto the bed. "Yeah. But I was wondering if I could sleep here with you."
"Nightmares?" Evan asked sleepily.
"Um... Something like that."
Evan nodded, head relaxing back down onto the pillow as he shifted some more to make room for Michael. "Night Mikey."
He felt redeemed. "Good night Ev."