On a Better Night

1: Slide Into Fun!

The boy began to wish for longer legs. Futile as it was; that flaw was down to his past four years of stunted access to milk for his bones… or more likely, just sustenance in general. The sealed stuff hucked into dumpsters or skimmed from the backs of this place's restaurants was an improvement from the foster house's gruel, and likely the reason he could maintain this sprint at all. He pelted up the atrium's escalator. Muffled thumps pounded behind him—the padded cartoonish feet of a monster dressed as a rabbit. Where had she come from? How was she keeping pace in the bulky costume?

It turned out, as she drew up to the bottom of the active escalator, she wasn't. Gregory could hear her pout out of frustration as she skidded to avoid the "toe-eaters". It was what his mom had called escalators so long ago—laughing at her little boy's confusion but also steering well away from them and usually choosing the brilliant cylinder of the accessibility elevator. The description would ring true with the fabric costume feet. Something zinged past his hair, so close he felt a wave of his bangs flapping in the wind before his instincts even forced him to crawl the last few steps on hands and knees. A kitchen knife clanged and bounced against the floor on the first level before it skidded to a halt at the base of a riding rocket coin-op. machine. A peek over his shoulder confirmed the rabbit lady was cutting aside, glaring with those brain-piercing red bulb eyes, their pupils pulsating outwards and yet somehow cutting into one's soul. She waved with a sharp finger waggle before ducking into a staff-only door, seeking an alternate path.

Gregory broke into a shaky sweat. No telling where the hell she was now; she could cut him off at any time. It had been so long since he'd had a real visit here—and he'd been so little at the time… Crawling forward, he closed a hand around the handle of the discarded knife. She probably had more, at least one more. Or something worse.

When he pulled himself upright, dark imaginings gave way to a sudden and stupefied remembrance as his eyes were thrust against the painted, joyful decal dominating the brickwork before him. Sun and clouds, a soft blue moon and poking out rainbow on the outskirts, framed the words—Superstar Daycare, Pickup Area. A big, yellow arrow directed him towards a pair of large double doors. No worse for wear from time… though, to be frank, it had not been that many years since he was young enough to be toddling in, led by his mother's hand.

His hands pressed against the doors. A durable rattle.

"Shit," of course, the Daycare had some form of security pass required to even approach—something only employees and parental units of the attendees would have. He bashed his forehead upon the sturdy door as one hope of a hiding place he knew half-decently slipped out of reach.

A deep whirr, of descending tone, forced his eyes back open wide. The place was dark. And as the main power cut off—the security locks holding the doors released. With a yelp the scrawny child faceplanted to the floor inside the entrance corridor—a second yelp and a sucking of breath in around his gritted teeth coincided with the knife in his hand slipping in his grip, biting into the skin between thumb and forefinger.

He dragged himself to his knees and clasped both the improvised weapon and the new gash—Gregory chose to count his blessings. There was a desk inside the Daycare… or maybe more than one? It had been a long time and the delve into memory had places his brain seemed to decline access to. There would be first aid, a light source, maybe something better to fend off the long-eared psycho—and then he could find someplace to squeeze into that some murderous lady in a crappy fursuit wouldn't think of.

He sped up—blitzing past the restrooms and the ATMs in the hallway and cutting around the fountain. The roll-up door had aux. power and groaned up a few feet as the motion sensor responded to his nearing, and once he'd slid under in a passable imitation of Freddy on-stage, nostalgia slowed him up:

The ceiling was a black vault. Scattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, milky way speckles. The golden statues were as glimmery and polished as he remembered—the two characters posed back-to-back. He squinted as he got to his feet and readjusted pressure over his cut; he had trouble remembering the characters themselves—were they animals? Were they supposed to be humans? They hadn't the features of either… wait. The Sun and the Moon. That had been the theme, of course. That was why it had slipped his mind. These were so unlike the other Fazbear characters. Another wash of nostalgia broke over him as he skirted around the gigantic statues' base and was met with the slide.

Oh, damn, I loved this thing, He almost cracked a grin, for some dumb reason. The words "Slide Into Fun!" had a much cheesier resonance now that he was so much closer to puberty, but at the time all he could remember was the thrill of that steep, forbidden-seeming portal—green and yellow plastics reflecting all the differing lights of the playzone and upper tier and giving the place a surreal appeal.

Now, of course, it was a gaping pit into blackness. But he could hide in that. Gregory tucked his legs into the tubular slide and scooted forward with care not to make much noise, and to not pick up too much speed along the slopes and loops. He crashed into the cushioning vat of plastic spheres in a tuck and roll maneuver, curled around both his injured hand and the loose knife. Head and shoulders rose from the ball pit, a bright yellow and magenta orb clattering aside.

It was quiet.

There was a low creak of plastic and foam-padded metal contracting amongst the trio of convoluted play structures. A faint array of glow-in-the-dark stars, moons, and galaxies was the only source of light in here with the power down, transforming the heaping forms of climbing areas, bouncy zones, and the castle-like facades into dark silhouettes, tiny beads of bright colors at the highest points under the glow of the décor…

This was not as Gregory remembered, as far as his fuzzy memories went. So quiet. No music. He heard his own breath, and almost jumped in fright as the creeping movement forward to the arching ramp exit set off a cascade of hollow clunks from the displaced balls. Wincing at what now rang in his ears, the boy clambered out and clutched the kitchen knife overhand, trying to decide where to hole up. Trying to recall what the good nooks and crannies were—where grown-up sized hands couldn't easily reach.

First things first, though: Gregory felt his way forward to avoid any collisions with the low crafts tables and tiny stools, or any toys left scattered around. Oddly, he didn't find much in the way; a cleared path lay between the ball pit's entrance and the security desk, where a series of safety lights outlined a flashlight recharge station's dopey cartoon ears and a first aid cabinet's smooth white top in a blue-white halo. He set down the blade on the floor just below the latter and pried open the shiny metal square. Digging in it after bandages was the horrendous crinkling of paper that the boy dreaded—sound that overpowered the throbbing in his ears. He retrieved the weapon—and then snatched up the heavy black staff flashlight from the Freddy mock-up's jaws, which accordioned shut.

With a click that still felt much too loud in the oppressive silence, Gregory was relieved to find the flashlight still provided a bright, stable beam. The light speared up across the rafters which caged around the giant bulbs of the main lights, catching on the metal bars as if on massive spider webs—panning down until illuminating the tower facade and its balcony, ringed with animatronic mechanisms that ordinarily would have rotated puffy white clouds around its arched doorway. Gregory never understood how anyone ever could get up there; in fact, what had that space been for again? Wasn't there a…?

A prickle of hairs raised on the nape of his neck. Just around the same time that a light jangle registered in his ears. The musical trill echoed in a strange way, and Gregory whirled around to try and find the source. The jingle grew rhythmic, in time with rapid, even steps, as if attached to the limbs of something unseen—something crawling. The bells were joined by the increasingly apparent clicks and creaks of a nimble mechanism.

"Wh-who's there?" Gregory mustered up a squeak of a whisper, scanning around desperate for any sign of the approaching being. This wasn't a killer in a rabbit suit, nor anyone working Security, though even if this mechanical entity was more like Freddy it had taken some convincing to have Freddy take his side and keep his location a secret from the handful of adults seeking him out. He made an about face, holding tightly both his items but his hands shaking; still no sight, but all manner of sounds, growing and growing, "Hellooo..? C-c'mon, this isn't funny…"

Suddenly the boy could make out his shadow against the padded floors, his skinny, undersized form outlined in a few lumen of deep crimson red. His heart almost jumped into his throat as he spun in a panic, trying to gain distance from the light source at the same time and instead tripping back onto his rear—thankfully not losing grip on either light or knife. The end point of a swirly slide faced him, an aqua blue now stained with red from the two pinpricks of robotic eyes bobbing from within. A pair of darkened hands clasped either side of the plastic and hauled the rather spindly form forward, free of the playground equipment, though it stayed in a deep hunch that made its exact shape hard to pick out. Gregory knew he might regret it, but lowered the flashlight beam until the outskirts of the illuminated cove cast over it…

Then, Gregory remembered. The statues. Sky Clowns. Or… jesters? Jester might fit the fanciful theming somewhat better. This did not change the fact that the celestial-faced robot was now staring him down, creeping even closer in a feral crouch, with beady red pupils flicking over and examining the trespasser with a fixed grin much wider that humanly possible—not a single part of its uncannily huge, discus-like head able to move or emote but the Terminator eyes.

Not a fun association for the child to have as the moon creature neared, and made it obvious the thing was also much larger than a grown man—much more comparable to Freddy. Perhaps a sliver or so taller. Giant hands with their long, creepy, realistically articulate fingers, big enough to have palmed Gregory's head like the mini-basketballs at the Hoop Shootz games.

"Who—" The voice was not as the boy would have guessed. It was whisper-soft: One of those high, ambiguous, playful voices that was sure to be found amongst any roster of young childhood educational media. Though, at first, its tone was rough and flat—

—then, its face shuddered with a sudden halting of motion, and there was a series of hard clicks as it blinked no less than ten times in swift succession; then, with Gregory jolting back, its facial disc revolved in place a complete 360°, and then a touch more, ending up with a head tilted in a curious fashion. "Oh…" Its tone fluttered up now, almost pleased. Too pleased, with how quiet and creepy the boy found it. "Aren't you up late… It's past your bedtime~"

"Wh-what?" Gregory shifted, trying to push himself over with one elbow, on his way to his feet. The knife's blade gleamed in the light of the Moon—catching its notice instantly, its head raising and lowering on its jointed neck to stay level with it, "Hey—I'm not—I don't go to this Daycare..! I've gotta hide, alright?"

"No, no, no—little friend…" A huge metal hand enclosed firmly over Gregory's. When did it move? He felt himself raised instantly to his feet but otherwise immobilized. The night-clown's other hand tightened over the blade portion even as the kid struggled, covering the dangerous portion entirely before the absurd strength of the fingers pried his thumb from the handle and snatched away the implement, "No big knives in my Daycare—that means kitchen knives, boxcutters, pocket knives, anything but plastic ones for snacktime~ They're dangerous, little friend..!"

Gregory clamped his mouth shut; he could not scream, or call out for Freddy if he happened to be near. Yanking back, he was shocked when the robot released its grip, scuttling up closer as the boy staggered backwards. Its eyelids narrowed, darkening the redness around them.

"Hide..?" It chuckled, a deeper sound that lilted up crazily until it was squeaking with suppressed mirth, "Why should you need to hide?~ It is well after midnight, naughty boy—well after playtime…" Gregory blasted the flashlight beam full in the Moon's cratered face as it began to advance, well aware it still held the knife. Granted, it was holding it utterly backwards, but anything that big with a knife, in a dark deserted Daycare, and walking almost on all-fours with its entire hip joint bent in the wrong direction—was bad news. The blinding flash appeared to do nothing but make it blink a few more times.

"I am not a little kid—stoppit! Keep back!"

The crescent shape of its face popped back, tilted to a ninety-degree angle. "You are not a child..?"

"I-I'm not a baby—" Gregory shuffled back, grip tightening on the flashlight, "Can you just… get lost? That crazy rabbit lady might get in here any minute—I need a… an armored bunker, not a Daycare!"

A mechanical whirr sounded in time with the robotic caretaker's head tilting down, up, down—giving the boy a once-over, and then a twice-over before it made a confused little noise, "You are a child… And you are quite little…" It's head spun once more in a slow rotation, back arching up higher and returning to the bipedal pose (barely). "And you sound very cranky… You need bedtime."

"No, I need someone to listen when I say there's a killer bunny-rabbit fursuiter skipping around in here chasing me! With that!" He jabbed a finger towards the knife tucked in the robot's palm, returning its attention down to the weapon. "Instead of just going through the motions and trying to lock me up!"

The nighttime Attendant's leg raised, making a complete rotation of its ball-joint hip so that its knees were the right way around, before raising up one finger: "Stay right here, naughty child… I'm going to put this away~" It flexed its long fingers over the blade, "When I come back please be ready to sleep… You'll feel much better after a nap..!"

"No, I will not—"

He wasn't able to finish in time—with a metal clicking and a soft ffssht! and twng! something shot up in a dark blurr behind the robot into the starry vault—And, with a receding chuckle, the Moon rose up like a loose balloon, the red points of its eyes disappearing behind the forms of towers and slides. Gregory whipped around, neck craning up but unable to keep track of it, especially not as it drew away far enough that its wrist, shoe and hat bells were inaudible. Once more he was alone in the Daycare; the boy let out a weak sigh. At least this way he had time to figure out a place to hole up—at least until the power cut back on and he could get some word to Freddy…