Mechanical whirring spirals over the emptiness of the pizzeria, echoing off the walls, before eerily making the turn to reverberate back to the ear censors of a large, metal bear. Often times, it might have been received as overbearing, or even scary. Though, with 30 years on them in this dusty place, it seemed that anything produced by their heavy movement was no longer surprising. Nor did it bear any sort of affect on their knowledge on who was in the restaurant, and who was not.
For years, it was just his friends, and himself. Serving children with entertainment, the same kind they had gotten, before they were ruthlessly murdered by that purple clad man.
Continuing his stiff walk around the stagnant setting that he and his friends had come to call their home, he observed the sparsely cleaned, yet somehow passable walls. Pictures from small children lay all over the walls, scribbles and happy memories immortalized on papers that had been placed in certain areas that children wanted them to be.
The silence of the pizzeria was deafening, even on metallic and wire ears. The sound of Bonnie strumming on his guitar was not present as a reverberation in the hallways. Foxy humming his short tune from the cove also never seemed to come over the halls, nor the party rooms. Chica clanging her pots and pans as she attempted organize and carefully do dishes also never reached Freddy's ears.
The blue eyed bear had let his concerned face pan over the surroundings, optics focusing in on several clustered areas where balloons and drawings occupied the walls. As he did this though, a gravelly voice, clouded in whispers roused from somewhere unknown.
"Freeedyy~" 'ᶠʳᵉᵉᵉᵈʸʸ,Fᵣₑₑₑ?￡ﾵﾧ...'
The voice drawled out over the seemingly abandoned pizzeria, and echoed off every tile, overwhelming, and unsettling. Freddy would have shivered if he could, yet here he was, almost feeling a chill want to run down his endoskeleton.
Following where he thought the voice was calling him from,he calls out the names of his friends, waiting to see if any one of them were going to pop in out of no where and tell him they were messing around.
"Chica..? Bonnie..?" he continued his tentative walk forward, directing his gaze in a new direction frequently. "Foxy..?" he called out the name of his other friend. There was once again no replies, not of his fellow animatronic's metallic voices, or of the activity that they had always brought with themselves.
Lending his hand out to a door handle, he twisted it gingerly, in hopes of not making anyone on the other end of it scurry off in awareness of his presence. Pushing it open gently, he let his optics rotate around the room, only to catch notice of something odd.
"I could have sworn this was the room to the second party room... why am I at the stage?" he let his gaze fall left, then right, observing the fine wooden stage,shaded and concealed behind the purple curtains that shielded view of a cartoonish sun, clouds, and a checker tiled wall occupying the lower third.
Drawing himself out of the stage area, he continued to look around, desperate to find any source of the voice he could. His inner gears were turning in worry as he called for his friends once more. Just to, once again, receive no answers.
The voice, however, came again, and bellowed to him from somewhere concealed. It was chilling, and alluring. Drawing him nearer and nearer to a certain room.. that it always pained him and the others to look at as they passed by it. The very room where all of their blood was drawn, lives cut shorter on an already shortened string.
Finding himself lost in his troubled mind, the animatronic allowed himself the time to sit down, and stare into the bland, most-likely musty smelling room. He wouldn't be able to tell if it had such a scent anymore. The blue eyes seemed to even be off in their own worlds, loose, and unfocused on any particular area.
The events of those days still haunted him.. leading him to wonder why he and his friends had to be condemned to such a fate. Whatever did they do wrong in their living lives to make them have to gain death? All of the painful memories made his head hurt, though headaches were impossible for such characters as himself.
Freddy, as most might have assumed, was considered to be the leader of their little group. He kept everyone in line, and helped wherever he could. Chica was the little sister, no matter how much she had went through, she was always worried about someone else more. She was not the only one who had been hurt, and that was everything she needed to keep herself from being too despondent.
Bonnie was often brought down by memories of his death, seeing as he was the last one that remained alive, reasonably, he had made a run for it. Foxy, the poor ill child was unable to do much moving at all. He tried to dodge, seeing as he wasn't able to run well. He was the third one down.
All of the memories came back to Freddy, causing him to lean into the door-frame. He bought his mechanical hand over his chest, and almost felt as if he needed air that he had not needed in over 30 years. His eyes closed, and his world was surrounded in black, then, the feeling of falling overtook him.
The memory to all of them was still so vivid, and clear. There they were, in that room, drenched in cleaning solutions, and robotic specialized oil byproducts. Loose animatronic parts for upcoming animatronic characters at the time were askew, decorating the room in a chronic matter.
Light crept in through a window that had hardly been left ajar near the ceiling, gently showering into the otherwise mal-lit room. The door behind all of the children had clanged shut, the doorknob locking upon the contact with the door-frame.
The man clad in a dark purple uniform looked down upon them, a wide, sickening grin spread over his face like butter on toast. His eyes were narrow, and nearly snake like, deceiving, thin, and simple with the smell of evil emanating off of him. Stubble on his face was clumsily shaven, implying to an older crowd that the man was shamelessly drunk.
He let out a bellow of amusement as the kids all had attempted to run toward the door, knowing well that he had the key. The key, sadly, held the only means to unlock it from either side of the door. Meaning there was no getting in, nor getting out.
The man then proceeded to pull a pizzeria issued head mask, and slid it over his noggin, eyes peering through the holes he had cut for better sight. Doing so, however, gave the children time to go over, and bang on the door, screaming and crying for someone, anyone to come and get them out of that disgusting, overwhelming room.
Their calls had seemed to fall on deaf ears though, reaching only outside, where the bit of noise escaped from the night air, lost in the wind, and the intense whirring of vehicles in nearby traffic.
Freddy, who was, conveniently named Frederick as a human, was in front of the others, occupying the gap between the other kids and the murderous man that had lead them all into this musty, used room. He was shaking, eyes wide, and wandering with the shivering lack of concentration as he looked up at that horrid being. He was urging the others back, trying to get them to gain more space between themselves and the purple man.
Chica, whom was called Emily when she was alive, was crying her little heart out, shaking, and sobbing as he begged for her momma to come and get her. Begging for her papa, who promised her that they were going to have ice cream after they were all done at the pizzeria. Yearning for her big brother who wanted to hear all about what it was like at the restaurant this time. How much fun they had, and what they did; or even what the animatronics sang on stage for the night.
Bonnie, who's living name was Ethan, remained as close to both Emily and Gunther as he could, so they wouldn't get separated. If they found a way to open that door, he was going to be needed to pick up either one, or both of them. Gunther, who was now known as Foxy, got flushed easily, and was prone to asthma.
Emily started banging on the door hopelessly again as Fred protectively held his arms up in front of the other three children. The tall purple monster was toying with them… he was swinging his knife, and missing on purpose… laughing as the kids all cried.
Terrified, and struck with a chill, Fred had to make a move, otherwise, trying to keep this man away from the others was going to sink before it even attempted to set sail. Fred was the youngest of the group, but his dad had been in the military. He had showed the interested tyke how to attempt to dodge certain moves. If his dad were here right now… he might have been able to bust down the door, right? Right?! His dad though, was away at another 'drafting' as he had said it was.
'Fred, I admire your dream to be a singer when you get older. However, singers can get into a lot of danger too. They are often under targets that no one else knows about because bad people dislike them for reasons that others would not understand.' it seems that everyone was able to get into trouble, no matter who they were. 'Come on, my boy, let ol' dad teach you some helpful lessons, before I head back out for my drafting.'
Sucking up all of the courage left in his 10 year old body, Fred made a move, and quickly ran forward, trying his best to remember what his dad had said to him. He saw where the knife was,and how it was being held by the smiling man in front of him with that rabbit mask.
Fred made a false move to the right, just to turn left, and go the other direction. The knife replacing his spot as it was stabbed down at him, just to miss. He dived into the murderers legs, and forced all of his weight into his dive, pushing forward as he did such.
The rabbit faced man let out a roar of outrage, before falling backward, smashing into a crate, and breaking it under his weight. Splinters sunk into his back, and scraped at his flesh, before he pulled himself up from his fall. The crate was now smashed, loose gears and other robotic parts pooling from the wooden obscurity. Revealed behind that crate though, was large adult-sized vent. Cold air flowing in from the area, and washing over the room, just to make it even more chilly.
Growling in annoyance, and rage, the purple man had quickly pulled himself up, catching Fred's arm as the brunette tried to pull himself to his feet and retreat back to the others, to help them continue calling for help or find a way out of there. "Oh no you don't, I need to pay you back for what you just did, damaging company property, and aggravated assault!"
It was funny how easy it was to be hypocritical just to gain any kind of sociopath-laced entertainment you could from such a horrid, and terrifying situation you are inflicting upon little kids. Fred felt himself get pulled back, closer to the man before the knife was brought down into his shoulder.
Letting out a horrified, and sudden scream of pain seemed to shake the building around himself, though it was most likely his mortified trembling. He felt the knife get retracted from his shoulder, and sunken back in with even more force behind it than the last one had. As soon as it had broken the flesh, he let out another pained, and terrified cry. With enough struggling, he managed to quickly pull himself back, backing up to the same area his friends were all at.
There was a loud, and firm bang against the door, before muffled yells and worried crying seemed in from the bottom. The view of Ethan's parents were there, trying their best to open the door hopelessly. Ethan's tear-stained face met theirs as he pulled Emily and Gunther closer, in an attempt to huddle them away from the killer in the room with them. Fred, was out of reach, trying his best to stop the bleeding, whilst barely avoiding the knife being brought down on him every few seconds.
The banging on the door was becoming more and more desperate, the mother screaming her babies name, and the name of the children she had also become fond of. She did her best to find a way to break the glass that lie there to poison their view, the drawing of blood and the loss of how much pressure was put onto the glass, it would not budge, not even under the weight and force of a seemingly full fire extinguisher.
Ethan had quickly looked around to try and find something, anything that might help Freddy without leaving Emily and Gunther without his protection. Scanning the ground quickly with panicked eyes, he picked up a glint of metal, and quickly ran to it before grabbing the object, which was a weighted gear.
Then, with not a second of time to waste, he ran to the purple clad monster, and he smashed the object over the back of his head. Ethan had effectively split the skin, penetrating the scalp. Repeating the object several more times, he screamed in distress, before retracting himself, and hurriedly stumbling over to the other two again. Clumsily helping limp Fred to the group with him, desperate for it all to be over.
The bunny-faced attacker was lying idly on the ground, not moving a muscle. His hand still laying over his knife, Fred caught of it, and tried to move to go and get it, so he could get it away from the man. His dad always said leaving weapons in possession of the opposed was begging for trouble. His eyes watered again at the immense burst of pain, and the stickiness of his hand, which was failing to keep the blood from flowing.
Ethan's mother was relieved that none of the other children were hurt, and that her son thought fast enough to stop the attacker. She continued to cry, at the sight of her friend's son. A sweet, and caring little boy. The only child of her friend, in comparison to all the other children, whom had siblings. Fred was often alone, and only got to hang out with his friends for entertainment. Imagine, if he was killed, his mother… a woman who barely got to see her husband, would now have lost her only child. A hard working man who had done everything in his power to provide well for his family, would have been miles and miles away from even being able to protect his own kid.
Before anyone could react, or even completely understand what was going on, there was a series of quickened steps, and another scream before a gurgle, and the sound of liquid spilling on concrete.
Bonnie looked up in horror with Emily and Gunther in his arms. Freddy, had escaped his grasp, and shielded the others without a second thought, despite his tiredness, and lack of balance. He was standing there, staring at the dark-haired friend, eyes wide, and dilated.
An eerie, cascading laughter filled the room, before the purple clad attacked moved himself back, retracting his knife from where he had stabbed the brunette child. Fred's body started falling backward, having been dragged back by the man's , in his throat, was a huge gash, blood spilling from the huge hole near his jugular. Rising from from his mouth, and nose, and falling to the floor.
The knife continued to plunge though, not stopping with a meager throat wound, no. The child's body was dragged back, and stabbed several times, several in the chest, more in the arms and legs. The man refused to stop, and continued to howl in amusement as he did his horrid deeds. Fred's eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling of the darkened room as the last bit of tears he had were escaping him. His left hand was formed into a pointing motion, gesturing to the large vent that rested near the broken crate.
The world around him was overbearing, and cold. Fred had done his best to keep himself warm, the memories of himself and his dad playing football in the yard… his very first microphone toy… his mother always telling him how much of a little man he was. He remembered the strong arms of his dad carrying him away from the lake when he got scared of the water. The gentle pets on the head from his mother when she calmed him down after a storm. The feeling of his pet cats silky fur under his clumsy fingers as he gently pet the feline. It was all such small and seemingly harmless things that he remembered. The smallest and most memorable things that made him feel so empty and alone now. He didn't even see a light… he saw darkness… he didn't feel light, he felt so hopelessly heavy.
He then remembered all of the times that Ethan stood up for him at school, or even scared his lunch. He remembered how often Emily wanted to braid his hair, seeing as he didn't cut it as short as the other two boys. Fred also remembered staying over with Gunther for the night because the poor sick boy had no one over for his birthday party, and afterward Ethan and Emily had to go home.
He then started to ponder on his other memories, wanting to cry even more. He wanted his dad, he wanted mom… he wanted to hold hands with them as they walked to the park together. He wanted to play cookie monster with his dad before receiving a few of the tasty snacks. He wanted to pester his mom to help her with dinner, because he knew she wasn't going to ask for assistance. He wanted to cuddle up to his cat, and snuggle her soft coat as he fell asleep. Knowing well the cat was going to be right next to him in the morning when he opened his eyes to his alarm.
'I don't want to be here… please… I wanna go home…'
Ethan couldn't move, he watched as Fred got turned into nothing more than a pool of blood, and what would have passed as his clothing, along with the strands of his lighter brown hair. Several more stab wounds, and now gashes, and even the severing of an arm had been done, the body long since abandoned by the child that hosted it.
Ethan's parents stood there in mortification. That sweet little boy that had been the very first friend to their son, lay there shredded as if he were just a piece of meat, laying idly on the concrete. The husband continued kicking the door, followed by several of the employees of Fazbear's Diner, that were also too disgusted to keep in their restaurant provided lunches at this point.
Ethan's mother, shivering, watched desperately as she caught a good glimpse of the horrid beings name badge through teary eyes. 'Vincent' it read, she couldn't make out the last name.
After this 'Vincent' had left the body of Fred, and started making his way over to Ethan, Emily and Gunther. The same wicked smile plastered across his face, hands itching at the sensation of the blood that had been running across them from his first victim. The bodily crimson of Fred splattered over his clothing, arms and face.
Emily was so scared she could hardly pull any sobs from her throat any longer, and Gunther had been struggling to breathe due to the swarm of overwhelming emotions clogging his throat and nose. He barely willed his arms to fully even clench in the attempt to calm his trembling body down. Ethan, by this point was so sad he was partially numb. Fred, his best friend, and the youngest of all of them had been killed.
To add insult to injury, what did he do? Ethan did... nothing. He tried desperately to open a door, and only smacked the wretched monster towering above them with a gear hard enough to barely stun the man into unconsciousness.
He pulls himself up off the ground, hurrying to try and defend the two younger kids. Emily and Gunther huddled together, were too terrified to even speak, or whine. The sickly boy was close to passing out from a lack of proper oxygen.
Ethan backed up several times, before finally lunging forward,and repeating what he saw Fred do. The difference between he and his fallen friend was that Fred had actually known what he was doing. Ethan, on the other hand, did not. Using the same trick on the murderer ahead of himself was a morbid mistake.
Rather than being able to trick him into going one way, and diverging another way himself, he was caught, and forcefully slammed to the ground with the weight of the mans foot pinning down his arms. After registering that he was unable to use his top limbs, the boy resorted to attempting to flail his feet, in hopes of hitting the bunny-faced murderer where it hurt.
Another laugh crept up from the man's throat as he leans down over the child, his face twisting up even more under the mask keeping it darkly concealed.
"You and your cute little friends are not getting out of here alive, kid! Come now, let's have some fun! I will kill off that little girl first, and string her intestines over the wills like those putrid streamers this bothersome place loves to use. Then, I will go over to your pasty sheep of a friend, and remove his hands. Who knows, maybe I can make them into back-scratches!" the thoughts, no matter how ludicrous they were in nature, were just as terrifying.
"We didn't do anything to you, they didn't do anything to you?! What did we do so wrong that you are so mad?!" the desperate brunette cried over the tension building in his chest, his face flushed from moving constantly.
"You, kids didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to try out something. You poor bastards were who was here at the time." The man scoffed, seeming to let out a growling giggle as he brought his knife back, swiping it across the boys face.
Ethan let out a shriek of pain, just for another gash to come, then another, and one more. He sobbed hard, and tears fell from his damaged eyes, the salty liquid burning the open wounds as it fell from his face.
He desperately struggled, sobbing more, before receiving a stab to his right arm. Another wail came from him, his parents angry, concerned voices bellowing in from behind the door, the pounding of the metal obscurity was deafening. The throbbing of his rapid heartbeat rising to his ears, and giving him a massive headache.
Ethan could hardly convince himself to move anymore, hardly registering the firm hands over his throat, he could barely breathe. Saliva built in his throat, before slowly rising and sliding down one of his cheeks. He then choked, struggling to move, and scratching at the ground, his nails aching due to unbeknownst pressure he was putting on them.
After then, he had passed out. Falling limp, and still. Lifeless, in outward observation.
As she watched the eldest of them get his face cut into by the horrid being over them, Emily had finally sucked in a squeaky breath, and made a run forward. Her feet barely making noise over the cement flooring, and arms clenched. She had no idea how to actually fight, nor did she ever have any want to. Mommy always told her that fighting was bad, that fighting was wrong.
Wrong. There were so many things in the world that could be justified, or argued to be wrong. Yet, here they were, people like this horrid monster above all of them, this bunny-faced boogeyman. He didn't care about the rules, he didn't care who he hurt, as long as he got his sickening version of 'fun'.
She didn't care if she got hurt, she was too worried about Ethan and Gunther. Terrified for herself, and anyone else this man runs across that he decides he wants to hurt. Her small fingers tightened considerably, turning her flesh a pale ghostly color. Her ran up behind the man, and jumped on him, attempting to hurt him with her flailing arms.
Hitting at the back of his head, which was shielded by the bunny mask. Clawing at his uncovered arms, and even doing her best to kick him several times. The purple colored monstrosity stood himself up, before turning on his heels, and slapping the little girl across the face. The force was enough to send the girl stumbling into the wall head first; the impact against the wall stunned the little girl, who then fell to the floor, crying in pain from the stinging sensation on her cheeks, and a splitting headache.
The bunny-faced boogeyman then made his way to the little girl, who started to scream in fright. She sobbed, and curled up, too frightened to move, hoping that Gunther was going to take the chance to hurry and attempt to escape. She covered her face with her arms, and sobbed once more, shaking from the turmoil building inside her chest, and the utter fright of their situations, and what may happen after it.
The banging on the door got louder and louder as the employees had tried to ram tables and chairs against the door, anything crashed against the window was useless, though it did start to crack from contact pressure. Another employee had even tried every single key he found in the security office to open the doors. One after the other, none of the keys worked on the door. All failing to make that firm knob turn, or even budge in the slightest. Kitchen tools were even useless on the window, only clanging off of the transparent obstacle.
By this point, Ethan's distressed parents just looked at the boy's body, which lay idle on the floor from where Emily had drawn the man away. Only to get a firm slap to the face, and most likely, an oncoming concussion. Watching closer, and attempting to continue banging on the door, Ethan's mother spotted the man pinning the girl to the ground; her weak arms under his heavy knees.
She was still sobbing, and shaking her head, doing her best to avoid his grasp wherever he tried to guide it. He however, got a hold of her soft, golden hair and slammed her head down into the concrete thrice. The first time, there was no real effect, the second and third time though, blood started to pool under her noggin, staining her hair and daisy-yellow shirt.
Gunther shook as his breath hitched, his face even more pale than what it usually was, he tried to run forward, but he felt his chest tightening already from his already low oxygen levels. He leapt onto the man and attempted to drag his head back, and distract him for the poor girl laying under him. His own light brown eyes trying to go unfocused.
His assault was quickly cut short, as he was thrown off the back of the monster he was trying to distract, and fell to the ground heavily, knocking the wind from him easily. He gagged, and tried to get some of his air back, hopelessly for the first half a minute. His face had gotten red, and he had tried to cough to release his airways.
Emily heard the other cough, faintly, before he registered that the man's hand was grasping her hair again, then with the other hand, he stuck his hand in her mouth, and began to pull in opposite directions. Using his strength to pull up with the hand that was in her hair, and down with his hand that was over her bottom teeth and chin.
It seemed as if nothing was happening, at first, but soon enough, there was a sickening snap and an almost animalistic wail from the little girl in his grasp. Her large blue eyes watering her jaw now hang from the rest of her face, loose. She felt pure agony, feeling it dangling there, with no more control to move it anymore. Before she could scream anymore though, the bunny-faced monstrosity over her slammed her head down onto the ground again several times.
Then, after bashing her skull in, he cackled, and with a swift movement, and dropped her nogin, aware that she was still barely alive. As a final move the man then stood up, hand twitching in amusement as he had been getting bored with this prey.
He crouched down modestly, and made his move to jump forward. Just high enough to go over the height of the little girl's body. Finally, after barely even half a second, there was a deafening series of cracks, snaps, and sickening squishing. The man stood on the girl, who's rib-cage had caved in, the bones all bent inward and stabbing her organs from the breaks on them. Blood flowed freely from her chest, and splattered all over the man's shoes, travelling far as up the pant leg and barely under the knees.
Emily hardly felt anything from the jump. At first, it was nothing more than the immense pain, and searing heat of severed flesh, heavy weight, and the drowning sensation of her pierced lungs. She thought back, and tried to find her happy place. Her momma always said that the happy place could help her if she was ever scared, or hurt. She thought back to the first time that her papa taught her to bake. The smell of the cupcakes in the pans was disalluring, due to the scorched bottoms of the snack foods. Though, to her, it was one of the best days of her life. For so long, she wanted to learn how to bake, that way she could run the bakery with her papa when she was older. She remembered the one time she went ice skating with Ethan and Fred. She kept falling down on the ice and eventually, she learned how to do it on her own. She remembered her brother, who was good at technological feats, he would always play videogames with her, and invite her to his friend's birthday parties so she didn't feel left out.
She then remembered her grandmother's funeral. The burning feeling of sadness boiling in her chest, the tears stinging her eyes as they escaped down her face. The sobbing of family members that were even closer to the woman than she herself was. The children all looking on in wonder, not quite knowing what was going on, yet, due to the tension, they too were crying. She remembered what her momma had said to her. "She may no longer be with us anymore, however, she is not suffering anymore. She is going to be able to rest and feel no more pain."
'Momma…' Emily cried to herself internally. Her body was screaming at her, it felt as though she was being held under water, though she was still able to breath. Even though she still felt as if she was breathing, she could not understand why it was so hard. 'Momma… where are you… I'm scared… I don't want to be here all alone… I don't want to be here anymore…' she desperately called in her subconscious, wishing she could just nap, and wake to find it was a horrid dream. She would call her momma, papa, or big brother, and they would sing her a lullaby. They would hug her, give her the stuffed cupcake plushie she got on Easter, and stay with her until she managed to fall asleep again.
'I don't want to be here anymore… please… why is it so dark? I'm so scared…'
Gunther watched on in horror as he had hardly heard any breathing from the younger girl, his soft brown eyes watering, before he lets out a squeaking hiccup, covering his face. He couldn't run, it was too hard to breathe. Ethan was laying on the ground, face carved up like a pumpkin. Fred lay nearby, his throat no longer the water fountain of blood it was earlier. Now, Emily, she lay crumbled in on herself as if she were a piece of discarded paper. Fresh crimson pooling from her torso and flowing from her head, over the floor.
He wheezed as he tried to get himself back under control, remembering he had seen Fred's idle finger pointing at the vent earlier. There was no time to move, though, as the tall bunny-masked boogeyman was towering over him, knife in hand. He only managed to pull himself back the smallest bit, shivering in terror as he saw the being come closer and closer. He wasn't even sure if this man.. This thing, was remotely human. Banging from the door reached his ears, his frightened eyes reaching the gaze of the employees, and his friends mom on the other side of the door.
Ethan's mother was currently doing her best to knock the door handle off of the door by smashing it with the fire extinguisher, and even though the handle fell off, the door still would not budge. The door had somehow gotten the stopper jammed where it would have locked, due to excessive pressure.
Sirens started to sound in from the outside of the building, though they were still far away.
Sadly, where there should have been relief, there was only more and more tension, and anger. Self-loathing emanating off of the parents of the oldest child, and deep shame-laced regret for the other children who would now have to be returned to their parents in a body bag. Some siblings would be losing a sister, and others would be losing brothers. Then, there was Fred, his mother would be all alone until her distraught husband would come home, and grieve with her.
Unfortunately, the mostly unidentified murderer of the children had also heard the sirens, gritting his teeth behind the concealment of his rabbit-shaped mask. He then let loose a small chuckle. "I guess that we are being cut short kid. Your death is going to be quick and easy. Then, I can stuff all you little brats where no one will be able to find you."
With a voice as bumpy as a dirt road, and as gravelly as a gargling grease, the man made a quick move forward in an attempt to quickly grab the sickly boy that was left.
"Come here you little rat! I wanna make you meet your annoying and obnoxious friends~ I won't take too long, I can't afford to. Who knows, maybe if you come to me, I will make your death MORE painful, but quicker!'
Gunther shivered at the sight of the quivering man above himself, the disturbed entity that had been craving nothing more than blood, and entertainment. The screams of tortured little souls were like a twisted, and invigorating melody that ran as smooth as silk, despite crashing against the rocks of its cruel nature and brisk contemplation.
The monstrous murderer above him went in to grab the kid by his shirt, only for Gunther to fall back, and start shakily crawling away. Another quick grab, and he missed again, the ginger rolling to the side before attempting to quickly continue his crawl. His hands and knees dragging through the drying blood of Fred that lay sticky on the concrete flooring.
The poor sickly boy inwardly cringed, ready to let loose his far-since unsettled pizza dinner. The major reason why he had kept it down was due to knowing if he started, there was going to be no way he was going to stop long enough to get anywhere. He had Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, if he had even started to lose his guts a little, it wasn't going to stop until he either started regurgitating stomach acid, or maybe it wouldn't stop at all.
Another movement caught Gunther off guard, feeling an uncomfortably cold and clammy hand on his leg, before he quickly flailed, managing to kick the man in the face. The pursuing predator snarled in annoyance, before he finally getting a good hold of Gunther and pulling him back toward himself.
In a few quick movements, the ginger was on his back, and the bunny-faced assailant was stabbing him repeatedly with the same bloodied knife. Plunging into the tender flesh of the child, and casting out pained, sad screaming. Choking on air and blood as it came spewing from his mouth, and onto the ground the join the others blood which had been decorating the floor before his.
Just a couple meager minutes later, Gunther lay there, covered in his blood as his breathing slowed. His soft brown eyes fluttered closed, and he fell limp, joining the other fallen children in the abyss of the cold. The knife that had been buried in his stomach was now buried in his left eye, stabbing through until it reaches the side of his skull that rested on the ground.
What had they ever done wrong? Was it because they all ate their cake before their dinner? Was it because they were loud when they were excited? Were they being punished for breaking something that they didn't know they had broken? Gunther felt immense pain disperse from his head, and his chest fluttered in lightness before he felt immediate pressure on his very being. It was just like not being able to breathe. He was idle, and had no choice but to try and struggle for oxygen that he should not have to fight for. The main difference was that he was indeed breathing, yet the air had felt so acidic, it burned at the back of his throat.
He remembered when he and his friends went swimming. They were all there together in the warm month of June. The water, too, was warm, and tolerated by his endlessly weak body. Freddy splashed him with some water, before swimming to the boat, and hiding behind it. Ethan was on his team, staying near himself to make sure that he didn't start to choke on air, or water, and sink to the bottom of the lake. Another memory crossed his mind, of them all at the fair, enjoying a ride on a slow, and mellow rollercoaster. All of them laughing together as they watched a comedy show on the television nearby.
Then there was the memories with his mother, both of them knitting mittens and scarves together. Her telling him stories about boating, and pirates. Good memories of himself feeding his lovely, affectionate parakeet. All of those piggy back rides from dad, and bubble baths with sailboats and sharks. Every fond, and tiny little memory that sparked him joy and happiness. He only felt emptier and emptier…
'I just wanna go home… I don't feel so good mum... '
Under the stilled silence, there was one thing that no one noticed, and that was the small movement of Ethan's bloodied, tired hands. He heard it all, and stifled in his broken, disconnected sobbing. He wanted so bad to get up and help, yet, he couldn't, he lay there, helpless and useless. His legs ached, and his head was spinning like a top.
Darkness threatened to creep up on him again,but he refused to let himself be drug back down into the pit of unconsciousness. No, he opened his dark, despondent eyes, and he sought out the vent that Fred had been pointing to as his own life was lost. Slowly, he urged his screaming arms to move, he stifled any pained noises he could have made, and he pulled himself along the concrete clumsily.
The monstrous man behind him howling in laughter, as he kicked the corpses of those 'bastard children'. Stomping on their loose limbs and shattering bone he had yet to break. In his rouse of laughter though, he turned, and saw Ethan, slowly making his way to the vent that had lay behind the crate.
"Oh no you don't. Here I thought you were dead! Guess I have time for a LITTLE more here kid! Those are your parents, aren't they? Why don't you come on over and say hello to them! Come on, don't be shy!" the cruel and twisted creature made quick pace over to go and pick up the trembling boy, who had done his best to escape.
Hoisted up by a firm, and unforgiving arm, Ethan felt his lips quivering, he could hardly even see as it because of all of the damage done to his face, and eyes. When he was bought up to his feet, he was kicked in the back, before being hoisted up again by the back of his shirt, coming off the ground effortlessly.
Ethan's mother looked at her baby in horror, just catching sight of how bad her poor boys face actually had been cut into, the child weakly tried to bring up his arm, and reach for his parents, seeing blurs where their faces most definitely were.
"You bastard! You wretched, wretched monster! Put him down, didn't you do enough damage, huh?! Let my baby go! Put him down!" the distressed woman banged and banged on the door, shrieking her lungs out as she watched the smile on the purple-clad assaulter grow wider and wider.
The father of Ethan was seeing red, slamming his fists on the door and kicking it with all his might, everything he could muster. It still was not enough, the damned door remained stuck in it's place. Unwavering, and unmoved. Profanities spewed from the fathers mouth like chain of smoke from a locomotive.
Before anyone else could figure out anything to do with the door that they had not done already, the remaining boys mother went to utter some words of comfort to her poor, ailing child, when all of a sudden-
The bunny-masked man started waving goodbye to the parents and guards, laughing, before taking the knife in his hand, and plunging it into the back of the boys back. Ethan went to scream, but he was too exhausted, only managing to let loose pitiful whimpers and modest squeals.
Without a seconds notice, though, the knife was discarded and the assault went into Ethan getting his face smashed against the seemingly indestructible glass of the door. Motion after motion, the repetitive sound of cracking and splattering. It was obvious that the boy wasn't even trying anymore, if he was even alive.
Within two blood curdling minutes, the body was dropped, the window of the door bloodied with the damages to Ethan's face. No one could see inside,the darkness made it too hard to make anything out and discern from the shadows of the room.
The feeling of pitiful helplessness flooded over Ethan, his eyes still watering and overrun by tears. His head felt as though it had been utterly split in two. Darkness pooled in his view as if it were a flood,his breathing hitched, and an icy chill clambered down his sore throat.
He wanted to see his mom and dad's faces smiling down at him when he woke up in the morning. He wanted to hear his dad cheer for him and his musical abilities with the guitar he had gotten on his sixth birthday. He wanted to hear his mom make fun of him a little bit for running into the bathroom door every once in a while.
All he wanted was for this all to end. He had failed to be the protector of the other kids he had become such good friends with, he had failed his best friend, who was the first in line to protect all of them. He was a failure. He never gained the feeling of lightness as if he were leaving his now cursed grave. It was as if he was stuck in tar, legs heavy, and arms hopeless for the means of escape.
His mom always said that good people go to a wonderful place when they are no longer alive... why... why did it feel like he was choking on his own blood all over again? Why did his insides all scream at him every time he went to move, why did his mind still wear heavy on him?
A gut wrenching sob escaped, and the world around him became utterly silent. Sirens drowned out and screaming dying on the flames of which they were plated to his ailing ears.
'I just wanna go home. I wish... none of this ever happened...'
Fred wandered aimlessly in the void of which he had fallen into. His dark brown eyes fall down to his feet, soreness void of his body. He had gained back all sensations of feeling when he had ended up here.
All had remained silent in the void of which everyone had called death. The darkness of the world was overwhelming. No matter how hard he tried, he still could not see anything other than himself. He was dead, did that mean he was unable to comprehend the world around where he had been before? He only hardly heard of death from his father,and at an early age, he learned to understand it.
That, however, did not make it any easier to come to terms with, though. He was angry, and scared. He was unable to tell what was going on from where he had departed from the living. Did his friends escape? He made sure to point to the vent, though he couldn't say anything by that point.
The meager memories of the pain made him flinch as he went to cover his throat, choking back a sob. The world around him was getting unsteady, or was it just him? He didn't know, he just wanted all of it to stop. It hurt to think about what happened. The sheer amount of utter fear, and helplessness. His pain and suffering, and not knowing what had happened to the others.
The pores on his skin tingled with goosebumps, and his breathe continued to hitch, getting caught on strained hiccups.
He fell to his knees, and lurched himself forward, lips trembling as he thought about his mom and dad. He wanted to go and hug them, he wanted his mom to tuck him in, and tell him about her day even if he was with her the entire time. He wanted to call his dad, and ask him how his day was. To make horrible jokes, and call each other goofy nicknames before he had to be taken off the phone so he could go to bed.
A gut clenching sob escaped from him, rivers of tears falling from his eyes as he rocked back and forth, yearning for the soft touch of his mom, the protective arms of his dad, and the purring from his cat.
He didn't want to be all alone... he didn't want to be here all by himself. He couldn't see anyone, or anything, what was he to do? He sobbed once again, and brought his head down into his trembling hands. Until something else caught his ear.
There was more sobbing. This one though, sounded like a little girl.. that meant... that the killer had gotten Emily. He felt his heart flip as he shakily brought himself up to his legs, running in the direction he heard the sounds coming from.
In a few solid minutes, there she was. The older blonde haired girl lay on the ground in a fetal position, curled into a ball. Her hands were over her heard, and eyes screwed closed tight. She sobbed and sobbed to herself, almost choking on her tears. Fred couldn't bear it any longer, he ran-
"Emily!" he called to the fellow child, almost choking on his own tears again as he quickly went to get onto his knees to comfort her. His own eyes clouded with his sorrows, and now the regret of knowing that someone else had perished along with him.
"F-Fred?" she tentatively let her traumatized gaze up from behind her hands, before her face scrunched up again, another sob escaping her throat. Now that they were both here, she realized just how cowardly she was, not taking into count that she herself was a child, just like the rest of them. They were all afraid. "I am so sorry! I am so-so sorry!" she scrambled to get up, trapping the younger boy in a huge hug. "I am so sorry I didn't try to protect you! You tried to protect all of us and we didn't do anything!"
Fred was taken aback, he only shook his head fastidiously, and shook as more tears rolled down his face. "No, this is not your fault. Not anyone's fault, except for that... that... monsters. He did this... HE DID THIS!" the voice was calm, and doleful, at first, then it sprouted into a seed of sudden rage as he wiped his tears away with the nearest hand.
Before Emily could say anything, though, there was a tired, used voice that called to them from a mere few feet away. "F-Fred? Em-mily?" Both of the grief stricken kids looked to Freddy's left, and there was Gunther, holding his arms close to his chest, as he cautiously took stumbling steps toward them.
"Gunther!" both of the kids unanimously cried, running over to the pale ginger, who's eyes had started to leak. He let a small cry escape himself as he went to also run to them,not caring if it made it hard to breathe. He just... didn't want to be all alone. Only after they all locked arms to hug each other did he realize there was no pain in his chest from heavy breathing. It was all... gone.
"Gunther... I am sorry... I tried... but... I was too weak to help you..." Emily sobbed out, tightening her grip on the green eyed friend. She lightly tugged on the others shirt, making sure he was there as much as Fred was.
Minutes and minutes passed, and their crying, and odd relief continued. None of them were alone, and it seemed that Ethan had even made it out alive, especially if he had not ended up here yet. Despite how dead he looked when Emily was trying to get the horrid being off of him.
Or... what if he had died. What if he was wandering around this dark expanse... it felt as if they were going nowhere any time they moved.. yet.. the only thing they could see effectively was each other.
"G-uys...?" the word was choked, and unbelieving, yet, in it, was some sort of relief. A kind of relief that none of them wanted to feel. Knowing that another one of them was dead, and they did not have to remain here alone, maybe even forever. "I-... I-..." the voice drowned out behind itself as Ethan saw his vision go blurry. "I'm so sorry..." he could hardly muster up his courage to face all of them. "I didn't protect any of you. I let you all die... I am so sorry!"
The regret was falling from the oldest child as if he were a rainstorm. He hid his face from them, and collapsed to his knees, pulling at his hair in frustration, and sadness. His bottom lip bleeding from him having bit it too hard to keep his sobbing to himself.
All of the children joined him, every single one of the children inched their way over to their distraught friend, and sat down. They all leaned into him, in hopes of gaining some warmth. They all cried together, until, somehow, their weary spirits all had fallen asleep, huddled together with nothing other than each other, and the black mass surrounding them.
All, silently wishing that when they awoken, if they did, that they would be anywhere better than where they were.
/ And there we have it