What am I supposed to do now? I asked myself for the umpteenth time. Shaking my head, I entered the living room. I couldn't help but feel awful about this entire situation. I wanted to cry or pitch a fit, but I both resisted the urge and lacked the energy.
You're only 19 years old; crying is a waste of time, I decided, then finally looked up from the floor. My hands flung to the archway.
"What the hell?!"
Biddy, Bitey, and Chelsea sat with their legs crossed and made up half of a circle on the floor. The other half of the circle? Plushies. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. An aching pain began to develop at the front of my skull.
"Hi, Michael!" Chelsea noticed me finally. All the Bidybabs gave me a cheerful wave. I tried not to mind the dent or the bite mark in Chelsea's head.
"We found the other ones," Biddy said and pat Plush Freddy's head. I rubbed my forehead.
"But- but why?" I asked while trying to catch my breath. "I don't… want them." A small part of me shrivelled. They're old friends. After bumping my hip on the couch unintentionally, I sat as far away from the plushies as possible. Their bodies were worn and beaten, their fur matted and discoloured. Plush Foxy looked the worst- a ball of fluff replaced his head. I thinned my lips. The more I tried to remember, the more painful static warped my vision and hearing.
I ripped off Foxy's head. Why did I do that? Why did- I didn't like him. I don't like Foxy.
"I hate you," I growled to the little red fox, my eyes burning. "I can't stop seeing you everywhere I go." My fists tightened around his fuzzy ears. A fog swirled in my head.
"Why won't you just leave me alone?!"
I ripped off Foxy's head. Because it reminded me of the mask. I can see the dull green eyes behind the sockets now.
I frowned at the plushie. Someone was behind the mask. As I thought about that face, my head throbbed. In a split second, I saw all the plushies standing and staring into my soul; their mouths were open and displayed tall rows of thin, razor-like teeth. I had to stop trying. The agony left me in a sideways daze. He killed me. And that's the only reason I'm alive right now.
"Why did you do this?" I repeated to the Babs. My head was on the verge of exploding.
"We were only pretending," Biddy replied. "They miss playing pretend." My mouth hung ajar while I processed that.
"They- what do you m- th-the plushies?"
My shoulders tensed. Are they alive, too? My eyes drifted back to Plush Foxy. Did I hurt him?
"That's not possible," Baby commented, and I took that comment as horseshit considering all the things I knew thus far.
"Michael, what happened to your eye?" Chelsea questioned and cocked her head. The other two cocked their heads the same. I squeezed my wrists.
"I don't want to talk about it."
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Despite lacking proper sleep, I paced around the house. The Bidybabs did their own things; I no longer cared about how many objects they ruined with their tiny sharp teeth- none of that mattered. I chewed the inside of my cheek, and I rolled the knotted edge of jacket strings between my fingers.
He's gonna find me. He's gonna find me and he's gonna kill me.
My breathing became sporadic yet again, so I stopped and leaned against the wall. One, two, in- I caught sight of the telephone. I stroked my baby sideburns, going back to thinking.
Should I call someone? My throat sank. No. Not Sasha. Not Holly. Not even James. They can't help me. Nobody can help me. I imagined the phone's ring echoing down the hallway. Imagine if I'd answered it, and my best friend was on the line?
"Hi, stupid! I'm perfectly fine! Don't worry about my dad; he needs to take a chill pill. Let's hang out or something!"
I grimaced. She's not coming back. Still, I couldn't stop but fantasize about the idea that she was somewhere. I saw her blood. Father took her away from me. He took her. Was it all just a nightmare? No. I looked up from my shoes. Where did he take her? Something stirred in my stomach- was it an animatronic or a spark of hope?
"Where did he take her?" I repeated aloud. My legs resumed pacing, and I resumed biting the inside of my mouth. What if she's still alive? What if she's fine? She's out there!
"I hate to break it to you," Circus Baby interjected my irrational thinking, "but if she wasn't already… gone… on the driveway, she probably didn't last long in the trunk of your father's car-"
"No!" I yelled. My pacing came to a halt.
"You saw how much blood there was!" Baby argued. I raised a shaking fist, contemplating punching another hole in the wall. I let out a frustrated scream. My hand rested gently against the paper. I couldn't do it.
"I just don't know what to do anymore," I gulped back what could've been another episode. "I can't just sit around- I can't- I h-have to know." The world swayed in my blurred vision.
"Michael-" I couldn't let Baby finish. My voice shuddered with every word.
"What if nobody's actually dead? What if Father did something? What if he brought everybody back with- crazy chance robo m-magic or something? I'm alive! I died! What if they-"
"Stop being a dummy!" Baby couldn't let me finish either. "Elizabeth Afton is dead! Martha Afton is dead! Bobby Nicholas is dead! Peter Jansen is dead!"
"Stop it!" I spat, but she continued anyway, "Ron Harrison is dead! Mabel Sanderson is-"
"SHUT UP ALREADY!"
Enraged, I swung the front door open. The doorknob crashed into the wall, creating a sizable dent. I zipped my jacket back up to my neck.
"Where are we going?" both Baby and Foxy asked in unison. I stormed across the driveway.
"I am going to find s-something to prove that- that none of this shit is actually even happening right now!"
A bead of sweat ran down my nose. I knew I sounded ridiculous, screaming like this. I didn't know what else to do. I started down the sidewalk. The sky burned an orange-red, and dark silhouettes of houses on the block loomed over me. Everyone and everything seemed to be judging me. You're an idiot.
Before anyone gained the chance to notice me, I crept into the backyard of my destination. The open window above me lined up perfectly with the trash bin.
"Please tell me you're not about to break into Mabel's room," Baby sighed with disapproval. I ignored her. I balanced my weight across the top of the bin. When I stood carefully, my eyes met the hem of pink curtains. I grasped the edge of the window.
"Okay," I said through a deep breath. In a swift motion, I hoisted my upper body up. My legs kept my climb steady. Half of me slumped over the window sill.
"Why aren't you trying to stop me?" I whispered. Baby didn't respond. I threw one leg into the room. Five zombie-like grunts later, I crumpled my entire body into the carpeted floor of the not-so-spacious bedroom of Mabel Sanderson. One of my hands smushed a pile of shirts. My elbow scraped against the footboard of her bed. As I got to my feet, my eyes scanned everything. Thanks to my lack of left eye, I rotated my head more than usual. My jaw tightened.
She's not here. She was never going to be here waiting for you.
Flashy vinyl records of 80s rock pop, R&B, screamo- and a million other things I didn't recognise- spotted the yellow walls. A few band and inspirational quote posters were spread haphazardly about. I stepped over another mound of clothes, almost slipping on her pink skates. I'd forgotten how disorganized she could be. I'd only seen her room one time: when I went upstairs to use the restroom, and the door was left ajar. Being here now stuck a terrible twist in my stomach.
What have I done? Why did I do this?
I treaded on the balls of my feet, involuntarily leaning to one side. My shoe squeezed out half a tube of acrylic paint. Oops. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her face on the wall. Oh, pictures. She'd tacked a very impressive amount of polaroids above her bed.
That's her with her high school friends, that's her in 9th grade, that's us at that beach lake- aw, she's really little in this photo. Random dogs. Is that a snake? Youth group photo. I was there. And that's me, too. She actually kept the embarrassing graduation photo.
I saw my face in most of the pictures, actually. There was just one problem: every single photo she took with me was blurry. I squinted at one of them, where we'd decided to match shirts that day, and noticed dark spots between the hazy blur on my body. What is… Are those lines? My breath caught in my throat. I examined other photos. In the few that I looked directly at the camera, my irises appeared to be glowing a whitish-blue. One could assume it was a red-eye effect at first glance. I swallowed.
Did she notice that? Did people always know? I'm- you can see lines on my skin- my eyes- it's- it was always this easy to tell? I'm not really-
"Michael," Baby interrupted calmly, "look over there." She gently used my finger to point.
"Oh," I said when I saw it. A wrinkled five-by-seven photo peeked out from underneath more photos of her and I. A family portrait.
She was just a little kid in this photo. There's her father, and there's her mother. She looks just like her.
Things seemed to click now in my head. It made sense. That's why she- We talked about this. We both had no plans for Mother's Day. I shook a fist. How could I forget that?! My memories don't make sense!
"Oh, dear," Ballora mumbled at the back of my head.
"Hey, look! That paper has your name on it!" Funtime Freddy pointed out. He waved my arm in the direction of a folded piece of college-ruled notebook paper. The paper jutted out from underneath her mattress. I distinguished the name "Mikey" written above a paragraph.
"N-no, no, maybe that's- maybe that's for someone else," I spluttered. I hugged my arms together and bit my lip. Guilt washed over me.
Even if it is for me, I shouldn't. I can't. That's not right.
I blinked, and I began to unfold the paper. The words danced in a random, rapid pattern. Her handwriting was awful. I remembered that. The longer I read, the more my eyes burned. I could've sworn my heart stopped for a few seconds.
She wrote of the attributes that I didn't even know about myself. No, not obvious physical things like hair, eyes, or body build.
The smile that spreads on my face when I listen to whatever she's ranting about, not knowing at all what she's saying but listening anyway. The way my ears get red when I'm flustered. When I laugh and genuinely mean it. The days that I'm depressed and the colour returns to my skin when she sits with me. Or when I finally got the answer right on the math homework.
I licked a tear off my upper lip. I have to find her. She's somewhere. I can't give up. I have to find her. I shook the paper in my hands, and made a shuddery declaration:
"I'll find where Father took you if it's the last thing I do."
Taking a breath, I stepped back. My heel crushed the corner of a cassette tape and threw off my balance. The second my spine hit it, I gripped the edge of the dresser. No! I could not save an entire stack of tapes. The bulky plastic made a thundering crash toppling to the floor around me. I went lightheaded.
"Is it time to leave now?" Circus Baby hurried, snapping me out of a daze. I stumbled over another mountain of stuff. The window seemed so far away.
"Mabel? Is that you?"
Dizzy, I caught myself on the wall. I almost didn't resist the urge to answer back, "No!" Every clunky footstep up the stairs added another beat to my heart. I practically flung myself at the curtains.
"GO GO GO!" Funtime Freddy screamed in my ears, causing a wince to form on my face. I almost swayed too far out the window.
"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, baby girl," Mr Sanderson called, halfway up the stairs. "You know I want you to be safe." My entire body curled around the window sill. One leg dangled outside.
"Why the hell did I do this?" I whimpered. My other leg was the last thing keeping me anchored to the house. Before I could adjust my position, the room door opened. I watched the concerned smile on Sanderson's face shapeshift into a furious grimace.
"You," he growled. I shrieked as my muscles petrified. Before I realised it, I fell. My hip smacked the bin. I hit the ground, my spine coiling. A stabbing flash of pain echoed throughout my lower body. I rolled over, trying to get up, and squealed breathlessly, "Oww!"
"You have to get up now, Michael!" Baby blurted.
"I c-can't!" I yelled, hugging my waist. We startled at the sound of the front door flying open.
"We're taking control!" stated Baby. She made my limbs lighter as she did just that.
"Okay, th-thanks," my mouth uttered weakly. We stood with a right-leaning posture. Our run had been reduced to awkward stumbling- like a baby learning to walk. I felt the agonized scowl on my face. Ennard kicked up my legs, trying to speed up our flee. We slammed head first into the grey base of a tree.
"Did nobody see the tree?!" Baby exasperated. Mr Sanderson approached with clenched fists. In my head, I screamed a cry of distress.
"GET UP! C'MON, DAMMIT!"
"We're doing the best we can right now, darling!" Funtime Foxy replied harshly. Ennard flopped my body upright like a ragdoll. Somewhere on my right side, bone fractures clicked out of place. One of the Funtimes screeched. Massive hands grasped my collar. No! NO! Once again, I stared into the enraged features of Mabel's father, Mr Sanderson.
He may as well eat me as a bedtime snack-
"I have an idea," Funtime Foxy told me privately. Before Sanderson said anything, my mouth opened first.
"Uh, hello there, sir."
Foxy almost mastered my voice's nervous edge and weird Utahn-Brit-with-a-hint-of-bad-Irish accent. I glanced over at Sanderson's nicely built arms- an action that Foxy noted quickly.
"I see you've got gains, huh? You like boxing? You look like-"
He shut us up with a violent shake and a snarl.
"Where is my daughter?"
"Well, you see, you have to understand that it- it was an accident-" Foxy attempted to explain. Sanderson wasn't having any of that.
"I KNOW YOU DID SOMETHING, AFTON BOY! I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED YOU! YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HIM! WHERE IS SHE?!"
With every word, he jolted my body back and forth; his spit speckled my face. His fists shook. He was aching to kill me- I knew it. The tree pressed against my back painfully. I couldn't breathe.
Father used to do this. Every time we saw something we shouldn't have. Pinned us to the wall and yelled in our faces. I remember that!
Tears rolled down my face as a wave of hot anger surged through my veins. My mind blanked. I wasn't the only one troubled.
"WE DIDN'T M-MEAN TO DO IT!" Funtime Freddy whined, which caused Mr Sanderson to widen his eyes.
"Don't hurt him!" Funtime Foxy added in his own voice. "It's not his fault!" Sanderson dropped his grasp. In the reflection of his glasses, my eyes flashed back and forth in several colours: violet, pink, green, blue, and even purple.
"Wh- WHAT IS- YOU'RE POSSESSED!"
Her anger shaking my body, Circus Baby locked my fists. My eyes burned a neon green. She struck Sanderson's chest with jabs. I couldn't react- I didn't know what to do. I felt numb. I could only watch her take over. She punched him again and he staggered back. His hand darted to his back. The threatening glare of a pistol mortified me.
We're dead! We're dead!
Sanderson fumbled around the trigger. Sweat ran down his brow. He wasn't expecting a roughening by a 19-year-old, nor having to shoot one. Funtime Foxy yelled at Baby. She threw my fists once more. The old man's glasses shattered.
"GAUHH!" he cried out in agony. Baby ignored him. Mr Sanderson finally got his fingers on the weapon correctly. BANG! The sound of ringing and the smell of smoke stopped my breathing. The bullet barely missed my ear. Sanderson struck my face with his elbow. The crackle echoed in my skull. Circus Baby slapped his gun out of his grasp before he could fire again. She landed a hefty blow to his chin. The sight of red splattering everywhere snapped me out of my reverie.
"Baby, that's enough! We gotta stop! We're broken!"
She ignored me, too. We watched Sanderson wobble on his feet. His eyebrows had softened; his eyes were wide as saucers. A loud snap-crackle resounded; the skin and gauze on my arm ripped apart. Baby stretched out my arm. This seemed all too familiar- the warm, fast-pulsing neck against my shaking fingers.
"NO! STOP!" I screamed. "HE'S SCARED OF US!"
"He's trying to kill us!" Baby protested. Sanderson's face lost its colour by the second. He swung his leg into my chest. I heard the crack of the impact, but Baby's rage dulled the pain. Despite everything, we stood. My heart began to ache. Sanderson's eyes looked just like hers did.
"We stabbed his daughter, so of course he's upset! We deserve this! But he does not deserve to die!"
"But h-he… he tried to…" Baby's voice began to malfunction. "I- I'm b-broken again." We lurched back as anger drained away and guilt left a soggy weight on our shoulders. Her cold grip on Mr Sanderson's neck disappeared. With a gasp, he dropped to the ground. A silent prayer wisped through his uneven breath.
"We g-gotta… gotta get outta here," I managed to wheeze to a regretful clown animatronic, "bef-fore something… b-bad happens again." I forced my legs to move; I wanted to get away from Sanderson. Pain shot across my body immediately. Glass shards and broken bones and low power made every step excruciating. Mr Sanderson coughed. I looked back at him, suddenly aware that he'd crawled toward the direction of his weapon.
Run! I knew. Just for a second, I regretted stopping Baby. My leg muscles screamed at my abrupt movement. I couldn't run. Mr Sanderson's large trembling hand raised the pistol. Sorrow laced the old man's dark eyes. He didn't really want to hurt me. Or maybe that's what I wanted to believe. I don't know.
Anyway, he squeezed the trigger. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!