William was used to coming home late, oftentimes when the youngest of his children were already sleeping, so today has been a wonderful respite for him. One of the few regrets he had over his extensive and busy workflow was that it left only a handful of opportunities to spend time with his children, but this week was about to be one of the freest he had in a long time. William was sure his children would appreciate it as much as he would, not to mention the exciting news he was about to bring.

When he parked near their house, located in a remote place amongst natural woodland, the sun still hadn't fallen in its entirety, a rare sight. William was quick to approach the door, noticing the lights that were on the inside, with a few familiar voices echoing from beyond the door. He could've opened the door himself, but at the last moment, he decided to signal his arrival by ringing the doorbell. As William opened the door, he could already hear the echo of footsteps that approached the entrance. Moments after opening the door, William was bet by a pair of excited emerald eyes that glimmered with joy as they witnessed him. A young girl with long strawberry-blonde hair was on the other side.

"Daddy!" She exclaimed after hopping on the spot in a fit of excitement before rushing into William's arms and offering him a warm embrace. Afton couldn't react as quickly, even though he should've expected this from his daughter. "You're back!"

"Hello, Liza." William finally returned the embrace as a warm smile emerged on his face.

"I thought you won't come home until after a few hours…"

"Well, I decided to free up my schedule a little and arrange a fitting surprise for you," William said, making Elizabeth's smile even wider.

"Thank you! We all really missed you."

"That's why I came…Is everyone else home already?" William wondered as he looked towards the living room, from where the faint echo of Michael's voice rang out.

"Yes, everyone's here," Elizabeth replied. "Come in; we'll have fun!"

Moments after her words, she rushed to the living room, leaving William behind. He took off his shoes and coat and followed her soon. William entered a medium-sized living room with a TV near the wall with, a blue sofa in front of it, and a table by its side. Everyone was there; a young boy with dark brown hair sat on the carpet with a couple of plush toys by his side. Elizabeth was by his side, clutching the pink toy rabbit and waiting for her father to arrive.

His wife and eldest son were on the sofa, and unlike Elizabeth and Chris, they didn't immediately look at the hallway from which William arrived; they were talking about something.

"…He just worries about you, just like I do." A blonde-haired woman with purple eyes spoke with kindness and warmth, trying to soothe the young man in a grey shirt sitting by her side. "We don't want anything bad to happen to you, and all we're asking is that you're honest with us."

"I know, and I am honest!" Michael responded in a tired voice as he tried to conceal his annoyance. "They want to suspend me for punching that idiot. Fine, I don't care. But these assholes are trying to frame me when it wasn't even my idea…"

"Oh, stop it!" Elizabeth's playful voice echoed through the room. "Daddy's back!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting…" William said in a sarcastic tone as he stepped into the room.

"Oh, finally!" Clara exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you're going to stay in there until the night."

"And miss out on an opportunity to get a breather and to spend some time with my family? Not a chance." William responded as he put his suitcase on a small table.

"Hi, dad," Chris said quietly, yet the happiness in his voice was clear. "Did you have a good day?"

"Very much so. It's been a while since I started working to create that program, but now it's done, and I have my payment, just enough to settle for a week or so and dedicate my time to other matters." William explained as he sat on one of the two chairs near the sofa.

"Hope you're proud of it." Mike's quiet tone of indifference echoed through William's ears.

"And how has your day been?" He asked while looking over his family. Unsurprisingly, Elizabeth was the first one to speak.

"It's great! I showed some of my new toys to Mary, and she showed hers; I loved them." She began to recount her day. William knew that unless one slowed her down, it was all too common for Elizabeth to wander off and tell about every single memorable thing that happened to her, but he didn't mind. "She said she really wants to come to the party, by the way, so I invited her."

"Getting prepared, I see?"

"Of course, I had to invite my friends. I'm sure it will be fun for everyone. I told them there would be a party for everyone, it would be the best one they've ever seen, and…" Soon, Elizabeth noticed Clara looking at her.

"You're doing great with gathering everyone, but be careful about heightening their expectations too much." Mrs. Afton warned her. "After all, you know that we don't have it perfectly planned out."

"Yes, that's true…" Elizabeth paused for a moment, but it didn't take her long to smile once again. "But I'm sure you and father will do just that and plan a great party for us! Isn't that right?"

"We'll do our best," Clara promised.

"And you, Chris? How was your day at school?" William asked, looking at his son. Chris looked up shyly, perhaps unsure of what he wanted to say.

"It was alright…" The boy shrugged. "I had a lot of homework today…Just finished all of it."

"Yeah, dad, don't bother him." Michael chuckled. "He's very tired after trying out the basics of division."

"Hey, it's not fair!" Chris spoke up and looked at his brother. "Of course, it will be easy for you; you're older! I'm just starting it."

"Sorry, but after having you come to my room every ten minutes and asking for help, I can afford to make a comment or two," Mike responded unrelentingly.

"I'm sure you both work very hard with the tasks you're given; no need for a competition." Clara soothed Mike.

"Yeah, too bad I didn't have an older brother to go and torment with this."

"You do realize that you should be at school, solving problems that are on your level?" William crossed his arms and spoke sternly.

"Oh, not this shit again…"

"Mike, not in front of the children!" Clara chastised him, but the boy didn't seem to care much.

"Just saying that I'm not going over it again, don't even try," Mike said abrasively.

"We don't want to drag it out, trust me," William said. "But you didn't even apologize and the school really wants you to before they can admit you again."

"Apologize for what? For beating up an asshole that wanted to rat Lamar out? No, I'm not apologizing for that, and as I said, I didn't possess any drugs myself, so they can shove it. I'll come back when they allow me to, but don't expect me to say sorry." Michael scoffed.

"Not an attitude that will get you too far in life."

"As if you ever cared for what others think, dad."

"I had to learn when to curb my pride…"

"Enough of this." Clara intervened. "I'm sure this discussion is better had once both you and Mike had some rest. It's still a few days until he's allowed into school, after all."

"Whatever…" Mike sighed. "But I'm not changing my opinion."

"Very well…And you?" Mr. Afton looked at his wife. "I remember you said you had a rehearsal today; how did that go?"

"Wonderful, actually; I rarely ever had them go so smoothly." Clara smiled. "The opening is in a few weeks."

"Heard that?" William looked over his children. "I'm sure mom would reserve a place for us all; we all need to come and support her."

"Of course!" Elizabeth responded, followed by a mod from Chris.

"Sure," Mike said calmly.

"Good, good…Maybe Gron will come too if you don't mind reserving another place." William suggested.

"Not at all; there should be more than enough. How was your meeting, by the way? Is he doing alright?"

"Better than before," William responded, unsure if he was speaking from the heart or trying to conceal a bitter reality.

"Glad to hear it."

"Wait a minute…" Mike interjected. "You didn't tell me you went out to meet Gron today."

"Did I not? Well, we stayed in a restaurant for some time, went over our news and all."

"Did you tell him I said hello?"

"I told him that you'd like to meet and talk when the opportunity arises."

"Ah, fair enough…Well, I hope he's doing good." Mike said with sympathy in his voice. "Is he planning to come to Liza's party, by the way?"

"If we invite him," William responded, making Mike throw a concerned look at Elizabeth.

"Of course I invite Mr. Takaliken! He'll have fun there, too."

"Good, good."

"Speaking of the party, you've just reminded me…" William smiled. "I have an idea on where to have it, an idea I think you would all like."

"What is it?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Have you heard of Fredbear's Family Diner?"

"Fredbear?" Chris spoke up. "Like…From Freddy and Friends?"

"I knew you'd recognize him."

"I think I heard of it," Mike said. "Some cash grab pizzeria they opened recently based on that cartoon."

"Wait, really?" Elizabeth looked at him with intrigue in her glowing eyes. "There is a restaurant with them?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

"You should've told us sooner!" The girl spoke with excitement before William continued.

"I'm yet to research it, but from what I know, they have animatronic robots of some characters from that show, Fredbear and Spring Bonnie."

"Truly?" An excited smile emerged on Chris's face. "Fredbear is the best character, and they have a robot of him?"

"Eh." Mike shrugged. "Don't know what you see in him. The only cool one is Foxy."

"Of course, you'd like Foxy…" Elizabeth sighed.

"Anyway." William interrupted them. "Considering how much Elizabeth and Chris love that show, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to spend some time with their favorite characters. What do you say?"

"Yes, that's wonderful!" Liza exclaimed. "I can't believe I didn't know about this before. It must be such a cool place."

"Well, it makes it all the better. Your birthday will become even more exciting with this discovery, won't it?"

The joy and excitement in Elizabeth's eyes said everything William needed. It seems like the decision on where to celebrate was already made.

…

"Can you describe what you are seeing?"

"It's…Hard to explain. These images, they…They appear from time to time out of a sudden; I don't understand how or why the hell this is even happening…"

Hard to explain, indeed. Gron didn't wish to share those occurrences with anyone, trying to grasp at a distant thought that everything would become okay, that one day the hallucinations would deteriorate and disappear. Even in therapy, it took him a remarkable amount of resolve to confess about them.

He wasn't sure what it was that prevented him from talking. Was it fear, or was it shame? Was it the pained memories of his own childhood? The opportunities were endless, yet the outcome was the same. Gron ignored it for far too long. After all, it couldn't have been major. Just another flash of blood on the nearby walls, just another shade of a tormented child with a stream of crimson tears coming from his eyes.

"Sometimes I just…It all feels wrong. I see things. I see a child, a boy…"

"How does he look?"

"Very familiar, a bit like my son, or even myself, just much younger…He appears in different places, on the roads, on the walls, roof, doors…"

"And is there a common threat in his appearances?"

"Yes…He's always tormented."

But at times, it became absolutely unbearable, absolutely nightmarish, and horrifying. It made Gron get distracted and involuntarily cower in fear as he saw the gruesome mutilation. Every day he would feel it, feel the ground beneath him shaking, the edge between reality and imagination blurred, as if instead of a guardian angel, it was a demon that followed in his footsteps, always knocking at the door of his remaining sanity.

"I can see him chained on the walls, mauled over by cars, ripped apart, hanging from the ceiling…Even when the image is gone, I can't stop thinking about it, I can't concentrate on anything, I can't push it out of my head…I know it's not real, but it…It looks real. More real than anything else at times. And the boy, he's…He's still alive somehow, even when he's completely torn."

"How do you know he is alive?"

"It's the voice that calls out to me…All the time. It's a quiet child's voice, his voice. It echoes in my mind when I see these things, and…And sometimes even when I don't."

"How often does it happen?"

"About five times every day now…It used to be better, just two times a week or so, and they were shorter…Now it's so common it feels like it doesn't leave me at all."

"What does it tell you?"

"I can't always tell…But most often, it is something like 'help,' 'see,' and…I don't know; the words are just lumped in my mind. It's all so fucking chaotic."

Therapy sessions were but a short respite for Gron. For the moment he left the hall, the chaos and paranoia would resume again. Once again, the gripping power of solitude and loneliness would grip Gron and force him to ponder on his only companion. It was the same with the pills. After months, his mind grew resilient; they weren't enough to ease his pain anymore. It was always the same. Gron would stroll back home amidst the grey city, so full yet for him, so empty without them. Without those, he loved and held dear to his heart, those he lost because of his foolishness and festering insanity. Those for whom his heart still yearned, yet he couldn't have them by his side. Without seeing Lynda's warm smile, without Charles's joy and excitement, Gron's life was without color.

Sometimes he wondered if he would become the madman, the jester he always portrayed before the children. What if this is simply a way to release his true nature, to allow himself to be who he truly is without repercussions and shame. Was this the explanation for his desire to work as an entertainer? Such primitive yearnings…

As Gron walked towards his flat up the stairs, the chills returned once again. He was alone amidst a dirty, old block for those who could barely afford a place to live, he was alone there, without a single doubt, yet still, he felt it. Felt it, felt them crawling on his skin, making Gron shake as if he was overtaken by frostbite. Suddenly, a simple dusty ladder turned into a menacing path, upon which Gron could feel the pain in his legs, growing worse with every single step. Something was upstairs. He could hear the faint giggle. A giggle that sounded innocuous yet quickly became distorted, slow, and entered a hellish, repetitive loop, almost becoming mechanical in nature.

"Ha-ha-ha…"

Still, Gron had to brace himself; he needed to get home.

"It's not real. It's…"

"It's real, it's real!" A weak voice responded from above, playfully parodying Gron's own words and throwing them back at him. After that, he could feel someone running on the upper floor back and forth, not stopping or pausing. Faint, echoing steps of a little child, so sweet and yet so horrifying. Gron closed his eyes and stepped up. His door was near. He wouldn't have to go up; he didn't have to confront it.

"Damn, Damn Damn…" Eventually, Gron rushed towards the door, immediately putting a keyhole into it. It wasn't real, and he knew it. It wasn't real at all; it couldn't be. Gron felt his key entering the hole. Moments after that, the quick steps grew closer as if someone charged downstairs, a rat that finally smelled some food. He couldn't look back. He had to enter his house as quickly as possible to avoid it. Finally, Gron heard a creak. It was time to open the door…

"Ha-ha-ha…" He heard another giggle, this time much closer to him. It was right above him, the dreadful head that hung on his door with its lifeless eyes looking at him. Its mouth was torn apart and sewn back together as it was frozen in a terrifying expression, making Gron's very bones shake. He could do it. He just shouldn't look.

He made his push and crossed the threshold, immediately locking the door behind him and breathing heavily. After the door was shut, he couldn't hear the steps anymore; it was as if every single one of them went silent at the same time, remaining locked out of Gron's only safe haven.

A safe one, but far from pleasant. A small flat with three small rooms, an old place that no one ever cared to keep stable, a place where he lived alone. A joyless flat where Gron was forced to stay alone in the breaks he had between taking strolls outside and working, an occasional switch of focus was necessary to keep him sane. When he was at home, he tried to keep the old flat as tidy as possible, even though it did little to keep it alive.

Gron walked towards his desk that stood near the cracked bed. It wasn't as much of a mess as it could sometimes be, a relief for Gron. There was an old phone standing on edge, while on the other lain a green jester's cap that was not used in a few weeks now, a memory of a more sweet, more fulfilling past. A past some part of Gron still believed could be restored, as naive as this belief was. Perhaps William was right; perhaps it was his responsibility to attempt and restore the bridges that were burned between him and Lynda. Gron couldn't stop looking at the phone, growing all the more tempted with every passing moment. This wouldn't change just from his empty desires. While he is still fearful and ashamed, Gron knows that was no change to expect, no change to awaiting. Without thinking, he took the phone and dialed the number, hoping that she wouldn't respond. As the phone rang, Gron took a deep breath and braced himself for this talk. He knew that he had no excuse, that he should've sought help earlier instead of attempting to be strong for them, be the father they wanted him to be. It was too late to feel the pain of this now. He had to work with what he had.

And then the phone stopped ringing, and he heard her voice.

"Hello?" Lynda sounded tired, even when responding so readily. She was always the one to always face her problems without delay.

"Hello, Lynda." Gron let out quietly as he picked up the phone.

"Gron?" She spoke up with surprise, immediately switching her tone. Now he could feel her suspicion and doubt in her voice. "Why are you calling?"

"Maybe I just want to ask how you are doing." Gron attempted to speak with warmth, though it was impossible for him not to display some caution as well.

"Truly?" Lynda wondered.

"It's not that hard to believe, is it?" Gron let out a faint chuckle.

"I'm alright. It's been hard to maintain the house, myself, and Charlie through those months…But it's getting better now." He could hear it in her voice that it was a difficult undertaking. As a single mother, she would have much more responsibilities than one could normally handle, and she would work twice as hard for their son. "Is that all?"

"Not quite," Gron replied.

"Just be honest with me and tell me why did you call."

"Is Charlie there?"

"No, he is at school."

"Ah…" Gron sighed with disappointment. He'd love to talk with his son; he knew Charles would love to catch up with him, as well. Unlike Lynda, he wasn't quite angry at his father, just scared and fearful, as any child would. It was he that was the most hurt by Gron's mistakes and stubborn refusal to consider treatment until it was too late. "I was hoping I could talk to him."

"About what?"

"I want to hear how he is doing. If he found any new friends if he is successful in school, if he found any new hobbies…It's not too much of me to ask."

"I don't know about that." Lynda sighed. "I am not sure I know anything about you anymore."

"I'm not a monster, and you know that. I'll have you know that I am undergoing therapy. It's…It will get better eventually." Gron spoke up, hoping that this would make Lynda see reason, but she wasn't so easily swayed.

"Well, I hope it helps you, truly…But it doesn't fix anything."

"I am not expecting it to! I am not…I just want to become better, even if it's already too late for excuses and apologies. I'm not asking for an opportunity to see Charlie regularly…" He should've gone directly to the point and talked about invitations; yet another topic sprung up in Gron's mind, even if it was just an attempt to reassure Lynda. He wished to see his son, but it didn't mean he would demand the opportunity before he was not dangerous anymore.

"But you will one day."

"Only when I am ready when you're ready…"

"Gron, you almost killed a man," Lynda said grimly. "All because of damn…" Her voice quivered. "I'm not just keeping Charlie away from you for the sake of it, do you understand? What if your hallucinations spring again? Do they appear now?"

"Lynda…"

"Do they?"

"Yes, they do. And that is why I'm not asking for it…Well, just once." Gron finally confessed.

"What do you mean, just once?"

"I talked to Will earlier today and he told me that he's throwing a party for his daughter, Elizabeth, her birthday is in one week. He invited me and said that he wishes to invite you, too." Gron explained, praying that she wouldn't see this as him simply trying to find another opportunity to spend time with Charles.

"I see…You just wanted to extend us an invitation?"

"Yes. Will is a good organizer. He'd make sure everyone has a good. And you know Elizabeth, she'd love for their old friends to join…"

"Charlie would need a break from school, true, but…William knows everything, right? And still trusts you?"

"I am not going to hurt anyone, I swear." Gron felt his hand shaking. She didn't trust him, and she couldn't trust him ever again after he succumbed to his hallucinations, but it was never as bad since the initial treatment and therapy. He wouldn't show it, but it hurt; it made his heart ache to hear those words, thinking of the love that once sprung between the two of them and how much it was tarnished now, only adding to his creeping shame. "Just one time. Just one meeting, that's all I ask."

"Fine…" Lynda said quietly. "We'll come. Aftons have been our friends for years, after all."

"That's all I ask." Gron finally allowed himself to breathe in relief.

"Just promise not to make this more complicated than it has to be, alright…We're here for Elizabeth's party, not for anything else."

"Of course, I am not forgetting that." Gron was quick to assure her. It seemed that all had been settled, and it was time for them to hang the phone and continue with their own, looking forward to a reunion with both hope and dread. "I'm sorry, Lynda…I truly am." His lips quivered as Gron spoke in a pained voice.

"See you, Gron." She responded quietly before ending the call, leaving her former husband in solitude once again. No reconciliation, no concession, nothing that Gron shouldn't have expected. Perhaps he should let go and move on, but it was insanely difficult, insanely painful. The thoughts of Charles and Lynda were the only ones that could spark some hope in his agonizing illness, and yet with time, those thoughts grew more bitter and painful.

He didn't want to feel this, didn't want to be consumed by the vortex of his voices and phantoms that emerged before him. But there was no other way, for that now has become a part of his life that he will have to embrace.

He could only pray that his sanity would prevail.