The More Things Change...

It starts again. Worn leather chair under you. Stale air. Cameras up.

You need to survive.

You check the monitor. It's only 1 AM. Your power is at forty percent.

Check the left hall. Nothing there. Bad.

Find the rabbit. Where is he?

Can't find him. Can't afford to look away.

You have to.

Flick the lights. Nothing. Go back to the cameras.

Bear still on the stage.

You look down. Power is now at twenty-three percent. Cold sweat.

It's not supposed to drain that fast.

You have to power it back up.

Check the east hall. Empty. Generator's hidden in the kitchen.

You know the way.

You run.

Burst through the kitchen doors.

Get to the generator. Turn the hand crank.

It sputters and then hums loudly.

You book it out of the kitchen.

To your right. Curtains shift. You push yourself harder.

Barrel into the office. You slam into the chair.

Nearly throw yourself off balance.

Cameras back up. Pirate's Cove is still.

Look for the chicken. She's in one of the party rooms.

Check the halls again. Nothing. This should bring you relief.

It doesn't.

Check the cove again.

Fox is poking his head out.

Your breathing picks up. Flip through cameras.

You hear something hit the floor on your left.

You look up. You see two dots of light in the darkness.

You hit the door button. It slams shut.

Power's gone back down. At fifty percent.

Starting to panic.

You hear something flip a table in the main room.

Was it the bear or the chicken?

You don't know. Cameras are down.

Wind the music box. Did you wind the music box?

You don't remember.

You panic.

Flipping through cameras frantically. You spot something.

The bear. Not on the camera. He's flat. Interposed on the screen.

You put the camera down. The bear's right in front of you.

You scream and try to get away.

Just fall backward off your chair.

A crack. Flash of white.

Head hurts. You scramble upright. The bear's gone.

Then the smell hits you.

Meat. Mold. It's rotten. Smells like pork.

You want to retch, but you have to keep your eyes on the cameras.

You retch anyway.

Dinner's gone. On the floor, now. You sit back down.

You check the stage. Everyone's gone. There's a hole on the back wall.

It leads somewhere else. Not supposed to be there. Not even look.

Panicking more. You check the battery.

It's at thirteen percent. You feel your stomach drop.

You have to kickstart it again.

Check the east hall. Walls are crying.

You run.

Run down the hall, fast as you can.

You hear grinding behind you.

Clanking, steady footsteps. One after the other.

It's coming for you.

You can smell it from here.

You trip. Linoleum's cold. Deathly cold.

You struggle to pick yourself back up.

Keep running. It's behind you.

Creaking joints. Whirring gyros. Gnashing teeth.

You can hear it. It's close enough to grab you.

It does.

Evan's eyes shot open, a choked scream escaped his mouth, and his body jolted as if he'd been shot. The grimy pizzeria was gone, replaced with the ceiling of his room. His breathing was shallow and rushed, his eyes were darting around the darkness looking for anything that might be a threat, but there were none. Sharp breaths, chest heaving for a couple minutes, Evan slowly began to calm down. Then, reality and memory came rushing back and he froze up for a minute as he tried to process what he'd just lived through, or at least, thought he'd lived through. After another few seconds, all he could do was roll over to the left and face the window of the room. He couldn't see much, just the top of a small tree and the lights of downtown La Verkin bouncing off of the clouds. And once again, the waterworks turned on. It was practically a nightly occurrence by now; Evan had a nightmare, woke up screaming, and the fear of the dream and the fear he felt three weeks prior came rushing back. There was no other outlet he could take. He curled up on himself and choked out pained sobs one after the other; it still felt so real.

He kept himself balled up and unaware of how much time had passed, but froze up instinctively when he heard his door creak and open up, letting the light from the hallway filter in. He could see a shadow cast on the wall, feminine. He knew who it was. He lived with a girl with dark brown hair and a kind smile. She was six years his senior, the daughter of his dad's oldest friend. "Evan…?" Her voice was smooth and calm. Evan's eyes flicked to his right, but he didn't move. This prompted the girl to softly call out again, "Evan, are you okay?"

Evan stayed silent, but he eventually forced out a weak, tentative, "...Yeah…"

"...Another nightmare?"

"...Yeah."

Steps muffled by the carpet crossed the room, coming closer. Evan didn't budge, even as the girl sat on the bedside and placed her hand on his shoulder; he did eventually look back, rolling himself on his other shoulder to look at her. She was wearing loose pajamas, staring at him, eyes wide, concern written all over her face. She'd broken up with her boyfriend and lost her dad and honorary uncle in the same week, and still, she was trying to look out for him and cheer him up; Charlie was a tough girl, but forced to grow up too fast. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a nightmare, right? And the incident…" She trailed off as she looked out the window and it momentarily looked like she'd forgotten what she'd been talking about before she snapped her head back down and tried to reassure him, "The worst of it's behind you, Evan. It'll never happen again. I promise."

He dropped back down from propping himself back up with a grimace. "H-how can…you can't promise that. I'll…have to go back sometime, right? Someone will…will force me to go," Evan shakily replied.

Charlie kept silent for a couple seconds as Evan began to gently cry again, but instead of saying anything, she leaned down and tenderly put her arms around Evan's neck in a calming hug. It got him to stop crying, if only for a moment, before he squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over completely to let all his pain out in a series of choked sobbing. After letting him get the tears out for a couple minutes, Charlie said in a low, gentle voice, "I'll look out for you, Evan. I dunno what you might think, but I consider you a friend. And now, you're family. Someone's gotta be in your corner."

That seemed to do the trick, mostly. Evan sniffled a couple times and glanced up at her, the ghost of a smile forming on his face. They kept their eyes locked for a couple seconds, Charlie smiling along with him, before she shot a glance at his left side and nodded to it. "How's it feel?"

Evan paused, but followed her eyes and studied the same area she was looking at. His brain sent the signal to his fingers to flex themselves; the phantom sensation that remained in the stump below his shoulder obliged.

It almost felt normal.

"Weird. I don't like it," Evan sighed after a few seconds.

Charlie's lips pursed into a remorseful grimace. "I know. I'm sorry," she intoned.

"...It's not your fault, Charlie."

"...I know."

She hung her head and silence fell; she didn't know what else to say, and Evan knew he couldn't say anything else. After a long, awkward pause, Charlie finally pushed herself up from the side of the bed and gently pushed on Evan's chest to get him to lie back down. All he did was keep his eyes on her as she brought the covers back up to cover him and gently stroked his hair a couple times before she said, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day."

Evan remained quiet until she left his side, and he whispered, "Good night, Charlie."

"...G'night, Evan," she whispered back. With that, Charlie walked over to the bedroom door, gently turned the knob, opened it up, and gingerly stepped back out into the hall before quietly closing the door behind her. She sighed, letting out the breath she had been inadvertently holding in for about half a minute. Charlie reached up and rubbed her eyes. Evan may have had it rough for the past couple weeks, but she felt personally responsible for keeping him from having a psychotic breakdown, because God only knew his family wasn't helping at this point.

And speaking of which...

An odd patch of color in her peripheral drew her attention and she snapped her head around to look at it. Standing to her left was another boy with matted brown hair and a tank top and briefs. He was only about sixteen but he looked twenty years older, considering his skin was deathly pale and the bags under his eyes were the most pronounced feature on his face. As soon as Charlie saw him, her gaze turned stone-cold and she straightened up. "What do you want?" she asked gruffly.

The other boy said nothing. He just raised his head and looked at Charlie pitiably before taking a small step forward, sighing, and asking, "How is he? Is Evan okay?"

Charlie kept staring at him for a moment. Then, her brow furrowed to an almost ludicrous degree and she said through gritted teeth, "He's strung out, constantly anxious, and traumatized. No thanks to you, of course," as she pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You should leave him alone. Can't you see he's downright terrified of you now? He associates you with death. You being around makes him think he's two seconds away from dying, Michael. And you have the balls to ask to see him again while the incident's still fresh and you've basically gotten off scot-free?" No answer; Michael lowered his head again to stare at the floor. Charlie was a bit surprised, but didn't let it get in the way of chewing him out. "What? No dry comment? No witty repartee? That's a first from you," she commented.

Silence. All Michael did was stare at the ground for a solid minute but before Charlie could tell him good night (and to go fuck himself, in polite language), he raised his head slightly to look at her from below his eyebrows and said flatly, "I've dreamt it was me stuck in that stupid robot's mouth. When it clamped down, I woke up in a cold sweat. And lately I've had recurring dreams where I've been stuck working the night shift at Freddy's. Big bastard himself crammed me into one of the spare costumes, all the metal bits cutting into me. Foxy sunk his hook into my neck, once. Bonnie smashed his arm through one of the office windows to grab me. Chica tackled me and bit off my head, but I didn't die. I just sat there, just a head, screaming for help. And I woke up still screaming." He bowed his head, weariness settling into his cheeks and eyes, and then he muttered, "Always felt surreal, that. And then remembering the past couple weeks was even worse. Almost getting Evan killed. And Dad..." He trailed off and stared off into space. Then, his eyes snapped downward to stare at Charlie from under his brow. "Dad wasn't very happy with me. Who the hell told you I got off scot-free…?"

It was then, Charlie realized, she'd taken a couple steps back; Michael could never look intimidating by trying to flex or make himself look bigger than someone else, but his voice…he always seemed to make it drip with venom when he wanted it to, and his disheveled appearance was working in his favor; he was running on barely any food and less than four hours of sleep. He let his question hang in the air before he straightened back up and the shadows on his face seemed to retreat as he chided, "Christ, you're worse than Elizabeth. I'm starting to think us breaking up was a blessing in disguise, or I'd have to listen to you nag my bloody ear off all damn day."

Charlie couldn't find a good retort or even explanation; he'd stunned her into silence, and after a long, heavy pause, she muttered, "I'm going to bed and you should, too, Mike. Good night." Charlie turned around and barely registered that all he did in reply was mutter a noncommittal "Hm."

She strode back down the hall and hit the light switch. It took Michael's eyes half a second to readjust to the dark and by that time, she had rounded the corner and disappeared. He stood there, stock-still, soaking up the gloom for another minute before he slowly, jerkily, took a couple cautious steps forward and pressed the side of his face against the bedroom door. "Evan?" he gently whispered. "You still awake?"

He received no answer. All that came to him was the silence of the dead of night and the utilities of the house buzzing in the background. And then, from behind the door, a small, fearful command:

"Go away."

He tried to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking into fine shards; he'd done a good job of it before, but it never got easier. He paused for a second before he whispered back, "...I'm sorry. Good night." With that, Michael slowly rose back up to his full height and placed his hand on the wall, dragging it along to guide him as he walked back to his room.

In the dark.

Alone.