Chapter 4: The Nightmares

Evan had no funeral, no wake, and no headstone. Instead, he had a small unmarked grave in the woods at the edge of our property. He had spiders and worms and more of the "creepy-crawlies" that he'd hated, all burrowing into the freshly-turned earth. He had four people nibbling a lukewarm casserole while thinking about him.

Dad disappeared into his office as soon as the coffin was in the ground, so Mum and I went to Uncle Henry's. On the drive over, she made a half-hearted attempt to assure me that it wasn't my fault, even though it obviously was.

I didn't answer; I only clutched the casserole dish like a talisman. One of her friends dropped it off. We'd had a few deliveries, but none of the givers lingered at the Afton residence. This offering had tuna and vegetables in a creamy sauce with the ever-present crumbly crackers, but the heat wasn't doing the tuna or cream any favors.

As we drove, I ventured, "Will Evan get a gravestone?"

"I don't know. Those are awfully expensive."

What was she talking about? Dad was the co-owner of a pizza franchise. He owned Afton Robotics. It must have been an excuse, like the one I'd used on Evan before his party. I grunted and tried to picture what the stone would even say. Maybe it would be something simple, like "Evan Gregory Afton. 1974 – 1983." Maybe it would say "Death by Robot Bear." Nothing I came up with seemed right, so I let it go.

When we got to Uncle Henry's, Mum left me for him so that they could whisper and cry in a corner. Henry's daughter, Charlie, threw a big hug around me. "Sorry I couldn't be at the party or the hospital. I wasn't feeling well, so Dad made me stay home."

"They have to keep hospitals sterile," I told her, echoing her father.

She screwed up her face and took the casserole dish out of my hands. "I'll get plates and things for this."

She busied herself with practical things, this scrawny eight-year-old kid with the warm smile, and I wondered if she knew how her own brother died. I wondered if she even remembered him. It wasn't right to ask.

Instead, I ate casserole with her and talked about movies and things that seemed normal. We kept coming back to Return of the Jedi, which our families had seen together earlier that month. It was the last time the two of us had really hung out, since she was so little that I didn't usually want to be seen with her. I made an exception for Star Wars.

Half an hour into the visit, I started to feel off, and I fled into the bathroom to throw up. I emerged later, shame-faced and with a lingering sour taste in my mouth, only to have Mum palm my forehead and ask, "I wonder if he has what Charlie had?"

"Or I had bad tuna casserole," I grumbled, but she insisted on taking me home anyway and apologized to our hosts. Henry waved away her concerns and wished us well.

I didn't protest about leaving, especially since we had to pull over halfway home so I could hurl again. I started shaking as my stomach convulsed, and the tremors didn't stop even after we made it back. Mum had to help me to my room, though I insisted I could change into my pajamas by myself.

"Alright, but call if you need me. Any time. Just try to rest." She kissed my forehead and slipped away with silent grace while I stumbled to my bed and crawled under the covers. I was getting into the habit of going to bed fully dressed, but I couldn't help it.

I listened to the TV switch on down the hall as Mum started one of her soap operas, but at some point, I shifted into the land of dreams. Or, rather, nightmares.

I was hiding. I was hunted. I was in Evan's room with his plushies, surrounded by monsters that wanted to break in. I protected myself by holding doors closed and shining a flashlight this way and that to keep those monsters at bay.

All of it would've been standard dream stuff, if not for those monsters themselves.

Dad's animatronics infiltrated our house, in places where they shouldn't have been. I peeked into the hallway and found dark, decaying animals watching me with wild eyes and baring needle-like teeth. I desperately tugged the door shut and listened to my own breathing, which was answered by labored breathing on the other side of the flimsy wood.

Part of me wondered how the animatronics were still working. They had so many pieces broken and missing, and so many wires exposed. The rest of me knew that little things like "working parts" didn't matter. These things wanted me, and nothing would stop them.

They would outlast me. They would get in. They would rip me apart like a pack of piranhas.

They lurked in the halls – Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and, of course, Fredbear.

Foxy waited in the closet.

Evan's Fredbear plush writhed and spewed out shadows, until I banished them with beams of light.

His golden rabbit plush – now faded and mildewed – disappeared and reappeared and darted about when I wasn't looking.

The sliding closet doors rattled, and I fled my post to throw myself against them, to keep the monster inside, to keep it satisfied with the darkness. None of the doors would stay shut – the bedroom doors or the closet ones.

I scampered this way and that in a blind panic. I ran from one sound to another, brandishing my flashlight like it was a lightsaber.

I reeled back and forth, losing ground with every second. It was only a matter of time before they coordinated their attacks and came from more than one place at a time.

My legs twisted beneath me, and I went down, striking my knee against the bed frame.

Heavy breathing neared the door.

A steady beep cut through the night, and I woke up.

My alarm clock? Why had I set it for 6 a.m.? Why had I set it at all?

I clawed for the alarm, thanking it for the first time in my life.

My heart thundered through my sweat-soaked body, but I was alive.

I lay there staring at my ceiling as long as I could.

In fact, I was there longer than I meant to be, because soon, I returned to my nightmare.

I went there night after night – I don't know for how long.

Day after day, I felt myself slipping away from the world around me.

Some friends tried to visit, I think. Maybe Charlie and Uncle Henry. Not Orson, Jay, or Pete. I registered some basic facts, like the fact that my dad wanted me to leave my door open all the time.

I shuddered in horror at the idea. I needed that door. I needed it to protect me from the things lurking in our halls.

I closed my door and locked it and barricaded it with furniture whenever I was in there.

At first, I didn't leave for… I don't know for how long. Mum brought me meals. Dad shouted at her and at me through the door. His voice got more and more desperate.

Then the nightmares started coming during the day. A golden bear visited while I was wide awake and stared, unblinking and unmoving, through my window.

Two words appeared before me, like the bear was speaking in my mind: IT'S ME

IT'S ME

IT'S ME

Over and over. I squeezed my eyes shut and drew my covers over my head, but they didn't go away.

IT'S ME

IT'S ME

IT'S ME

I wanted to shut the blinds, but that would mean getting close to the creature.

IT'S ME

"Who are you?" I yelled, flinging off the covers.

Fredbear stared back without answering. I knew who he was. I'd known Fredbear longer than I'd known most of my friends.

But was it really Fredbear? Why would an animatronic from my dad's restaurant be waiting outside my window? Was it real?

It wanted me to follow it. I don't know how I knew, but I did.

That's when a realization hit me: There was nothing this bear could do to me that I didn't deserve.

With that thought, my tension melted away, and I stared into Fredbear's grey eyes. "Okay," I said, testing out a calm, even tone. "I'm ready."

Almost in a trance, I slipped out of bed, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Now there was nothing between me and the bear, but he didn't move until I crawled out.

I hadn't been using my legs much, so when I hit the ground, I stumbled and fell against the solid, furry mass.

Fredbear turned away and marched into the woods. I followed like a baby duckling trailing after its mama. I followed him all the way to an unmarked grave in the woods, where spiders and worms still made themselves at home.

Fredbear abandoned me at some point, and I trudged home.

Dad caught me halfway back and seized me by the arms. "What were you doing?!"

"I was visiting Evan," I told him simply.

He said more after that, but I'm not sure what. I stayed silent as he railed about something, spittle flying into my face. He dragged me back home, his grip tightening more and more the farther we walked.

Soon I was back in my room, and the nightmares started again.

The daytime-nightmares kept up, too, and I kept following Fredbear as long as he visited. Dad nailed my window shut and told me I needed to stop running off when no one knew where I was. He said someone had to keep an eye on me.

He got into his car and peeled away in the rain. I waited for Fredbear's next visit and smashed the window out so I could reach him. I put my coat over the broken glass, gingerly climbed through, and left the sounds of Mum's TV behind me.

The next morning, I had another visitor, but this one, I remembered. This one was a blonde policeman named Officer Burke. He was asking me about Charlie. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"We watched Return of the Jedi together," I answered.

"When was that?" I shrugged, and he asked, "You're sure you didn't see her after that?"

"I've seen her."

He stared at me strangely then asked, "Where were you yesterday?"

"I was with Evan."

Officer Burke hesitated. "At his grave, you mean?"

"It was wet."

"Yes," he said, nodding encouragingly. "Yes, it was. Did you see your father at all yesterday?"

"No. He was at work."

He paused his sparse note-taking to point at my window with his pen. "What happened there?"

"I broke it." He seemed to be trying hard to make sense of something, so even though this whole meeting felt distant and unreal, I decided I'd try, too. "I broke it," I repeated. "Dad shut it so I'd stop running out of the house."

"That seems to be a theme with your dad lately."

He seemed to be waiting for something, so I said, "Oh."

"The new security measures at the restaurant?" he prompted.

"I don't know about that. I haven't been back since my brother died."

"Of course. I'm very sorry for your loss." I think he'd said that when he first came in, too. Despite anything he felt, he pressed on to clarify, "So you weren't at the restaurant yesterday?"

"No."

"What about last night? Did you see your dad last night."

"He wasn't here. I was here with the Nightmares." It vaguely crossed my mind that I should've been embarrassed to say something like that. It sounded like something a baby would say.

But Officer Burke didn't seem to think I was a baby. He closed his notebook and patted my shoulder. "You've been through a lot, but I'm sure you'll get through those nightmares. You know, I have a son – Carlton. He was one of Charlie's friends. Maybe you've seen him around? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he had some nightmares, too."

Something in his words cut through the fog that smothered my brain. A sliver of light and understanding jabbed through, and I asked, "What were you saying… about security?"

"Oh, your dad built a new animatronic. A puppet. It ran along these rails in the ceiling, and it was supposed to keep the kids safe. They all wear bracelets in the restaurant – something that let the puppet thing keep track of them. It kept them from running off and that kind of thing. Except yesterday evening, when some kids trapped it so it couldn't come out and do its job."

I blinked, realizing I hadn't done that in a while. "Did something happen… to Charlie?" Fear flooded back into me as Officer Burke nodded.

He lowered his voice gravely and said, "I'm afraid Charlie is dead."