Chapter 3

Voices Speak to Deafened Ears

Content warning. This chapter contains the deaths of the missing children. I tried to write it in a non-graphic manner but it does still mention blood, being stabbed and so on. If that bothers you, skip from "Eyes shifted, views warped." to "Bloodstained walls melted into smudged wax as the crayon drawings came into focus." I will most likely update more to tone down the language if it's too much for the rating. I think it's OK right now but you never know.

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P-U-R-P-L-E G-U-Y

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Late Tuesday night? It didn't matter, at least not right now. Evan wanted to get a few answers at least before he lay comatose for 8 hours. The ghost kids had brought that mystery man up for a reason, and he wasn't liking the feeling it gave him. Ever since Five Nights at Freddy's had released, rumors spread of players being haunted by the very same spirits from that fateful day. New stories crept up here and there of people acting like rabid animals, searching for something unknown in a manic frenzy before burning themselves to death. Overall, a pretty grim picture had been painted in his mind.

Thousands of pieces of information yet only a handful was useful. Most of it was just a bunch of true crime podcasts milking the story for money. Typical. The M.C.I., Purple Guy, Bite of '87, that head-crushing in '83 and The Stitchwraith were practically a monetary feeding ground for those vying for extra bucks.

Not willing to sit through several hours of idiots spouting nonsense, Evan was content to suffer through an agonizingly long blog post detailing the incident. Whoever wrote this barely possessed any skill diction, but the gist of the article was easy to grasp. The Purple Man was a nickname given by the public to the perpetrator of the murders as he was a worker at Fredbear's Family Diner, a location that used purple uniforms in the 1980s. And…that was it. That was all that they knew. The man arrested for the murders? Innocent. The Purple Man simply appeared and disappeared like a ghost.

If the previous days' events told any sort of story, he would be back. Evan was less and enthused about such a prospect.

Another Wednesday at school, another day that 7th Grade had to queue at Salado Blue. Ever since Fazbear Ent. had sponsored and undertaken the renovation of the lovely Aemulus Jr. High, the disasters just kept piling up. First, the ventilation. Clearly, old designs from the pizzeria in the late 80s had been dug up and reused because there was no conceivable excuse otherwise for putting such absurdly large vents on the bottom of a wall. Each one practically screamed "climb inside me", and quite a few students were stupid and brave enough to do that. Animatronic of course, no other Faction fancied themselves to be that…wild.

Second, and who could forget it, the cafeteria fire. A cafeteria kitchen is meant to be many things, but flammable is not one of them. One late night, a pan with just a little oil in it and Fazbear Ents. disastrous electrical wiring job. The perfect storm had been forged. Flames licked and danced throughout the kitchen, inviting the cafeteria, the gym and a few hallways to join it in a fiery demise. Thanks, Fazbear Ent.

Of course, the leeching company only sponsored such repairs out of the desperate need for a PR boost. Expecting them to put real effort into anything was a pipe dream. When Henry Emily had died, the company lost its soul, replacing it for greed and a lust for money. They expanded on every market there was: food, TV, toys, even trying real estate, but nothing could save their reputation after those kids died.

Everyone knew that Five Nights at Freddy's was no work of fiction. Fazbear Ent. could claim that the game was a "completely fictitious scenario" until the cows came home; every soul in Salado knew the truth. And that truth is what Jason dreaded being true.

A monochrome spirit popped its head from the floorboards. "We have a story to tell you. Take a seat; let us speak."

"Didn't you already tell us your story?" Seán asked.

"No…what makes you think we did."

"You had us listen about the murders yesterday."

"That's not our story!" The spirit's snappy sentence shook Seán in ways he didn't know possible. It shoved its face to his, a menacing expression on its downcast face, obscuring his vision with a blinding light and aggressive hiss.

"Oh…" the sandy-blond shrunk into his seat with a dejected expression.

"We need your help and you need to know our story. So listen to us." One piped up.

"Our voices are not here to speak to deafened ears. We're tired of the world not hearing us. Only you can listen. Please listen!" Another cut in, flooding his vision with greyed figures stained with the tears of their murder. It was all becoming too much for Seán. Unlike the others, he was alone in the 3rd grade classroom. At least the rest had each other in the same class to converse with. But he was stuck, and with the substitute half-outside the class speaking with another teacher, this was NOT the time for a flashback. He couldn't see past the spirits, the classroom's colorful walls had been replaced with the sins of a cruel creature.

"I will, but not here. This isn't the right time."

"Then we'll come back."

SNAP

The yellow crayon broke. Gordon grimaced. He was almost finished with the perfect drawing, and then it broke. At least the ghosties were happy with it! Five little children all dead on the floor with a bloodstained, yellow rabbit prancing about in the center of the room, knife in hand. The exact image he'd been guided to draw. One spirit, a very young boy, very small and a little weak in his legs, removed his hands from Gordon's. Pictures were worth a thousand words, and if they were to tell their story, they had to do it right. Pictures were useful; a visual aid to learn? That's always a good thing! Gordon was happy. He'd done a good thing for someone, and they were happy about it!

The same could not be said for Peter. Despite being a bunny of very little brain, he caught onto what was being asked of him quite quickly, and he was not OK with it. He didn't want to draw that kind of stuff. It was scary, and creepy, and wrong, and also creepy. His adamant refusal was clear as day and his resolve, strong. Well…it would have been. Feeling hands grip his own and drag them across paper, Peter found his body controlled by a being not him. His body had been overtaken, like a ghost taking control of a robotic animal to command it however it wished. Furious lines of wax scored themselves across paper as the crayons were worn down to their nubs. The drawing was complete, and Peter was let go. A yellow rabbit, a man in a purple suit, and the promise of cake in a faraway room.

Why had they done that? They'd never been that way with anyone else…except Jason maybe. But why him? Were they that mad? Were they that desperate? Did the pictures really mean that much? Peter was too scared to find an answer. He wanted this day to end. He didn't like how mean his ghost friends had been.

"Remember kids. If you're ever having trouble understanding your books, try looking at the pictures." Right, the teacher's lesson. He should pay attention to that. Covering the drawing with some extra pages of paper, he refocused and tried his best to listen, even if it wasn't his strong suit. "When words fail, I find that pictures can really help me understand a story, even if the words are ones I don't understand. So, give it a go with your books. Try and read them, and if you get stuck on a sentence, try looking at the picture of what's happening."

Pictures helping understand a story? Maybe that's why they needed them.

Recess. No better time to tell a story than a 30 minute break of nothing but fun. Gathered beneath the shade, all the younger children involved had taken their seats (no trio of older siblings sadly). Even though they all wanted to hang out with their friends Lola and Mena, the ghosts would never have let them. If their mild aggression and temperamental attitudes said anything, disobeying them was…not ideal.

How many years had it been now? 20? 30? They couldn't tell anymore. So long of speaking to deafened ears that could not hear nor care to listen to their plight. Finally, some prospective helpers who could free them. The ones that they needed. The ones who lay connected to those infernal animatronic prisons that houses their bodies. They may not know…but the ghosts did. These ones didn't need to know anything. So long as the ghosts knew, everything would be fine. And if it wasn't? Well, tomorrow is another day.

"OK…we're here. Tell us your story." Seán stated, sitting closely with his brother Peter clung to his side.

Spirits surrounded and circled the little group, the world of Salado fading out as sounds began to muffle and dull. The screams of playing children morphed into the screams of a party; the blue sky and green grass became the kitschy, playful interior of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Not the modern one, no, this one had soul and love still in its walls. A calendar dated the day: June 26th, 1985; the clock told the time: 6pm. The late hours of operation. A man in purple, his face obscured and his lower half covered by the brightest gold. Spring Bonnie, the yellow rabbit himself. He slid into the torso with ease, as if perfectly adept to donning this costume. The head went on, eyes aglow with emerald irises. The face spelled playtime and fun with not a single sign of sinister intentions. A tragedy of deception no child could have foreseen.

"He promised us cake…"

"It was supposed to be a party…"

Down a hallway plastered in drawings, through the Prize Corner and into the backrooms. A little gathering of innocents unaware of what lay beyond the imposing, blood-red door labeled "EMPLOYEES ONLY". There was no one present, no one would be present in this area at this time of night. "It's party time! Go on, children!" the rabbit urged, voice friendly and joyous. Seán's eyes glazed over. Those words, he could've sworn he had said them. The voice, it wasn't his, so why did it feel like they were?

Eyes shifted, views warped. No longer were they looking in on the tragedy befalling the missing children. Now they were the missing children. Chica found herself in Susie's body, looking out and unable to scream a knife plunged through her neck. Searing pain struck her nerves and body as the sharp metal embedded itself in her stomach several times over. Screams deafened her ears as blood streaked itself across the floor. She was the first to fall. Bonnie was second, pinned down with a knife in his trachea and brutalized as the yellow rabbit smashed his face to pieces. Fionn tried to run, but he could not command Jeremy's body to move. Paralyzed by the past that could not be changed, he suffered as Spring Bonnie drove the knife through his chest, slashing his legs until skin fell away, flayed and bloodstained. The final blow to the throat couldn't come any slower.

Freddy began to cry, panic in his mind as he watched his friends fall from inside of Gabriel's body. Why were the ghosts showing them all this? They wanted to tell a story, they had drawings done to tell it. Why must this horrific display be input into their minds? His thoughts were cut short, quite literally, when hot metal slick with red and gore planted itself in-between his eyes. His last sight before it all faded away was the ice-cold stare of the yellow rabbit, emerald eyes no longer friendly, replaced with malice and sadistic glee.

Gordon was the only one left. He'd been saved for last. The yellow rabbit advanced, wiping his knife clean with one swipe of the hand. The door wouldn't give way to freedom as the little boy was pinned to it, choked by the mascot's massive hand. Burning pain and pins of numbness racked his legs as the knife was drawn from his stomach. One last look, one last look at the eyes of who would take his life. And then…nothing. Michael Brook's body slumped to the floor as his vision began to fade. The door opened and the rabbit departed, ditching the suit and tossing it back into the room. The last he could spot was the purple suit of the man behind the slaughter, shrinking into the darkness.

Bloodstained walls melted into smudged wax as the crayon drawings came into focus. The other pictures lay on the floor, discarded once they had served their purpose. Tremors wracked Gordon's body as he lay curled into a ball, covered by his poncho. He couldn't comprehend the sheer cruelty witnessed, and his legs still ached with pins and needles. That thing had hurt all of them. They were hurt. They were dead. Why had they been hurt that way? Being the innocent cub he was at the tender age of 6, evil was not something he could understand.

"You said you wanted to tell us your story…" Freddy began, rage lacing his words. The phrase "tell a story" implies the act of verbally reciting and recounting an experience through the act of words. Not replaying your traumatic memories of brutally dying. "We did. We told you our story." the spirits replied, firm and cold in tone. "That wasn't "telling a story". Telling a story means talking and remembering. Not showing us your deaths." Peter snapped, holding his brother tightly. He hadn't seen it like the others, but he could tell that something he didn't quite grasp was eating away at his big brother. Neither B.B. nor J.J. could find the words to speak. They'd thought that what happened to their big sister was bad enough, but nothing could've prepared them for that display. Some story it was. B.B. trusted them even less now. He may have been 6, but even he could tell that what had been witnessed was not appropriate for kids.

"Hey!" The voice of Marionette cut the rising tension as the traumatized little ones turned their heads to see the trio approaching. All three raced on over, and it only took one look to know exactly what had happened. The drawings only solidified their suspicions. "What the Hell did you do to them?" Jason demanded, ice in his words as he caught sight of the terrified expressions before him. "We told them our story!" another specter snapped back, ferocity in their words. Fianna didn't like what was about to happen. Whenever Jason showed up, the ghosts got angry, really angry, and she feared another tree branch incident. "That be no story ye told us! Ye wormed into our minds and played us yer deaths that we didn't ask to see!" Fionn yelled out, emotions ablaze in his only visible eye.

"You did what?!" Marionette exclaimed, immediately putting herself between the living and the dead without hesitation. One ghost, a young girl roared and charged, leaping at Marionette and tackling her to the ground. She disappeared within her body, and the world around morphed once again as the rest stood horrified as their friend was overtaken by a wrathful spirit.

Opening her eyes, Marionette found herself walking a darkened hallway, barely illuminated. The clock read 11pm as the red door opened once more. A mere spectator to the memory; Marionette tried to turn around but she could not control the form taken. Looking down, she could see why. She was not herself, not a human nor a ghost. Lanky, striped limbs floated eerily as the tune of "My Grandfather's Clock" echoed in her mind. She wasn't Marionette, she was The Marionette, the puppet abomination that she took the role of in The Animatronic faction. The screech of metal and clicks of whirring joints to her side indicated some creature had followed, dragging something behind. Mustering all of her strength, she managed to wrench the head around, just enough to catch sight of Endo 02 dragging parts of suits behind. Entering the bloodied room; that was the last piece Marionette needed to understand what was going to happen.

The bodies were never found and this room now told her why. Bodies had been haphazardly stuffed inside broken suits, broken, bent and forced into unnatural contortions to hide them. Watching The Marionette and the endoskeleton pry the bodies from their prisons and reposition them inside, it was clear why the bodies had never been found. They had been stuffed inside the one place no one would think to look. Inhumanely stuffed at that. In a way, what the two animatronics were doing seemed like a mercy, dignifying the dead with a somewhat respectable "disposal", if that was the right word for it. Carefully, limbs were slid into suits, bodies positioned upright and tenderly treated with the care they deserved. It wasn't a conventional funeral, but it would do given the circumstances.

Once the bodies were secured inside of their suits, The Marionette placed a glowing gift box shining white and tied in red ribbons by each one. The presents dissolved into each suit, shimmering up the sides like light creeping over the horizon. Upon the last gift being given, the heads were finally placed over each child and with that, the memory faded out. Marionette's eyes met the blue Salado sky and many concerned children looking down at her. Jason's hand took hers and helped her to stand. "Are you alright?!" Chica cried, panicked out of her mind. "I…think I'm OK." she answered, stabilizing herself against Jason's body. He was a good friend, always supporting her, literally even. The spirit who had charged her stood just a ways behind, glaring daggers. Jason matched her expression, fury in his shrunken irises and a look of murder. "What the fuck did you do to her?!"

Silence…not a single reply.

"Tell me. What did you do to Marionette."

A scream rattled the air as the little spirit tore through the air, moving at inhuman speeds and ramming into his body. He was sent a few feet back, skittering and rolling across the dirt as the furious horde of spirits charged him, pinning and mauling him however they could. Hands reached for the collar around his neck, seized by frigid fingers of spectral form and tugging at the metal pieces. A piece was torn free, the collar's outer ring ripped asunder. Rabid, uncontrollable mania had overtaken them, a level of emotion they could not control. The bell signifying the end of recess made them pause, and Jason took the opportunity to put as much distance as he could between them. His neck burned with scratches and metal chafing. He had to get this collar off.

How many days had it been? August 11th put this on, and today, September 24th had still refused to let it go. That was…including today…45 days. 45 days of having this collar stuck on his neck and 45 days of having more questions than answers. As strange as it was to say, thank God for Freakshow Rock. Their drummer, a boy named Thomas Stone, had a mother, and her profession was jewelry. Out of everyone in Salado, she knew how to get this collar off, and most likely was the only one with the tools to do it safely. At least, that's what Jason thought, so here he was, sitting in their garage-turned-workshop-turned-jeweler's-paradise with his hair tied back and a woman working away at the collar.

Sitting here, he'd found himself with quite a lot of time to contemplate. How had this action even been allowed to take place? Sure, Nurse Villmens was fired the day it occurred, but even then, how on God's green Earth did she find some crazy lady to put it on him in the first place? And why had she been screaming about her kids? Jason didn't know any children named "Sammy" or "Charlotte"; he knew a Sam, but not a Sammy.

"You know, Jason, those names sound familiar…" The words of Mrs. Aruna Stone, a woman dark in hair and light in skin trailed off as she raised her tools to the collar, prying and poking the interwoven wires and metallic pieces. Beside her sat Thomas, a pale-skinned, somewhat-short boy of 5'3ft with yellow-blonde hair cut short save for two sidelocks that trailed to his midsection. His eyes were outlined in black liner and with green here and there, nothing garish, just like his attire. A black t-shirt and bright-blue shorts hemmed shorter than usual to accommodate his missing right leg ;a stumpy thigh somewhere between the proximal femur and middle femur was all that remained. A childhood injury sustained from a rideable lawnmower, he'd said, a few years ago. "They do? How so?" Jason queried, head tilted in both confusion and from the sound of a jeweler's saw grinding against the metal.

"Well, I remember hearing Deema-" she paused, remembering that Jason had no idea who that was. She had met him before (after all, he was friends with her son), but this was the first time either had interacted outside of small talk. "She's my grandmother; I heard her talk about it. See, my mother was born the same year that Sammy went missing, and when she was 7, Charlotte Emily went missing, just a few miles outta town. For years after that, Deema was very protective of my mother and never left her alone anywhere, out of fear of losing her as well. Even when Fredbear's Family Diner reopened in the early 80s, and my mother was an adult, Deema never let her go near the place unless she or my father, her then-boyfriend, was with her, especially not after hearing about the Missing Children Incident and the Death of Mallory Emily. After that, my mother was banned from all Fazbear Ent. establishments without an escort and at least 10 bodyguards. Even I got banned from it." she explained.

"Death of Mallory Emily? Who was she?" Thomas asked, giving Jason a fearfully-concerned look. "Oh, she was the mother of Sammy and Charlotte and husband of Henry Emily, the founder of Fazbear Ent. and the restaurants. From what the news reported, she killed herself out of grief after the 5 children went missing. Most likely, the guilt from being unable to stop more children from going missing at the restaurant." Aruna reasoned. She wasn't privy to all the details; Deema and her mother never wanted to speak of it. This was the best she could do.

From just beyond her views, unseen and unheard to her and Thomas, stood a specter, a little girl. Could it have been Charlotte Emily? Jason couldn't tell, none of the ghosts had any defining features that he could make out. Something about their presence was obscured, blurred and corrupted by the visage of an animal's shadow overtaking their monochromatic forms. Most certainly, it was of the suits that had become their coffin.

Something behind her, a tall, lanky…thing…had shaped itself among the shadows. He wanted to claim that it was The Puppet, but it felt too…human…to be that strung-up clown creature. This was…eerie. Briefly, the memory of Mallory from the nurse's office played in his mind, but he shooed away those thoughts. He couldn't connect those figures together; Mallory looked human, and normal, if grey from pale pallor (although, given how it seemed that she too was a phantom, of course she would be so pale), while this thing was anything but human. A voice in his head insisted that it was Mallory, another argued against it, a third insulted them both and began spouting off nonsense.

All three worked in tandem to unsettle Jason, but none could do better than the specter before. Her glare bored into his soul and practically ripped open every insecurity, anxiety and fear he held. It was like she had wormed her way into his mind and was violating his thoughts and feelings with her cold, unbreaking glare of rage. He couldn't tell why these ghosts hated him so much. They were so angry at him. From dragging him across the hall into a closet, then beaning him with a tree branch, the cryptic threat and then mauling him in the recess yard, it didn't make sense. Even a cockroach by her feet seemed unnerved, the insect slowly inching further and further from her presence. She didn't seem to care about it; why would she? It was a cockroach.

The sound of the saw droning to a halt with wet, slimy rotations cut through the tense atmosphere. Black goop with a faint purple shine had clogged the saw's mechanisms, stopping it cold. It poured from the collar, leaking out and trailing down like old, thick motor oil. The unfortunate cockroach found itself covered in the stuff. The insect wasn't too pleased and began to make its way back to wherever it came from, unknowingly crossing paths between itself and the little ghost. The moment it stepped close enough, the spirit went berserk, the same wild and chaotic rampage manifesting right here on that poor cockroach. Jason didn't like the things, but even then, he still felt bad watching it be torn apart like a toy. Insect guts fell to the wayside as the ghostly girl discarded of it.

She hadn't even cared about it not a minute before, but the second it got too close with that goop on it, she slaughtered it without mercy. Only when it had that goop on it did she care. Goop that had come from his collar. Mallory had been acting maniacal when she'd forced it onto his neck. Acting almost exactly like the children have. The same uncontrollable anger, and while she hadn't tried to kill him, her rants and forceful actions coupled by the intense emotional storm did make sense. The ghosts had been grabbing his collar earlier, and when they had broken the outer ring, that's when their anger increased. Was the collar what had been driving them mad? Was it that which had brought Hell's fury upon him? It looked like it was. All the more reasons to get this damn thing off.

Maybe if he could remove it and get rid of the thing, the ghosts would calm down. Maybe then he could get some answers.

Author's Note

Hey so fun fact, the title is meant to reference how the ghosts are speaking to the world but the world cannot hear them. That was probably very unclear since the chapter is about the ghosts telling their story in its entirety while forcing the kids to listen. Also, the collar is back. Indeed, that plot point is going to go somewhere, and I laid the first bit of groundwork in Jason's short (Interview #2) but didn't really do much with it until A Mystery Makings. I promise it is gonna go somewhere, which is why I had a conversation about it. It isn't going to be a major thing for a while, but I am going to bring it up when I can so it's not forgotten about any more. Also, Sean got jumpscared FNaF 3 style. Revenge I guess; those phantoms suck.