A Twisted Tale

Route 15, Nevada

Wednesday 30th November 2016, 18:25 PM

The road from Arizona into Utah was fraught with delays and roadblocks, leading to them having no other choice but to divert into Nevada. One night, when they decided to stop in a down under motel far from the extravagance that was the Renaissance Hotel days earlier, and they were back out onto the road, closer to Hurricane.

As they drove towards the evening closer towards their destination, Sam was drumming through her husband's notes. Though Mike had taken most of them with him, Sam had dug up what Tom had been working on soon before his death. By that point, she knew them like the back of her own hand, yet she hoped to find something that she was still missing.

At some point, Spencer was staring between the horizon through the mountain tops and his mother, before finally voicing his thoughts, "That's coding decryptions you're doing, right, mom?"

"It's mum." Tyler droned on almost sarcastically, "You're not a bloody yank."

Rolling her eyes from her work, Sam leaned back and smiled at her son. "You're talking about the files?"

"Yep." Spencer confirmed, "I've seen them enough. It's funny, Gabe would keep disguising his work the first year he joined us. You know, that whole mistrust issue. We also encountered a rare couple of criminals eager to do the same, too."

"It's not criminal work I'm working on, if that's what you're thinking." She laughed, but found herself feeling a little more sombre as she explained. "It's…your father's work. From the Fazbear Conspiracy. When he compiled them, he tended to encrypt it through various methods in case it was ever stolen."

"Hm." Spencer nodded, though he still seemed confused by something, "How long was he doing that for?"

"Honestly?" Sam thought back as far as she could, "Since he was still young. He learnt it there, but…"

"But what?"

A hesitation filled Sam's throat as she considered her next words. Albeit through the occasional mention of a past deed, neither she nor Tom had ever explained what he got up to as a child, then as a teenager. At the same time, Spencer knew to some degree who his father had been long before he was a secret agent.

"Tell him." Tyler spoke up abruptly, causing Sam to eye him with worry.

"Okay." She breathed, wishing anything other than to talk about those dark times, "You know what your father got up to when he was a teenager, right?"

"That whole gang thing." Spencer confirmed, "Yeah, I met them, remember?"

"Right. Well…when he was with them, he often had to do some…dirty business. He had to be involved in many nefarious activities; for survival, and for very good reasons. You might've heard about some of these and I want you to know that he wished it never happened. You know that, right?"

"You're talking about the robberies." Spencer spoke with a matter-of-fact tone.

"And the assassinations." Tyler agreed, making Sam scowl at him. He shrugged when he saw the look, "What? Those guys had it coming, anyway."

"Anyway," She spoke with a thin layer of venom, "It was a bad time. When he first joined them, he was taken in by their leader; a genius, who was also very guarded. From what your dad told me, he was always encrypting every little thing he held dear and eventually, he taught your father these same techniques."

"When the leader taught him this, it also came with how to cover his tracks. How to leave the pieces behind in a way where there would be footprints, yet also pitfalls. You would believe you had decrypted a huge part of the documents, to find out that it was all Danger Mouse quotes."

Understanding what she was meaning, Spencer straightened, "So you could spend days decrypting the work in one way, then do it again in another way, and you'd find different answers?"

"Exactly."

For a few moments, there was silence in the car. Feeling uncomfortable, Sam glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Spencer, though now enlightened, looking even more confused, "What's wrong, honey?"

Tilting his head forward to hide his eyes, much like his dad used to do, Spencer spoke quietly, "Dad never told me that. He never even taught me how to do it. Did he not trust me?"

Sensing the confliction in her child, Sam shook her head, "Spencer, I promise you it had nothing to do with trusting you. He did, very much so. It wasn't anything to do with you; he just…he didn't like to think back on that time. I remember it well; he had to do things he regretted for the rest of his life."

"I know, I know." Spencer sighed, "I…it feels like I still had so much to learn from him, you know?"

"I know." Sam smiled sadly, "I can't say for certain, but I think he wanted his past buried. Not only with that gang, but with the Crucible. He only carried on those little rituals of his because of old habits. He had them, I have them, and your Uncle does, too. You'll form your own."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tyler mumbled good-naturedly, "I don't have anything like that. I'm unpredictable, me."

"You check your rifle's magazine at every opportunity." She pointed out, "If someone saw how often you maintained that thing, they'd think you have OCD."

"Maybe I like maintaining gear." Tyler huffed, before becoming serious again, "Anyway, we're about to enter Utah. Sam, you might want to keep your head down, around here. You better watch out, Spence; your mum's a hardened criminal in Utah."

"Hush."

Their journey through the heart of Hurricane, past the creosote and gravelly ground welcoming them, stopped outside of a Wendy's. After helping themselves to some dinner, they got back inside the car and discussed their next move.

"So," Spencer asked them, "where to next?"

Sam and Tyler glanced between themselves before she found the answer. "I think our first stop should be the house."

"That house?" Tyler asked.

"Yep." Sam confirmed, "Mike must've stopped by there. Even if for a brief period, we might at least find a trail to follow from there."

From there, they drove north out of Hurricane. Rocky mountains gradually became fields of green on tattered ground, until they reached their turn on the interstate. A long straight drive through farmland and dusty fields gave Samantha a lot of time to think, even as the sun had dwindled over the mountains.

It had been in this very town where she had been moments away from making the single greatest mistake in her entire life. Of course, it hadn't been a single night, but many weeks of bad decisions for the sake of finding answers that in the end meant very little. When under the advice of Jack, they had worked underneath a local crime boss helping him with his operation.

Then, on what would be their final day in town, he offered them a great reward for one last task: Murdering his former associate, now in jail for numerous counts of trafficking things far worse than the drugs, cash, and documentation he'd been previously shipping.

Parts of her still wondered about that night, whether she would've actually gone through with it without the timely intervention of Carl. Perhaps instead, she might've been the one slain that night by Reznov.

When they had returned home after their destructive night surviving the Nightingales' fearsome leader Mr. Midnight, which led to her and Mike being worse for wear, Jack and Ella suffering severe injuries, and Carl knocking on Death's door, she had known in her gut that the right thing to do was to admit to all it.

What neither she nor Carl had expected was for the other five members of AESIR to rule in their favour, in spite of her clear guilt. Still, whilst Tyler knew and supported her actions, Sam hadn't been able to admit them to Spencer.

But it's worse than that, Samantha contemplated as she stared out towards the lights coming from the town that were closing in. As the weeks passed by after their escape, once she and her allies were once again safe, it allowed her the time to reflect on her actions. On the words spoken.

One that she couldn't forget about was something Carl had said to her in the car.

"Thomas did some stupid things, but this?" Carl had spat out in his blind rage, "He would be disgusted. He would be angry. He would be damned ashamed that his widow was going to perform a gang hit!"

That continued to resonate through her every time she thought back on those words. Carl had been right; even with what Thomas used to do, she knew he always idolised the fact that she'd never stooped to such a level no matter the cost. If the love of her life knew what she had been about to do…

"Just around here, right?"

Blinking at the sudden interruption, Sam turned to look at Tyler. "What?"

"The house." He droned, almost sighing, "It's around here, isn't it?"

"Right. Sorry, yes, it's past that treeline."

They turned onto the familiar Rachel Lane and slowed down onto a crossroads, one path leading further south and the other to the west, a dirt road. Pointing to the dirt road, Sam spoke up, "That way."

"You sure?" Tyler narrowed his eyes, "Map says there's a driveway."

"We chose the dirt road to park up back then for a reason." Sam assured him, "We're less likely to attract attention that way."

Shrugging, Tyler turned the car and went down that dirt road. A few bumps along the way took them deeper into darkness, until they found a gap to the left. Slowing up, Tyler parked the car by that gap.

"House is to the south." Tyler said, checking his pistol in the glove compartment before holstering it, "I'll take point. Sam, you're behind me. Spence, take the rear, keep an eye out. Clear?"

"Got it." Spencer confirmed before they all got out of the car. Before they went into the treeline, Tyler grabbed his rifle out from the boot of the car.

"Hopefully you won't need that." Sam spoke quietly and Tyler shrugged in response.

"Just in case." He explained, "I haven't met much that can survive 7.62; I'm always eager to find something to test that."

Alongside the sniper rifle which he swung over his back, Tyler also grabbed his utility belt which included his infra-red flashlight. Without attaching the flashlight to his gun, he flicked it on. It was enough to see into the darkness around them, without giving their location away.

"Alright." He growled, "Stay close."

They stepped through the treeline and made their way through the foliage; before they knew it, they were at the end of the treeline, yet still shrouded in darkness. Once they reached the end, into the open field that stood on a slight incline, Sam squinted her eyes and tried to find the house.

Even in the dark, she could see the silhouette of the house a couple hundred metres away. Realising that she'd stopped her breathing, she tried to quietly suck in a couple of breaths before leaving the treeline.

Keeping low, they made their way to the house, eventually reaching the north wall. Now that they were a throwing distance away, Sam could feel a chill run through her spine at the sight of it.

"It's been repaired." She mumbled loud enough for them to hear, "The windows. The paint. Someone's repaired them."

"Mike?" Spencer inquired.

"Maybe." Tyler held his hand up for them to halt, "I'll be back in a minute."

Before she could ask why, Tyler had vanished into the darkness. Sighing, Sam crept closer to the wall, Spencer joining her. A minute later, Tyler reemerged.

"Yep. Someone clearly lives there." He confirmed, "Nobody's home, though."

"It must be Mike, right?" Spencer asked again, "I mean…who else would buy the house and repair it to such a degree?"

"That's why we brought you along, kid." Tyler mused, "Come on inside. We might as well have a look around."

New Harmony, Utah

Wednesday 28th September 2016, 11:21 AM

As Mike continued to sweep the basement floor and moved anything out of the way, he continued to glance back at that trap door. A complete fluke it had been that he'd found it. Which was why as far as he could tell, neither Sam nor Carl had back when they were here. Inside of the basement, covered underneath debris and furniture, was a hidden passageway even he hadn't known about.

Underneath that trap door led to a crevice that had been sealed off; the question is, what was its reason to exist and why did someone decide to seal it?

Grimacing, he tried to think back as far as he could to every single time he'd been down here before. Had he ever seen something that could answer that mystery? Anything out of the ordinary, no matter how redundant?

With a shake of his head, Mike set down his brush and chose the next best move: The hammer. Grabbing it from his toolbox, Mike opened the trap door and went back down into the pit. For some time, armed with that hammer and a chisel, he tried to make a dent off that solid concrete without any real success.

This is pointless, he told himself. The tunnel led downwards, which meant that there was no telling how much cement had been poured down it; he could end up spending the better part of a few months chipping away through it without any luck. With his hands sore and spirit bruised, Mike grumbled before climbing back up the ladder.

Whatever this tunnel's origins were, Mike knew it was important. Perhaps the break in the case that he needed. What had Carl said the first day they were in New Harmony? If only those walls could talk.

Walls.

Maybe I've been doing this all wrong, Mike pondered. Instead of looking for dust and echoes, I should be starting off with the places I know.

As much as he despised the idea of returning to Fredbear's, it might be what he needed to do. But another thought entered his mind. After brushing himself off, Mike headed upstairs back to the study area and took the files out again. Skimming through the pages, he eventually found the section he was looking for.

Fredbear's Family Diner had been run by two people: One, of course, had been William Afton, the Purple Man. The other had been a man called Henry, whose child was taken from him by his own business partner.

From what Mike could tell as he read through those notes, he knew what was the closest to the full story he had at his disposal. The two of them had started the business in early 1982. Either in late 1982 or 1983—to Mike's annoyance, and to Thomas' own as he'd written the notes—Henry's child had been taken, snatched. No suspect for the crime was ever caught and the child was never reported to have been found.

As the files led him to the Missing Children's Incident, Mike could feel a familiar chill run through his chest. Though he knew of those times well, having lived the fallout over and over again as he fought for the spirits of those children, he felt a sense of enlightenment as he considered it from a different angle.

Five kids, taken out of view within the space of a few days. If it was anything like how the event at the rebrand went, they weren't killed immediately.; rather locked up behind closed doors and then hunted and killed.

As the Police pursued any leads that remained over the course of those two Summer months, their two main suspects had, of course, been Afton and Henry. One had remained a large part of the Freddy's name, the other had dwindled in the wake of his child's disappearance. Somehow, someway, Afton had escaped despite incrimination and vanished into the darkness. With his name stricken from every record in Fazbear Entertainment's possession.

Meanwhile, Henry, wracked by guilt knowing he had given power to the monster who killed those five children alongside his own child, took his own life.

Setting the files down, Mike gave a weary sigh as he felt that same crushing darkness overwhelming him. What had happened to Henry wasn't fair; though it was reasonable to suspect him as the perpetrator of the crime, hindsight and his own knowledge told him it was anything but.

As he glanced back to that newspaper article talking about Henry's child's abduction, Mike frowned. Up until that point, he'd only known about eleven victims. There was the five from the Missing Children's Incidents who later became the Fazgang. The five taken at the rebrand who then possessed the Fazcrew, and the first victim. A child murdered outside of Fredbear's Family Diner, who began this legacy of spirits by becoming the Marionette.

Nothing about what he'd learnt before this told him there had ever been any more victims. Unless somehow this missing toddler was somehow one of the victims he did know, this opened up another gigantic can of worms.

What's the chance that he killed others? Mike pondered darkly to himself, Maybe the only reason the Marionette could save the other ten was because they were nearby. If he killed other kids away from the Marionette…

Shaking his head, Mike stood up too quickly. A feeling of rage filled his chest again and he went over to the window. That dread knowing that they could never confirm how many people he was responsible for killing gnawed at him.

I might never get that answer, he reassured himself, but I can at least find something with this.

From what he'd found in the files, Tom had found something else about Henry. The house he'd lived in, the same one he had taken his life inside, still stood. Albeit in ruins after a bad encounter with a tornado in the late nineties. Tom never made it clear in those files if he had ever paid the site a visit.

Either way, Mike settled on the idea, I should go and take a look, myself.

Not long afterwards, Mike had once more packed his car with the essentials and left his hometown again. Traces of the location he was looking for remained in the files and a short amount of time led him to an estimation. Narrowing it down to the western part of town, he at the very least had vague remnants of street names and the actual house in photographs to go with.

But as he entered Hurricane, something stirred within him at a sudden thought. I didn't go to see the old pizzeria.

Though he had made a point to have a look the last time he'd returned to Hurricane, all it had been was a quick trip around the area. A sight of the building, stripped of its identity. Feeling that familiar calling to go and take one last look, Mike drifted south rather than west.

Once he'd set down at it, Mike parked up in a new parking lot next to the site. Frowning at it as he tried to figure out what felt wrong, he got out of the car and went over to it. A brief glance answered his question.

Someone built on top of it, he mused. A foundation had been placed around the old building, taking most of the old parking lot. It stopped feet away from where he'd been stabbed by Gregor Henshaw. Someone had come along and built something over where the old building had once been.

Then, it seemed that they had stopped what they were building halfway. Rather than knocking that down and doing something else with the land, it had been left like a sore thumb. Rotting. Why?

I thought the old place was still here, he scowled. When he'd last been there, he swore he saw something on the building, scars of Freddy Fazbear's. Had he simply imagined it?

Though a thought deep down begged him to go inside that ruined wreck of construction and see for himself, he turned away. Nothing was to gain by going inside and searching in vain for a building that probably didn't even exist anymore. He had bigger fish to fry.

Getting back in his car, he travelled one last time to the burnt remains of Fazbear Frights. For the longest time he simply sat there in his car, staring out at the cinders. A monument to just another mistake he'd made, costing another life.

I'll make good on it, Tom. He promised, knowing deep down that it wasn't enough, I swear to you, I'll make good on it. This won't have been in vain.

With his desire to revisit such old wounds fulfilled, Mike pulled the car into gear and started to drive again. Stopping by a small diner, he assessed the map and the notes again. Without a clue in the world that told him he was right about his deduction, he had a bad feeling it would take longer than an afternoon drive to find the house he was looking for.

Before he knew it, he was heading out towards the western exit of Hurricane's main district, along Route 9. As he drove, he gazed towards the distant mountain to his right/

Raising his eyebrows, he pulled over to the next stop and had a better look at it. That looks awfully familiar.

He grabbed the files on the car seat to his right and found the photograph. In the picture was a road stretching down towards a mountain which looked far too like the one he was looking at, albeit from a different angle and closer.

To the North, he realised. Driving further forwards, he found a turn and made his way back into Hurricane and found the next road north, then east. At the second left turn was an entrance to a neighbourhood, packed with irrigated trees. Though he didn't quite know what convinced him to carry on, he entered the neighbourhood.

It was a nice neighbourhood, too, stretches of grass lawns and clean sidewalks leading him onwards. As he drove down the road, he could see the mountains in the distance again and knew he was on the right track.

As he came to a split in the road, he slowed his car down and parked by the side of the road. Getting out, Mike walked over to the foundation, stripped away and left aside amidst the newer looking houses. To his left was a stump, once holding a large tree that would have stretched taller than the others.

Turning to face the road, Mike stared at the mountains. He'd found it. Though it resembled nothing of the house in the photograph, he knew he'd found it.

In that photograph he'd used as a reference, the house had been layered with a misty grey paint against green wood and roof tilings. Two stories tall, there was nary a house in sight other than an old one that, as he looked up from the photo, he saw no longer existed. More trees surrounded the area of what looked like a forest—at least, as much as a state like Utah could have.

That forest no longer stood there, instead a small park that traversed the backyards of the rows of new houses laid as a sign of changing times.

Though he felt some satisfaction in finding the site of this old house, Mike also felt deflated. Any chance of finding answers here had been torn down along with this house. All that remained were the broken scraps of a house that couldn't be lugged away to a junkyard. Behind it all, a barbed wire fence surrounded the backyard, all sorts of abandoned construction material laying around.

Hesitating, Mike wondered about the pros and cons of at least having a look. The backyard was relatively out of sight, as long as he was quick.

Shrugging, he got back in his car, supplied himself and headed back out around the house, eventually reaching a blind spot where he could get over the fence. Carefully cutting the barbed wire, Mike hauled himself up and over, landing two feet first in the wreck of a back garden.

Having a look around to reassure himself someone wasn't watching on, Mike made his way towards the back of the house. Other than the barebones structure that once was an upper story, there was little left above head height. There was an old couch by an old tree with a swing on it and Mike couldn't help but notice that it was clear of debris.

Was someone else here? Mike raised an eyebrow at it, but shook his head and moved on. There was no way of telling if he was noticing something that wasn't there. Even if he was right, not a sign remained that could answer that lingering question.

Instead, he reached the archway that once could have been a back door and stepped inside. Practically every part of the house had been ransacked and stripped away, the only floor he was able to walk on being the concrete foundation. Not a single piece of furniture stood in the house, which resembled more of a construction site than a livable accommodation.

Near the front of the house was a room which he immediately deduced was once the living room. Hesitating, Mike recalled the part of Tom's notes that reported how Henry was found after he took his life. Right where Mike had stood, the first father to lose a child to the Purple Man had given up all hope.

Hefting his backpack containing his tools closer to his body, Mike turned away from the scene in disgust and saw a small entrance leading to a section of the house which seemed even worse for wear. Having a feeling he was looking at the garage, Mike was halted by a section that was battered beyond all recognition.

Looks like a tree fell on it, Mike sniffed at the air. There was a crevice to his immediate left which he could only just about squeeze through. Taking the backpack off, he crept into the space. A few steps into the crevice later, he saw an opening in the wall.

I didn't see this on the other side, he told himself, feeling worried. It was a space that was barely above ground, likely underneath a low-hanging second story room. Maybe a man cave?

Mike crouched down as much as he could inside the space. Leaning forwards, he got a look inside the dark room. Flicking on his flashlight, he saw the inside of the room; barely furnished, yet not like the rest of the house. This room had never been finished, even when it was still a house.

Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself further into the crevice and inside the mysterious room. There was a faint smell, like copper, coming from the walls. On the ground was bare earth, left unattended. Pausing to examine it, Mike had a bad feeling raise in his throat. Taking care not to step directly on the dirt mound , he made his way around the room until he reached the other side.

It was dark, almost too dark for the flashlight to make any real effect. Squinting his eyes and crouching down, Mike looked for anything on the floor. There was a part of the floor that was metal and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

There was a handlebar on one of the metal plains, locked up tight. Giving a deep sigh, Mike went back over to the entrance and dragged the backpack through the crevice and opened it. Finding the bolt cutters, he returned to the trap door and chopped the padlock into two pieces.

Then, with that feeling rising in his stomach again, he opened it.

When he saw the concrete, a surge of both relief and irritation filled him. Just like the other one. Whatever secrets laid on the other side of that concrete was no closer to being uncovered than the one back in his house.

Standing up, he could feel himself wanting to end it there and leave the house. As he turned back to the dirt mound, however, he knew he was leaving something behind in there. That feeling of dread, all too familiar, had never let him down before.

Biting his lip, Mike reached for his backpack and dragged out the portable metal detector and shovel he'd brought along. Then, with a few hard steps, he made his way onto the mound.

It didn't take him long to find something; only two minutes after scanning, the detector began to beep in a panic right in the middle of the dirt mound. Stepping back, Mike set it down and grabbed the shove before returning to the spot.

He began to dig. With nothing more than a handheld shovel at his disposal, it took minute after minute to uncover the dirt. After what could have been anything between ten minutes to half an hour of digging, he hit something.

Prying further, the plastic and metal oval stuck out of the dirt. Against his better judgement, Mike continued to dig until he saw the wiring and metal. Then more plastic and rusted metal, shreds of old paint sticking to it.

It was only when he exposed the eye of the metal thing that he finally stopped digging. Standing up in shock, Mike looked down at what he found.

The muzzle of the beast, sharp metal teeth snarling out, had been shredded. Out of the two eye sockets it had, only one was filled, by a hazel and misty white eye.

He knew it to be Foxy, or at least a variation of the pirate he knew as a friend. This one, however, was anything but. He knew he would never know for sure, but a deep, haunted part of him believed he was acquainted with this animatronic.

Looking around cautiously, Mike saw the thing in the corner of the room; a hunk of brick that he knew to be a cement mixer. Perhaps pieced together recently or left down there, he didn't know. What he did know, was that two bags of cement laid next to it.

Checking the bags, he saw they were fresh enough to still be used. Did someone come here to do this themselves? What stopped them?

But he knew it didn't matter. I'll have to finish the job for them.

By the time he was done, a thick layer of wet cement covered the dirt mound. Once he was packed up and in his car, Mike drove back home, as all sorts of thoughts filled his mind.

Yet one stood out. Underground. They put the animatronics they want rid of underground, or they seal them away.

Why would these Funtime Animatronics be any different?

Some might call me insane, trying to incorporate parts of the novel series into my own. I'd be one of them. Do you know how hard it is to find anything resembling a forest or farmland in the Hurricane area of Utah? Which according to the books the city has plenty of? Also, I researched it myself; in spite of there being a tornado that hit the city in the books, as far as I can tell, there has never been a reported tornado up until the last ten years in Hurricane, let alone in the nineties. Basically, it's a bit hard to factor in parts of the novel series when it confuses Hurricane to be a lush land of green and not, you know, a desert savannah.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: I don't know when exactly I decided for one half of the story to essentially be a Caine family outing, but it happened. It's also got a nice variety to it: Sam is the more knowledgeable member of the group who has that emotional stake in finding Mike, Spencer is wishing to explore his father's legacy to try and find that connection again, whlst Tyler is far more pessamistic. You think back to how Thomas was back in the first and second story; Tyler is far worse than that. I was considering bringing Benji into the story on a larger way, but I decided against it, in the end. He wanted out and it feels only fair to give him that. With Mike's journey, it's not going to just be Circus Baby's he might end up uncovering. Best way I can describe Mike's journey through this? Ignorance is bliss.

I appreciate it by the way; depending on how the next month goes, I may have to limit how much I'm writing even further. If I have to make a hard limit of no more than a thousand words a day, it'll suck, but it might be necessary.