Hey, guys. Happy fall! It's pretty hot in Michigan, but I'm from Missouri, so hot and humid doesn't faze me. The leaves are about to turn brown, and I can practically taste pumpkin.
In the world of this story, though, it's still very much summer, so that's the feeling I'm trying to tap. Unfortunately, the gang can't afford to lounge on the beach while sipping cold drinks. Not yet, anyway; I might write it as a future chapter so I can decompress. I'm doing OK in my personal life. My job is fine, and I visited my parents over Labor Day weekend, which gave me a much-needed break. My sister has a new cat staying with them I got to meet, and she is very cute. Speaking of pets, Pickle and Relish are doing great! Their first vet appointment is coming up, and I'm sure they'll be real troopers about it.
But enough about me. Let's jump back into the story, which is barrelling toward… well, certainly not its conclusion, but the next big story beat. The only story detail I want to elaborate on is that Silver Parasol Games, which I've referenced a few times, is from the FNaF: Help Wanted spin-off, where they exist in-universe as the creators of the VR game you're playing. In this universe, they made all the big FNaF games. I considered mentioning Scott Cawthon as the creator of the series, like he is in the real world, but I dislike roping real people into my stories.
Thanks to Soviet Fox for reviewing since last time. I appreciate it, as always, and I hope this chapter is just as engaging.
Thursday, July 27, 2017, 10:00 AM
Foxy stretched her arms over her head and yawned, muzzle opening wide. She felt her tongue curl back in her mouth as her spine went over the rim of the chair, popping several vertebrae with one satisfying click. Her breasts pushed against her shirt, though she felt no need to be modest. The only people around were her siblings, who couldn't have cared less about her tits. Mike may have been a little distracted, yet he wasn't around.
He had a far less enviable task than the rest. They wrapped up buying stuff and hoped none got lost in the mail.
"All right, I bit the bullet and bought the farm… er, meteor," Chica groaned, also sounding exhausted. Bags formed under her green eyes. None of them got enough sleep - much as they tried, their servos twitched through the night, and bad dreams haunted them. "Bonnie's deal was the best I found." It was added to the total cost on the notepad in the table's center. Arithmetic and calculators tallied the score. After taxes, processing, shipping and insurance, the total came out to 273,192 dollars.
Yikes. The amount made her eye almost bulge out of her head. A quarter million dollars - 95 percent of Mike's money - had been spent on a quest with only a slim chance of success.
But the meteor was also last on their list. He wouldn't need to put his house on the market, after all. It looked like he might need to for a minute. Either that or his car. Still needed to hope no health problems or other expenses came up for the next few years.
The biggest thing left to do was practicing the chant that acted as the ritual's verbal component. Even if they said it as quickly as possible, it'd still take almost a minute to recite, and even one of them flubbing a single syllable meant starting over from the beginning. They could maybe afford to fail it once. Twice, if both times happened near the start. That left practically no room for error.
But her eyelid drooped. She was so tired, and a day in bed was exactly what she needed to get back on her feet. It was fine if the others wanted to start that day (though all were worn as ragged as her), but she was ready to take her leave. It'd help that Mike would be present all day tomorrow.
Freddy already nodded off in his chair. OK, maybe they all planned to follow her lead. "Good seeing you all," she told her siblings.
Everyone except Mary.
Foxy turned around to make sure her sister hadn't snuck up behind her, but as expected, no. She must still have been outside, moping. She said she wanted to be alone that day before promptly exiting the building. It mattered little for their quest; she already helped them purchase most everything, and her help proved invaluable sorting through it all.
I should check on her. Just a quick peek. Then Foxy would take that nap.
She trudged outside into the sticky morning air. While not as hot as yesterday, the humidity still made her feel like a kid spilled juice all over her (and it was regrettable she knew what that felt like). She checked for cars, of which there were none, before heading around. She faintly smelled Mary - a scent she still couldn't fully describe - from the back of Fazbear's. She silently sighed and headed in that direction, trying to ignore the mugginess as she passed around the largely unused rear of the structure. Asphalt gave way to gravel. Not much back there aside from the locked shed that held arcade cabinets and the "shower".
Then the pebbles ended, and it was straight into the forest surrounding the restaurant on three sides. Sticks snapped under her padded feet, and keen ears picked up the chirps of insects reveling in the shade.
Mary stood a little farther in, facing away from her. A twinge of unease shot through Foxy. With her lanky body shape, stiff posture and the wooded surroundings, she bore an uncanny resemblance to the "Slenderman" character. One of the few online horror beings anywhere near as famous as them. Thankfully, her sister wasn't about to turn around and scare her to death. Though she didn't cry, it didn't take a psychic to tell how depressed Mary was.
Foxy was no stranger to sadness. It followed her all her life, and she seriously contemplated suicide before Mike came. In hindsight, it was incredible that she retained the will to live for so long after being confined to one room. It wasn't something she could ever imagine doing again. Being alone wasn't something she wanted for anyone. The problem was she didn't know what went wrong. If she or anyone else did or said something to offend Mary so badly, she could have told them. Instead, she withdrew into her own world.
"Mary?" Though she was sure the woman knew Foxy approached, a warning would be appreciated.
"Oh. Hello, Foxy," she replied, twisting her head all the way around like an owl. Didn't have bones like the rest of them. She couldn't do that in front of the kids, both because it'd freak them the Hell out and prove she wasn't human. Foxy didn't mind, of course; that was just natural for her. The blue lines on her face always looked like tears, yet she didn't think any crying had happened recently.
"What's wrong?"
Her body spun to match the skull. Whimsical as the movement was, her frown betrayed utter dejection. "I will not lie to you and say it is nothing. But I cannot tell you."
Foxy resisted the urge to sigh. She valued honesty, at least. "I - we - can't help you if you don't tell us how. Don't you listen to your own skits?" Mary had a whole show with a moral lesson about social interaction, which was a topic near and dear to her heart, considering her weird upbringing.
"I am truly sorry." She bowed her head in shame. "This is more for your good than mine."
Foxy stood for a minute, expecting her to say something else. She didn't. The only sounds were those of birds and bugs. A burning heat grew in her cheeks, and her sharp teeth locked together. It took effort to suppress a growl, and her muscles tightened.
Though a tortured pirate, years to reflect and plenty of love had taught her how to be patient. She never snapped at kids, no matter how annoying they were. The most she ever did to rude or overbearing parents was glare at them. This was different. Her own sibling blew her off, and she didn't know how to handle that. Wasn't going to fight about it, though, either with claws or words. It wasn't worth the effort.
"Fuck this," Foxy muttered loudly enough for Mary to hear. Then she turned and stalked away, feeling her tail puff out. Her sister continued to mope. Well, she could piss off if she wanted to play drama queen without telling them why!
Even as Foxy stalked away, the literal machinery in her head turned. There must have been a reason Mary did this. What made her so sad and lonely? She wouldn't act this way without cause, and she admitted as much. Foxy could wonder about it… or she could investigate.
Later, though. She was serious about that nap. But soon, Foxy was going to play detective.
11:30 AM
Mike hunched over in his car as he lurched along I-90, rapidly approaching the western terminus. Much farther, and he'd end up in Puget Sound. Though he drove slower and more deliberately than usual, his heart hammered in his chest like he zoomed away from the police in a high-speed chase.
Mike sighed as he looked around, trying to both watch the road and the invisible lizard aliens undoubtedly bearing down on him in their UFOs. Thankfully, traffic was light even in the big city between two bouts of rush hour. The sun beat down on the roof, though it was thankfully cooler than yesterday. He needed to be careful, though; he'd been driving long enough to know how dangerous it could be. Many people died behind the wheel. Like Phil's parents, he recalled.
Another lens mounted on an overhead beam to monitor traffic reminded him why he was so scared. Cameras were on practically every corner. They blended into the background; most people didn't notice them except when they were about to do something illegal in public. Wasn't sure exactly who picked through this stuff, though: local police, the feds, whoever owned the buildings? There might have even been AI algorithms that picked up things out of the ordinary and flagged them for human review. A good amount was probably just for show - the fear of being observed was nearly enough to prevent him from taking this excursion. He couldn't fall victim to paranoia, though. He'd be fine. Probably.
Mike steeled himself and got ready to exit as he reached the westernmost extremity of the country's longest interstate. The tip of Puget Sound could be spotted through the skyscrapers ahead, a mere hint of the ocean to which it connected. Foxy had only ever witnessed the sea from this distance and angle - temptingly close, yet so far away. While Kachess Lake was a fine substitute, her heart yearned for a nearly endless expanse of salt water.
Mike desperately wanted to take her. Just the two of them. They had never gotten a honeymoon, after all. Once he scraped enough money together after spending it all, he'd buy a remote cabin somewhere on the Pacific coast. It'd be a place to spend long weekends, and also maybe to retire to. Well, he would retire one day. He doubted the same was true for Foxy, who barely aged and would soundly outlive him. Much as she loved the sea, children meant even more.
As he turned north on the exit ramp, a sudden urge of fancy struck him. He glanced at the clock, which read 11:42. He'd be several minutes early to his lunch with Sylvia because of the light traffic. That gave him enough time to make a short detour. While waiting for the light to turn green, he pulled out his phone and punched a new location into the GPS. Not like the old days when one either needed to ask another human for directions or fiddle with a road atlas.
He made a left turn, quickly finding himself in the Industrial District. SoDo, to be precise. The name used to be short for "South of the Dome", but ever since the Kingdome was leveled in 2000, the city of Seattle tried to retroactively change it to "South of Downtown", which made Mike roll his eyes a little. He remembered skipping class to watch what was, at the time, the largest controlled demolition in history. Good times. Lumen Field, which sat 10 blocks up, wasn't a terrible replacement. Not that he cared; he didn't watch football.
Regardless, that wasn't what he came to see, even if he headed in that direction. As he did, he skirted through a slightly run-down area. A little grime, a few broken bottles. Not completely impoverished, but a touch less nice than the opulent city sometimes displayed. Not that it mattered, because this wasn't a residential area. As the name "Industrial District" implied, it was zoned for business. And the building he parked across the street from wasn't just any enterprise.
SILVER PARASOL GAMES
That was what the sign over the main entrance said, along with the one abutting the parking garage. Along with those words was a drawing of an anthropomorphic rabbit (maybe even modeled after Bonnie) wearing a kimono and wielding a parasol as a weapon. Maybe not the greatest mascot design in the world - but it was nevertheless the face of the company that had arguably cashed in on the success of the Fazbear "legend" most. Many video game companies were headquartered in the Seattle metroplex - Activision, Bungie and Nintendo's American division, to name a few - and this one was no exception.
Mike had played the games out of morbid curiosity, and he thought they were fine. A little too heavy on surprise scares over genuine horror, but Foxy's male doppelganger jumping out at him made him flinch every time. Good enough to hook a generation, which was impressive in its own right.
What really added to the intrigue was that the HQ was formerly the location of Afton Robotics. Seeing it again made him shiver. After the many investigations, the place sat empty for years, primarily being used for tours of the Seattle Underground and ghost hunter shows. Then this new startup with more money than it knew what to do with bought the building… though he believed they still hosted the aforementioned ghost hunter shows around Halloween. He was content to sit for a minute or two, just watching.
He'd never forget his single day inside the belly of the beast. It was a place he never planned to enter again. Cool air blew on him from the AC, but he could imagine a poltergeist being in there with him. If not Auric, who was worse.
Looking back at the clock, Mike saw his moment had come and gone. Dawdling any longer would make him late. He put his car in drive and sped away from the building a little faster than he should have. Last time he did that, he ended up going almost 100 miles per hour down that bumpy stretch of street.
A few minutes later, he fed quarters into a parking meter's hungry maw. They needed to be appeased even in a sleepy part of Queen Anne. He could have used his credit card those days, but he'd prefer not to leave a digital trail. Just in case.
Mike looked back and forth, scanning for cameras or sensors. Didn't immediately see any, though doing this handoff in the daytime on the street was never going to fly, even on a lonely day like this. They'd need to drive into an alley before doing the switch. He wanted to meet her somewhere as out of the way as was possible in the heart of a big city. This would have to do. Of course, she could have driven out to his place, yet they also wanted to have some quality time together. Still, they took a big risk.
Should anyone see what Sylvia handed off to him, their lives were good as over.
"Mike!" His fear evaporated as he turned to see his sister standing on the curb, and he felt himself crack a dopey smile. Their sense of coordination must have been as good as ever, because they arrived within seconds of each other.
"Uh, good to see you." Not that this was anything odd. They met at least every few months because they lived relatively close to each other. Some people's siblings had drifted to the other side of the country or planet, and he was glad they didn't have to deal with that. He walked over and gave her a hug before she loaded her meter with an obscene amount of change for a weekday afternoon. That hardly mattered, though. What did was the lunch they had planned at this little Korean restaurant down the street that Syl swore by.
That was where they found themselves minutes later. Again, not many people there besides the employees, who looked rather tired, themselves. It was an unusually sleepy day near the end of summer, and it seemed that people would rather stay home or be outside than eating at a restaurant. Or maybe they were on vacation. They sat at a bigger table, since it didn't look like anyone else would need it, with him facing deeper into the restaurant and Sylvia across from him, looking out the windows at the neighborhood.
Their drink orders were taken by a young man who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, and the two got to talking. Not about much in particular. He stuck to light stuff, like how he'd gone bowling with June the other day, while she mostly talked about recent cases from her job, of course being vague enough to not violate HIPAA, and mundane things she'd done with her husband recently. Anything about his job couldn't be spoken of in public, either, lest someone overhear, and Sylvia honestly didn't care that much. So in that sense, they were both evasive about what they did for a living.
The good news was that they already knew enough about the other's profession to understand it didn't appeal to them. And that was OK.
The drinks came out soon enough (Mike got water, Syl got coffee), and they put their food orders in. Mike was ignorant about Korean cuisine - when it came to Asian food, he only knew Chinese and Japanese - so he got kimchi. He'd at least heard of that, so he assumed it was a popular national dish. Sylvia got something called "namul", which he'd be sure to sneak a bite of. In any case, he tried to temper his expectations, considering the meals he normally ate.
Mike was spoiled by Chica's cooking skills, to the point that he rarely went out to eat. Over the last decade, she'd honed her craft to its limit. She'd hit the ceiling of her abilities; really could have won awards if she were human and cared about recognition (which she did not, for better or worse). It took a lot of willpower and exercise to not grow fat from the incredible meals she whipped up on demand. Thankfully, she knew that and gave him small portions. Other than that, he was too lazy to cook much, so he primarily ate raw fruit and deli meat at home.
Though, with the money he needed to recoup, Mike saw a lot of instant ramen and oatmeal in his future. It'll be like college again, he thought while rolling his eyes. The food arrived before too much longer, so he didn't need to keep dwelling on it.
The kimchi was salty, to say the least. It felt like he bit into a brick of solid sodium chloride! Mike supposed he should have seen that coming; the dish was pickled vegetables, after all, and pickles were one of the saltiest foods he could think of. He was pretty inoculated to that after eating at least a few bites of Italian cuisine almost every day for the past 17 years, though. Once he got past that, though, it actually tasted fine. Not the kind of thing he was used to, but it was good to try new things every so often.
With his back toward the window, he saw the shadows cast on his sister's face slowly shift and extend as an hour passed. He wouldn't call this blissful, yet it was still a nice change of pace. Especially considering what was about to come.
"This was nice," his sister said as she took the check. He made clear ahead of time that he wasn't able to pay for his food, things being what they were at home. The cost of gasoline to drive the hour here set him back more than he would have liked. Thankfully, he hadn't been reduced to begging her to bail him out of debt. She would have, but it would have been selfish when she had so many other things to worry about. May have been a doctor, but rent in a downtown Seattle apartment was not cheap.
A feeling of dread settled at the bottom of his very full stomach. The time for fun had ended, and now it was time to do crime. He glanced at the waiter, as if the guy somehow knew what they did. Crazy? Maybe, but he could believe telepaths existed with everything else he'd seen. Mike coughed into his sleeve and left out the front door, his sister just behind him. She also hunched over, as if to not be seen.
The sun had definitely arced across the sky as they stepped out, and a cool breeze blew in from the Pacific. It was a good afternoon, at least. The parking meter must have been empty for a few minutes, yet he'd been lucky enough to avoid getting slapped with a fine. Lord knew he couldn't afford to pay. He got into his car, which suddenly felt too small and tight for him, as his sister got into hers. She pulled out first, and he followed close behind. He kept glancing in the mirrors, as if undercover cops pursued them, though he of course saw no evidence of that - unless the Jeep with fake fuzzy reindeer antlers on it was working for the SPD.
I've heard of Christmas in July, but this is ridiculous, he thought, almost laughing at the absurdity. Tried to keep some of that optimism in his head as he progressed through the city, though it slowly faded.
His heart pounded as he drove to meet her around the back of a run-down motel that, if occupied at all, was only inhabited by the very poorest, or maybe used as a sex hotel. Didn't judge, though he was sorry people found themselves in that situation. He didn't stake it out beforehand, but Sylvia knew the city well enough after living there for so long. It looked safe - he saw no cameras, the few windows had their blinds closed, and nobody milled about - but he took nothing for granted. They had to do this and then drive away in opposite directions.
The two parked immediately next to each other on cracked, pothole-ridden blacktop, through which weeds nearly as tall as him sprouted. "The package" would only be in view for a few seconds if the handoff happened correctly. Syl grimly nodded and popped open the trunk.
Even though Mike knew what was coming, he still flinched when he saw two black, empty eye sockets staring back at him from an ivory mask. Not to mention the rest.
The final ingredient he needed for the spell was a complete human skeleton, to be arranged in a specific pattern at the center of the magic circle. That was what he came here for, and it was why he worried himself almost to death.
From the little research he had time to do, it sounded like owning human remains wasn't illegal in Washington, as long as they weren't connected to a crime. Federal law may also have prohibited owning Native American bodies, specifically, because of concerns about cultural desecration. If Mike was pulled over and had the skeleton sitting in his passenger seat, he doubted any charges would be pressed.
However, it was still completely illegal for Sylvia to steal thousands of dollars worth of bones from her workplace. Mike would be complicit in the crime. This was no worse than jacking a car under the eyes of the law, yet he felt like a complete psychopath because of what they dealt in. Still, it was better than his other option: exhuming one of the hundreds of corpses interred in the soil behind his business. Though free and far less likely to be discovered, Mike couldn't bring himself to desecrate those bodies yet again.
"Get the head, I'll take the feet," Sylvia whispered to him while doing her end. Mike immediately fell in line and grabbed the skull by the neck vertebrae. He'd handled dead bodies before in the form of those TOY soldiers, and this one didn't even have any fleshy bits. Again, it stared at him with its jaw hanging open.
They lifted, and Mike was surprised by how easily it rose. Skeletons didn't weigh as much as he expected. The thing couldn't have surpassed 20 pounds, which was convenient for him handling it in the future. They stuffed the skeleton into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. His head shot around, half expecting to find a crowd suddenly gawking at them.
Instead, the only audience was plastic and leaf litter pushed across the ground by a gust of wind. Mike exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
Maybe they could have done this without all the fuss. It wasn't a bloated, decaying corpse that everyone would have noticed. Probably would have thought it a cheap decoration, given how Halloween closed in. He didn't want to take the risk. A little hypocritical of me. After all, he'd taken Foxy out a few times over the years in her great disguise of a trench coat, huge boots and an oxygen mask. While he wouldn't say it worked great, people thought she was just a weirdo instead of a sentient fox robot.
"Do you know, like, who this was?" That was the first question to pop into Mike's head.
"Not sure; we don't often get access to that information," she replied with a shrug. "I can tell you that he was male, based on the pelvis shape and some features on the skull. Not sure about ethnicity, but possibly mixed race. My guess is on the older side, both because the bones are fairly brittle, and most people who donate their skeletons to science are elderly."
Mike was more interested in a name and personal details than demographic information, but that was what his sister fixated on. Cold, hard facts appealed more to her sensibilities than stories. He supposed it was good to know, regardless. He patted the trunk hatch, trying not to worry about handling his cargo too roughly. The skeleton's joints were connected with ligaments and cartilage, so he didn't need to worry about it falling apart. As far as he knew, the spell didn't require that it be in one piece, but it'd be easier to lug around if it remained together.
He looked at Sylvia again, who tapped her foot. Couldn't be more grateful to her. With that said, though, he needed to leave. They were both busy adults with too much stuff on their plates.
"You can, uh, visit me whenever," Mike said, going in for a hug. His sister's long hair brushed his face. They lingered a moment before pulling away. He was glad that they'd been able to keep on good terms over the years, even as his weird work had once threatened to estrange them.
"Noted. Same goes for me… though you'll probably have to sleep on the couch."
"Works for me." Though he said that, he had no idea when they'd do this again. Maybe that should have worried him, but he brushed it off. Unlike the last time he went into a crazy adventure, he felt hopeful that he and his friends would make it. He didn't know if their plan would work, but he at least believed it wouldn't kill them if they failed. At least not immediately.
A couple more words were exchanged. Then it was time to go. One of them could call, text or send an email if anything important came up.
Mike got into his car and started it. Expected to hear bones rattling behind him, but no such luck. Maybe when he accelerated on the highway. Either way, for the rest of the trip, he would be dealing with a passenger who might not have wanted to be there.
We'll get you out soon, he thought. Mike thought about naming the skeleton, but he quickly decided against it. That was the first step to going crazy.
3:15 PM
To Everyone I Have Wronged,
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. I doubt you'll ever forgive me, but please know that I'm not the same man I used to be, back when I -
Phil's paws ripped the paper in half before he wrote another word. Garbage. That was the only thing he needed to write, for the word repeated in his head. It applied to almost everything he went through, and especially Phil himself. He was trash. And he didn't think that to pity himself. It was just the truth.
He sighed and ripped another piece of paper out of the notebook he'd salvaged recently. It had a few hundred pages left inside, so surely he'd figure out what he wanted to say before reaching the end. This time, he started with an actual greeting before lapsing into gratuitous self-flagellation. While slightly better, it turned his stomach to read. Nope.
He muzzled the urge to sigh or slam his head into the wall. The clean-up crew doing pre-season maintenance on the grounds might hear. He needed to remain quiet during operating hours for the next few months. If he did that, they'd never find him. Earbuds allowed him to listen to media, so at least he wasn't in a sensory deprivation tank. It may have been a cage, but it wasn't like he had anyplace better to be.
Or anything better to do. That was one reason he spent so much time on this. If nothing else, it proved to be a good way to channel his emotions. Time for another draft. He nearly asked Jeff for advice before he thought better of it. Almost slipped. He tried again and again to find the right words, but they never came. There were none.
Eventually, he burned out his inhibitions.
He put pen to paper and slowly wrote. It happened almost automatically; no thoughts came into his head as he scrawled an apology that meant far too little. He didn't even look at what he wrote after the fact. It would just make him upset. One thing he faintly remembered including, though, was his cell phone number. He'd listen if they wanted to take the initiative and call him instead of the other way around. Even if the most likely reason was to curse him.
Now it was simply a matter of getting it in the mail. Thankfully, that wouldn't be too difficult. There was a postal drop box just off the path he often traveled into Salem. How many of those were around? Never thought he'd use it, but now he was happy to have the option. Glad I pay attention to what I'm seeing. One of the things which kept him alive.
He folded the paper up, dropped it into an envelope, sealed it with oily spittle, wrote the address on it (while not including a return address, of course) and affixed a stamp he'd found by rummaging around his backpack - an unbelievable amount of trash got lost in there over the years. His heart fluttered; his family was going to hear from him again. And maybe, just maybe, he'd hear from them, too.
Until that night, the only thing for him to do was wait, or sleep, or dream of an impossible, better tomorrow.
9:45 PM
The white room of the dreamscape sprawled infinitely. It was just the child and him as he plucked them from normal sleep and spoke with them on their own level.
Auric's mind raced with a thousand potential ways to kill the morsel of meat, all intended to maximize shock and awe. Impalement? Crucifixion? Disembowelment? Each possessed its own merits. And this time, he wasn't going to bury the body. No, he planned for the community, if not the world, to see how creative he could be when he put his mind to it.
The throbbing in the back of his felt head barely mattered anymore, he told himself. This was what he existed to do. There was a time before he discovered the art of death, but it was so long ago that he barely remembered. Only a few glimmers of tedious "peace" tickled the back of his consciousness, all but lost to the eons. Perhaps he had always been this way, and any faint inklings suggesting otherwise were merely figments of his imagination.
"Who are you?" The human asked after basking in his glory. Took a step forward in the white realm. After all, they saw a heroic golden spirit… despite the sense of dread he inevitably caused.
Auric realized he was not the most charismatic messenger. It was not for lack of trying. Though he could obfuscate his intentions and even adopt a gentler tone, he never rid himself of the rotting aura. Though he could not become an angel of light, the youths he spoke to often ignored their instincts and inhibitions. Throwing caution to the wind tended to be their way. It mattered not. The effort it took to project himself was trivial, and it could easily be repeated on another, more gullible child.
This was his third target that night, and this one seemed more promising than the other two, who brushed him off. About 11 years old - old enough to have some independence, though young enough to not completely question magic or authority.
"My child, it is excellent to see you," Auric lied, leaning on wonderment to convince them. "I am your spirit guide, who has led you your whole life." New Age tripe was one way to mask his utter lack of interest in organized faith. He didn't want to cite any particular religion, so speaking in generalities was often the best way to appeal to the young.
"I - I'm not supposed to talk to strangers!" A common excuse, and perhaps a wise one. Though, of course, he'd heard it enough to have a rebuttal.
"But I am no stranger - and even if I were, I am not human. People threaten other people, and I am something far purer." The child's eyes widened. It might have helped the illusion if he'd bothered to learn their name, but he really could not have cared less. "You are destined to play a crucial part in the history of this world: you are special, perhaps even a savior. You were born under fortuitous stars."
"W-wow."
Auric smiled behind his golden veil. That was when he knew he had them. Humans, especially young ones, wanted to be special. Now he had baited the hook by telling them that they were a Messiah about to save the planet. How enticing.
"Meet me in the woods to the east at the stroke of midnight," he continued, pacing forward casually. There was still plenty of time for them to awaken and get there. "We will speak in the flesh, and I will share the first of many lessons to prepare you for the role." He'd specifically chosen a visitor staying with family in town - they were the ones who came to this place for the fantasy, and more receptive than locals. Besides, he didn't want rumors of these dreams to circulate among one group of people. That would have caused too many questions. "After this, I will follow you to your home to continue your work toward enlightenment."
The child pondered, but the outcome was never in doubt. They grinned widely, even as they shivered from his cold, and Auric reciprocated. Even if the reason for his happiness was completely different.
"You say you're my spirit guide, but what's your name?" the child asked as he was about to let them awaken and prepare for their fateful meeting.
He felt the grin grow wider, until it eclipsed the borders of his ethereal head. Being hidden by golden mist meant none could see the specifics of what must have been unsettling, amorphous expressions.
"Auric."