Friday, July 28, 2017, 9:30 AM

Mike was no longer shocked by the bizarre noises leaving his throat. At this point, they reminded him of the screeches of a huge, monstrous bird. Already, his vocal cords began to strain. Knowing his voice would be ragged at the day's end was a small price to pay, though.

I better get used to it. Much of the next three weeks would be devoted to honing his endurance and memorizing the nonsense syllables. Then repeating them ceaselessly around the table in the middle of the room. Oh, and there were hand gestures. Maybe this was why wizards didn't rule the world. Even if magic was real and usable by sentient beings, it proved to be such a pain in the ass to learn for even relatively minor effects that it just wasn't practical.

"I need a minute," June coughed, breaking her concentration. Mike glanced at the stopwatch he wore for the occasion. It had been 10.4 seconds of uninterrupted nonsense words - a new record. Slowly improved, yet it was nowhere near the threshold they needed it to be.

"That was good, I really think we're gettin' somewhere," Bonnie said, wearing a cocky grin. As usual, there was no sarcasm or mockery in his voice. He believed what he said, so Mike tried to believe, too.

The animatronics actually had it easier than he and June did because of how their voices worked. June confirmed they were generated by pure thought from cybernetic speakers in the backs of their throats instead of air being pushed out of the lungs and formed into coherent sounds via mouth and tongue movements. Though their mouths subconsciously moved to match the words, it was purely optional. That meant, as he knew from Foxy talking to him for a few weeks despite not her mouth not working, that they could make whatever noises they wanted with minimal effort. Also part of what made Chica's ventriloquism act so successful.

Mike grabbed his water bottle from the table and took a swig. It moved too quickly down his throat to do good; bizarre as it sounded, he wished he could have drank Vaseline.

Maybe the animatronics could, he thought, slightly smiling at the thought. It's an oil-based product. After a quick trip to the bathroom, which had been spotlessly cleaned now that no kids missed the urinals, he was ready to get back into the grind. Everyone else wrapped up their own issues, and then it was back to practice. While it didn't necessarily need to be done together, that proved to be the best way, even if it was annoying to wrangle everyone into one place and keep their attention for hours.

Could have made copies of the tape so each trained individually, but each exponentially raised the possibility that one would fall through the cracks and end up in someone else's lap. That wasn't a chance anyone wanted to take, so it was better that they all practice together. And, honestly, they learned better that way. Kept Bonnie or Chica from getting distracted, even if they occasionally stole glances at their phones.

I do the same thing when I'm bored, he thought as he remained upright. He alternated between standing and sitting, just depending on how his legs felt. He may not have been an old man, but he wasn't young, either. He tired more easily than he did even five years ago. June was the same, though it would have been rude to point out what both already knew. The animatronics, however, didn't slow down. They were as spry as ever, ready to tackle the world.

He would have left this task entirely to them, but Henrietta said that the more people they got reciting this mumbo jumbo in unison, the greater the likelihood it'd work. That meant he needed to put his best foot forward, no matter how he felt.

"I think we're ready for Round Two," Foxy joked as she returned to the group. Mike looked around, seeing that everyone had a determined glint in their eyes (or singular eye, in Foxy's case). They didn't give up, and neither would he. Not that it was ever in doubt, yet seeing them all prepared to take on the task.

The chanting continued, which made him rub his raw throat with how much it agitated him. The incomprehensible words repeated as a mantra, and he didn't know when one ended and another began. His eyelids drooped; they lulled him into a trance, but he didn't know whether that was part of the magic or if he just got bored. Almost certainly the latter, but it was more encouraging to imagine this having any sort of effect. There was no way to test it beforehand, seeing that they didn't have any other immortal beings around who were willing to volunteer.

Their progress was slow but steady. Mike's watch showed him both the passage of time and the increasing duration of their vocalizing. By noon, they were able to recite 21.2 seconds worth of garbage in unison without any flubs he picked up on. Needed to pump those numbers up to two or three minutes, but Mike took that as a very encouraging sign. They could be on this for 12 hours a day (though he hoped it didn't come to that).

Of course, there was still the matter of finding Auric, but that part needed to be sat on. Didn't know how they'd do it. Maybe Mike could reach out to him in a dream, the same way the demon contacted him? All these thoughts and nonsense words detached him from time, even as he measured it by the minute. It flew by at least twice as fast as he was used to.

"I think it's, uh, time for another break," Freddy said, unable to stifle a cough of his own. This was starting to get to them, as well.

Still, with that out of the way, it was time for the best part of the day's schedule, and one that would give them a second wind: lunch.

12:15 PM

Foxy was content to let everyone else start their feasts before moseying to the kitchen to get a drink from their shared liquor catalog. After all, she wanted a good drink to go along with the special meal they were about to have (and to blunt the monotony of this boring day). Not enough to get sloshed, just to put some color in her fur. Threw a glance back even as she thought that innocent notion, as if Bonnie could suddenly read minds.

Through the glass door, she saw everyone sitting in the shade under the building's awning, breaking out a feast of turkey, cheese, chips and so on. Just stuff Mike brought from home for them all to share outside. A picnic - that was the word. For once, Chica had no time to cook! Going outside was a pretty big difference for them, and one they'd appreciate. Well, Foxy hoped she'd get to appreciate it as she stepped into the kitchen and instinctively looked at the camera.

It, along with the rest, served no purpose since 2000. Just remained up because nobody had ever bothered to remove them… or maybe from some sense of nostalgia. Nobody watched through them, and in the case of the kitchen camera, it never worked, only the attached microphone. But, if any ghosts were on the other side, she still didn't want them hearing her present action.

She slowly pried open the metal door at the back. It was used often enough that it didn't squeak like an angry rat anymore. Still didn't want anyone seeing or hearing her go into the basement, though; it was uncommon enough that someone would have asked what she looked for. The truth was she didn't know.

But she felt like she'd have a clue if - when - she found it.

Cold air blasted from the basement, stale from being trapped there. Some must have been left over from when the monster dwelled in the dark. A little of his smell still lingered, no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. Even bleach had limits. A twinge of fear pricked her before she descended. Not because of anything down there, but because of her own actions. She'd never spied on her family before. Doing so felt like a betrayal.

I'm only doing it because Mary left me no choice, she chastised herself. Something was wrong, and this was the only way to learn what. I'm helping her. Whether that was true remained to be seen. It was enough to set her journey in motion, though, sure to be an epic worthy of the tales she recounted on the stage to an enraptured audience. Yeah, the story of me rifling through my sister's belongings is just as interesting as bisecting a zombie, she thought with a roll of the eye.

Her paw pads firmly gripped the damp stone steps as the air grew colder. Amazing that it wasn't broiling, considering the massive amount of electronics down here, yet she'd ponder that momentarily. She fumbled for the light switch before finding it and bringing illumination back to the world.

Not like there was much to see. Still some boxes of junk they never got sorted, as well as the few nonperishable ingredients Chica had handy. Perhaps vermin would have been an issue… except, as Foxy knew well, small prey animals didn't like being in the same building as a vicious predator like her (or Freddy)! More likely, they just did a good job keeping everything clean. In addition to being good business sense, they really didn't need a health inspector poking around more often than every six months, which was what the government mandated.

Amazing that the same guy who had been coming for the last 30 years never found anything amiss. Or maybe Afton paid him off for the first major part of that. Not really her concern, especially because this wouldn't be an issue again until after they risked life and limb.

Foxy was now safe enough to drop the pretense of stealth and head straight for her destination. She opened another door in the basement, this one much less impressive, and was there.

Some basic amenities, like towels and toiletries, were neatly organized. That was about it. No entertainment to speak of. The place was sparse, or even spartan. Part of that was because its sole inhabitant now mostly dwelled upstairs with the rest of them. Kind of. Her attention was drawn to the dresser-sized machine at the back of the room, which sported a few blinking lights and other gizmos she couldn't name.

It was Foxy's friend.

Mary, her sibling whom she spoke to every day, wasn't really her. Her mind and soul were actually in this box, and they controlled the body from afar as an extension of herself. Thinking about it gave Foxy vertigo. The person she knew was, for lack of a better term, a puppet, and this crate was the puppeteer. Foxy had no problem with that, of course, it was just strange to imagine. So unlike humans, or even the rest of them. Their brains were all in their heads.

Speaking of heads, she shook hers. No time to waste. Everyone would wonder where she went if she didn't return soon. While she could do this any time, her siblings were almost never outside at the same time. If anyone knew she went down there… well, she wouldn't be in trouble - they had no power over her - but it would force her to answer uncomfortable questions. Didn't want to admit she spied on anyone.

She sniffed the cold air; perhaps scent would offer a clue. No such luck, for nothing in the room stood out by that metric. Then she put her head to the ground and poked around for any hidden cracks or compartments. Nope. Then she bit the bullet and rifled through the few physical objects, careful to put everything back exactly the way it had been; Mary would know if anything was even an inch out of place. To her disappointment, the most confidential thing she found was a roll of toilet paper. Hey, at least she didn't keep any porno mags under her bed or anything salacious. Unfortunately, it put her back to square one.

Foxy tapped her foot as her ears twitched. She was coming at this from her own perspective. If she wanted to crack the case, she needed to think more like Mary. Only problem was, her sister turned out to be an enigma, even after all these years. She looked again at the crate of wires and electrodes that made up everything she was, quietly humming along the back wall.

It only took the voltage of a washing machine despite operating a humanoid mind attached to the entire Internet. Just another way they defied the laws of physics. Foxy stopped keeping count, and she didn't particularly care. It was too much for her to think about. What mattered was that her consciousness sat feet away… but not any sensory organs. It felt voyeuristic to be this close to her without her knowing.

There must have been something which would give her a clue about this behavior. It just wasn't clear. Her tail puffed up to battle the nippy air, and she knew it was time to leave. I'll have to figure it out another time.

She turned to leave, feeling her bushy tail scrape the wall. A small piece of black plastic fluttered past her as her movements stirred the air, going almost unnoticed.

Wait. Her eye flitted back to the piece of trash, which stood out because the rest of the room was so clean. Hadn't noticed it before, because it seemed like junk, yet that was suspicious. She picked up the material and held it up to the single exposed light, where she unfurled it and found it to be a few inches long, like part of a shredded trash bag. From this closer look, it became clear that it wasn't quite plastic. Instead, it was a substance she recognized from the inside of the clear cassettes Mike brought with him every day.

It's film. Mary had brought all the tapes down here to listen to them after Mike told them about all this. After all, she could do it faster and more completely than anyone, even if the rest of them confirmed it with their own ears later. Perhaps a small section came loose from one end. That seemed plausible, especially because she didn't know how the technology worked.

Or maybe… Her eye narrowed, and she felt a grimace form. She had an inkling of what might have happened, but no way to prove it. Not immediately, anyway. If her sudden suspicion was correct… well, she'd have to see if it was before even thinking about what to do.

Foxy gently tucked the film into her pocket with shaking fingers, careful not to damage it, and flitted out of the room. For the time being, she'd have to quell her excitement and focus on saying more gibberish. Before that, though, she had enough time to go outside and snag some food and a little sun. She grabbed a bottle of wine at random from the cabinet before heading out - it was what she said she stayed inside for, after all.

"I was, uh, getting worried about you," Mike said as she emerged. Squinted to protect her eye from the sudden sun. "Like, y-you might have been, um, lost in that big kitchen." She laughed, though she worried it sounded forced. Her smile certainly was. May have been a good actor, yet she'd never betrayed her family in even a small way.

"Hey, there were a lot of good drinks to choose from!" She looked at her hand, finding it held a bottle of Captain Morgan. One of her favorites, of course! Not even because of the pirate theming (though that was a big part of it, too); she enjoyed the taste. "Couldn't help but choose the best."

With that, she sat on the warm blanket covering the concrete walkway. For a moment, she met Mary's gaze. Her expression betrayed nothing, yet Foxy worried she'd get caught with her hand in the cookie jar. If Foxy's hypothesis was correct, Mary was just as guilty. There was no way to be certain unless one confronted the other, and she had enough common sense (and heart) not to do that unless she had evidence.

Until then, she took a toothy chomp out of a tuna sandwich Mike made for her and tried to think about anything except what had just happened and what was yet to come.

1:00 PM

Phil tossed and turned on his bed. It was all he did now. That and scroll the web. To some shut-ins, being unbound from any responsibilities and living in their rooms must have sounded like a dream. To him, it was anything but. He was trapped in a Hell of his own making. Visions of everything he should have done differently - being a better friend, a better sibling, or having the good sense to never deal with Auric at all. Well, maybe not that last one. For all his failings, the animatronics never did anything wrong. They were the only good things he'd ever helped add to the world.

And at that moment, he wished they decided to take him out of it by selecting death instead of exile when they made that choice. He lacked the courage to do the deed himself. Then he bolted up, breathing heavily as the ceiling seemed to press down on him. Another day in his cage wasn't good for the mind.

The operating season can't come soon enough, he thought, rolling onto his side to face the wooden wall. Knots in it like eyes seemed to stare back at him.

Still, he took comfort in some minor pleasures. Mailing that letter the other day, for example.

Should have arrived soon to Fazbear's, because he affixed a premium stamp and mailed it from a neighboring state. That was what he expected, anyway. He didn't know how the mail worked. Kind of amazing that it functioned at all. In his life, people working together had been nothing but chaos. He wondered what they'd think when they read it. Or, if they never responded, did it mean they didn't think it worthwhile to reply… or was it because it got lost in the shuffle? He'd never scrounge up the will to pen a second letter, so he'd never know.

If he didn't hear back, he might have to bite the bullet and start chatting with random people online. That wasn't the worst fate, obviously, yet he would have felt like a predator making even the most innocuous conversation. He didn't trust himself not to hurt anyone. When he was out and about here, he didn't talk to people so much as he scared them. That needed to substitute well enough for interaction. Besides, in this sole case, freaking people out was the whole point, so he didn't feel bad about doing it. Everyone who came here wanted to be scared. May have gotten more than they bargained for if they knew what he really was, though.

In other news… uh, the food he stole from the dumpster behind the local gas station last night wasn't too bad. He had some sushi and nachos, the latter of which were still warm. They had a lot of pizza there, but that was the one thing he could no longer bring himself to eat, so it was off the menu. Oh, yeah, and he ate some wilted fruits and vegetables from there, too. Wasn't sure he actually needed the nutrients anymore, but fiber helped his digestion a lot. That was true for anyone, let alone a rabbit.

That was about it. God, he wished he had friends. Real friends, not a metal mannequin in the hall he sometimes talked at when he felt particularly lonely (which was more and more often).

So, do I sleep or watch YouTube? Rolled over again, exploring every square millimeter of his mattress. He couldn't even tell if he was tired. That happened more often those days. Again, his options were limited. The only thing for him to do was wait for a call that might never come.

1:30 PM

With one final tug of makeshift rope, Auric finished his quest. The bag of meat rose into the air, dangling by its broken neck from a tree.

Lest anyone think this had been a suicide, multiple lacerations across the torso, carved into expletives, made clear that someone else had committed this act of ritual slaughter. Unfortunately, not until it was already dead.

Usually, he relied on guile to get close and do the job with one decisive blow. This time, the child had been agitated upon seeing him, perhaps realizing how bad of an idea the meeting was. How bigoted that it would not even hear him out! The meat ran into the dark woods before he got close enough to strike. Almost lived to tell the tale.

Almost.

Thanks to cosmic luck and no fault of Auric's own, it tripped across an exposed root and shattered its skull on a rock. He didn't even get the pleasure of drawing a single drop of blood before the meat expired from a massive traumatic intracranial hemorrhage. It drove him mad. All that effort wasted; he only got to put up the appearance of a job well done.

Perhaps that was why the pain in his head did not cease. The once-empty space now waited to explode from what felt like thousands of tiny insects stinging him. He stuck his whole fist into his mouth to try and pull something out, yet he always came away literally empty handed. The body was not the problem, he slowly came to realize. It persisted when he was still in the spirit, which was even stranger. It was as if something afflicted his soul. In all his travels, though, he had never heard of such an ailment.

He would have remembered if it were so.

Still, he had patience, and getting to mutilate a cadaver had its own quaint charm. He'd wait to make his next kill after people had located this one. He wanted them to see his handiwork. And not just them, but people across the region, if not the nation. Communication technology on this world had advanced far since he'd last devoted himself to exhibitionism. An act that would have once only been known to a village or hamlet could now reach the other end of the planet within an hour. Endless speculation, manhunts, etc.

Auric didn't care about the specifics or observing the individual reactions. Merely knowing they occurred proved sufficient.

Rather upset he couldn't go with impalement, but this body was too weak to allow such a thing. There were times when he regretted not upgrading, yet he couldn't be too choosy. Not many human-sized vessels with arms and legs. There were always human bodies - like the one hanging in front of him, yet those decayed within days.

His preparations had been completed. The only thing to do now was wait. Either a search party would be dispatched to locate the missing child, or some hapless hiker or fungus collector would stumble into the scene of their own accord. Either was fine. He imagined the find would occur within a few days, at most. Quite possible it happened before the sun set.

Auric took a final look at his handiwork before shuffling this body deeper into the woods. He wanted to be close enough to observe the reaction, yet distant enough to not be found by wayward wanderers. He slinked a few hundred feet before leaning against a fallen log. One advantage of this body was its malleability. Being nothing but fabric, it could squeeze into tight places, like under a collapsed tree, if need be. It was easy to stay still for hours on end, especially when one could eject spirit from flesh.

He'd certainly prefer not to be found. Though he could play dead and pretend to be an inanimate suit, such an unusual discovery in unusual circumstances would likely lead to him being put into an evidence locker somewhere, and that was not a situation he wanted to bother escaping from.

The sun streaked across the firmament, shadows twisting and falling like writhing vines. Auric did nothing special to make time fly. It was simply what happened when one had seen the same sight a billion times before. Only when something of note happened did his perception slow. Which was exactly what happened as the celestial fire began to fall in the western sky.

A shrill shriek split the air. Humans may have called it "bloodcurdling", though that term meant nothing to him. Auric found the meaning behind the noise quite pleasant. This was followed by the rapid thumping of footsteps running off, and likely not leading to a deadly accident in the middle of the day. Still, it was a sign to stuff himself beneath the log and wait for first responders and police to arrive. Which they did shortly enough, at least by his standards - the sun arced only a few more degrees by the time he heard sirens in the distance.

Spirit left husk as he personally observed the response to his handiwork. It was as he expected: much commotion, people with guns canvassing the scene, snapping cameras, and so on. However, just because it was expected did not make it any less impressive, especially because he had not gotten this kind of response for a while. Phillip always knew what waited behind the bloody door before he opened it. Afton employed him for his expertise, possibly appreciating his genius more than any human he'd ever met.

Many people would find out about this soon, and it would make them dread. That included his old enemies. His mind drifted back to them - something it did entirely too often, even in the depths of his mysterious pain. While not the primary reason for his actions, Auric took pleasure in the mortals, humans and simulacra alike, knowing he continued his craft with impunity. Michael would know it to be him: the location and sadism would surely be enough to tip him off. Unless he is so dense that he does not recognize my work when it stares him in the face.

His enjoyment continued into the night as a crowd gathered several hundred feet back. This was not far into the woods, so there was plenty of foot traffic to see what went on, though the curious were blocked by law officers and copious quantities of hastily erected tape. One person wailed particularly loudly, and he idly wondered whether they bore any relation to his victim or if they were simply too emotional. Eventually, though, the child was cut down and shoved into a body bag. The crowd dispersed slowly, some easier than others. Investigators combed over every square inch of forest, yet they failed to find him - even with his spirit form silently taunting them from inches away. The only thing they'd feel was a brief chill before he moved to the next.

It wasn't until the first hints of dawn that the last departed, leaving scant evidence of being there. Many footprints, and a chalk outline on the forest floor and a few pieces of trash. All would be wiped away by wind and rain, he thought as he slithered back into his skin. Pulled himself out from underneath the tree and dusted his body off. A good day of work. Cocked his head towards the sky, towards things far greater than this speck of mud.

He would soon feel empty again. Until then, though, he was content to hunker down on this pitiful rock and wait as this town grieved something incomprehensible to them and ordinary for him.

…

Hello again, everyone! Fall is definitely hitting now, in the sense that my pontoon boat got taken away for the season, and the dock won't be far behind. That's fine, though; winter is my favorite month, and it can't come soon enough this year.

This was an interesting chapter to write. On one hand, it acts as a typical "bridge" update, sort of linking the last to the one after this. On the other, it provided me an opportunity to explore themes like the nature of the mind and connecting to other people. While all my stories have dealt with these ideas, I'm trying to use parallelism in this story to have all the characters wrangle with the same thoughts and learn from them - or, in Auric's case, be confronted with and ignore them as he continues to commit atrocities (which I'm trying not to make too gratuitous - that's for my Dead Space stuff). It's an interesting challenge to do that while also advancing the plot, and it felt especially pronounced in this chapter is what I'm trying to say.

I'm doing pretty well in my personal life. My bus driving job is demanding, and I'm a little unhappy with constant changes to my route, but it's still going all right. Pickle and Relish had their first vet appointment. As I expected, there was nothing wrong with them; they're happy and healthy little frogs! The only thing is that Pickle needs to lose some weight - fewer crickets for her, sadly. In other news, I'm getting a garage built, which will hopefully be ready in the next few months. I may like the winter, but I'd prefer not to shovel a foot of lake-effect snow off my car every few days if I can help it!

I haven't promoted my Discord server since the beginning of the story, so I wanted to do it again. If the promise of exclusive stories (like, two of them) and direct contact with me doesn't entice you, maybe being spammed with pictures of my frogs will! Just remove the spaces:

www . discord . gg / HPcMTpxVsH