Into the Pit

by Scott Cawthon

  Jeff brought two slices stacked on a paper plate, and a fresh cup of orange soda. “Here you go, kid,” he said, setting down the cup and the plate.

  “Thank you.” Oswald wondered for a minute if Jeff felt sorry for him, if Jeff might think he was terribly poor like the homeless people who hung out all day in the library, instead of just the regular, barely-making-ends-meet poor that he was.

  But then Oswald figured if there was free pizza sitting in front of you, maybe it wasn’t time to worry about the reasons for it. Maybe it was time to eat.

  Oswald had no problem polishing off the two huge slices. For the past month, his appetite had been unstoppable. When Mom cooked him piles of pancakes in the morning, she said he must be having a growth spurt, causing him to eat like he had a hollow leg.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket the second he sucked down the last of his soda. He looked at his dad’s text: will be out front at jeffs in 2 min.

  Perfect timing. It had been a good day.

  * * *

  The days at the library and Jeff’s Pizza started to add up. The first couple of weeks had been great, but now the library didn’t have the next book in the series he was reading, and he had grown bored with his online fantasy game, which, while advertised as free, now wouldn’t let him advance any further without paying money. He had gotten tired of not having anybody his age to hang out with. He hadn’t gotten tired of pizza yet, but he was starting to imagine that he might in the future.

  Tonight was Family Fun Night, a one-night-a-week event that varied depending on Mom’s work schedule. Back when the mill was still open, Family Fun Night meant dinner in a restaurant—pizza or Chinese or Mexican. After their meal, they’d do some fun activity together. They’d go to the movies if something kid friendly was playing, but if not, they’d go to the bowling alley or to the roller rink where Mom and Dad used to go on dates when they were in high school. Mom and Dad were great skaters and Oswald was terrible, but they’d skate on either side of him holding his hands and keeping him up. They’d usually top off their evening with a waffle cone at the ice-cream place downtown. Oswald and Mom would make fun of Dad because no matter what ice-cream flavors were available, he always got vanilla.

  Since the mill closed down, though, Family Fun Night had turned into an at-home affair. Mom would make something for dinner that was easy but festive, like tacos from a mix or hot dogs. They’d eat and then play board games or watch a movie they’d rented from Red Box. It was still fun, of course, but sometimes Oswald wished aloud for the old days of seeing new movies at the theater and having waffle cones after, and Dad had to remind him that the Important Thing Was That They All Got to Spend Time Together.

  Sometimes when the weather was nice, they’d have a Family Fun Night. They’d pack a picnic of cold cuts and salads courtesy of the Snack Space and head over to the state park. They’d eat their dinner at a wooden table and watch the squirrels and birds and raccoons. Afterward, they’d go for a walk on one of the hiking trails. These outings were always a nice change, but Oswald was also aware of why these were the only Family Fun Nights that ever got them out of the house: Picnics were free.

  Tonight they were staying in. Mom had made spaghetti and garlic bread. They had played a game of Clue, which Mom won as she usually did, and now they were piled up on the couch together in their pajamas with a huge bowl of popcorn between them, watching a remake of an old science-fiction movie.

  Once the movie was over, Dad said, “Well, that was pretty good, but not as good as the real version.”

  “What do you mean, the real version?” Oswald said. “That was a real version.”

  “Not really,” Dad said. “I mean, it was set in the same universe as the real version, but it was kind of a cheap knockoff of the one that came out when I was a kid.”

  Dad always had to be so opinionated. He could never just watch something and enjoy it. “So the best movies are always the ones that you watched when you were a kid?” Oswald said.

  “Not always, but in this case, yes.” Dad was settling in, Oswald could tell, for one of his favorite things: a good argument.

  “But the special effects in the original version stink,” Oswald said. “All those puppets and rubber masks.”

  * * *

  “I’ll take a puppet or model over CGI any day,” Dad said, leaning back on the couch and propping his feet on the coffee table. “That stuff is so slick and fake. It’s got no warmth, no texture. And besides, you like those old Zendrelix movies, and the special effects in those are terrible.”

  “Yeah, but I just watch those to make fun of them,” Oswald said, even though he really did think Zendrelix was pretty cool.

  Mom came in from the kitchen with bowls of ice cream. Not as good as the waffle cone place, but nothing to turn your nose up at, either. “Okay, if you guys don’t cut out the nerd argument, I’m going to pick the next movie we watch. And it’s going to be a romantic comedy.”

  Oswald and his dad shut up immediately.

  “That’s about what I thought,” Mom said, passing around the bowls of ice cream.

  * * *

  As Oswald was lying in bed sketching his mechanical animals, his phone vibrated on his nightstand. There was only one person other than his parents who ever texted him.

  Hey, Ben had typed on the screen.

  Heyback, Oswald typed. Hows your summer?

  Awesome. At Myrtle Beach for vacation. Its so cool. Arcades and mini golf everywhere.

  Jealous, Oswald typed, and he meant it. A beach with arcades and mini golf really did sound awesome.

  Wish you were here, Ben typed.

  Me too

  Hows your summer

  OK, Oswald texted. He was briefly tempted to make his summer sound cooler than it was, but he could never lie to Ben. Been going to the library a lot, lunch at Jeffs Pizza

  Thats all?

  It did sound pathetic compared with a family trip to the beach. He texted, Pretty much yeah

  I’m sorry, Ben texted, and then, that pizza place is creepy

  They chatted a little while longer, and although Oswald was happy to hear from Ben, he was also sad that his friend was so far away and having such a good time without him.

  * * *

  Monday morning, and Oswald was in a bad mood. Even his mom’s pancakes didn’t help. In the car, Dad turned up the radio too loud. It was some stupid song about a tractor. Oswald reached for the knob and turned it down.

  “Hey, dude, driver picks the music. You know that,” Dad said. He turned the awful song back up even louder.

  “It’s bad music,” Oswald said. “I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

  “Well, I don’t like those video game songs you listen to,” Dad said. “But I don’t just barge into your room and turn them off.”

  “Yeah,” Oswald said. “But I don’t force you to listen to them, either.”

  Dad turned the radio down. “What’s with the attitude, son? Whatever’s bothering you, it’s not just that I like country music.”

  Oswald didn’t feel like talking, but clearly he was being forced to. And once he opened his mouth, he was surprised to feel complaints erupting from him like lava from a volcano. “I’m tired of every day being exactly the same. Ben texted me yesterday. He’s at Myrtle Beach having an awesome time. He wanted to know what I was doing, and I told him I was going to the library and Jeff’s Pizza every day, and you know what he texted back? ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘That pizza place is creepy.’ ”

  Dad sighed. “I’m sorry we can’t go on vacation and have an awesome time, Oz. Things are hard right now where money’s concerned. I’m sorry it affects you. You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have to worry about money. I’m hoping they’ll move me to full time at the store in the fall. That’ll help a lot, and if I get promoted to deli manager it’ll be another dollar-fifty an hour.”

  Oswald knew he shouldn’t say what he was about to say, but here he went anyway. “Ben’s dad got a job that pays even
better than his old job at the mill.”

  Dad tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah, well, and Ben’s dad had to move five hundred miles away to get that job.” His voice sounded tight, as tight as his grip on the wheel, and Oswald could tell his jaw was clenched. “Your mom and I talked a lot about it, but we decided not to move, especially with your grandma living here and needing help sometimes. This is our home, kiddo, and things aren’t perfect, but we just have to make the best of them.”

  Oswald felt himself crossing the line from grumbling into grounding territory. But why did some people get the best of everything and others had to settle for free library visits and cheap pizza? “And so every day you toss me out on the street like garbage. If this is the best of things, I’d hate to see the worst!”

  “Now, son, don’t you think that’s a little dramatic—”

  Oswald didn’t stick around to hear the rest of his dad’s criticism. He got out of the car and slammed the door.

  His dad sped away, probably glad to get rid of him.

  Just as he predicted, the library still didn’t have the book he wanted. He flipped through a few magazines—the kind with exotic jungle animals, which he usually liked, but they weren’t doing much for him today. When his turn came for a computer, he put in his earbuds and watched some YouTube videos, but he wasn’t in a good enough mood to laugh.

  At lunchtime, he sat in Jeff’s Pizza with his slice and soda. Every day, a cheese slice. If his dad wasn’t so stingy, he’d give him another dollar so he could have pepperoni or sausage. But no, it had to be the cheapest pizza you could get. Sure, money was tight, but really, was another dollar a day going to break the bank?

  Looking around the place, Oswald decided Ben was right. Jeff’s Pizza was creepy. There were those shadowy painted-over figures on the walls, the dusty abandoned ball pit. And when he thought about it, Jeff was kind of creepy, too. He looked a hundred years old but was probably just thirty. With those heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes, the stained apron, and the slow speech and movement, he was like a zombie pizza chef.

  Oswald thought about his argument with Dad that morning. Soon Dad would be texting him, expecting him to come outside to the car. Well, today was going to be different. Today Dad would have to come and find him.

  There was one perfect place to hide.

  Oswald was going into the pit.

  The pit was pretty gross, really. Obviously untouched for years, the plastic spheres were covered in a gray, fuzzy dust. But hiding there would be a great prank on his dad. His dad, who was always dropping him off and picking him up like somebody’s dry cleaning, would actually have to get out of the car and make an effort for a change. Oswald wouldn’t make it easy for him, either.

  Oswald took off his shoes. Yes, the ball pit was disgusting, but at least getting into it would make today different from all the other days that had come before it.

  He climbed into the pit and felt the balls parting to make room for his body. He moved his arms and legs. It was a little like swimming, if you could swim in dry plastic spheres. He found his footing at the bottom of the pit. Some of the balls were strangely sticky, but he tried not to think about why. If he was going to trick his dad, he was going to have to go all the way under.

  He took a deep breath, as if he were about to jump into a swimming pool, and fell to his knees. That put him in up to his neck. Wiggling around so he was sitting on the pit’s floor put his head under, too. The balls spread apart far enough that he could breathe, but it was dark and made him feel claustrophobic. The place stank of dust and mildew.

  “Pinkeye,” he could hear his mother’s voice saying. “You’re going to get pinkeye.”

  The smell really was getting to him. The dust tickled his nose. He felt a sneeze coming on, but he couldn’t move his hand through the spheres fast enough to reach his nose and muffle it. He sneezed three times, each one louder than the one before.

  Oswald didn’t know if his dad was looking for him yet, but if he was, the sneezing ball pit had probably given away his location. Besides, it was too dark and too gross in there. He had to come up for air.

  As he rose, his ears were assaulted by the sound of beeping electronics and yelling and laughing kids.

  It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust from the darkness of the pit to the brightness that now surrounded him, the flashing lights and vivid colors. He looked around and muttered, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

  The walls were lined with shiny arcade cabinets housing games he’d heard his dad talk about from his own childhood: Ms. Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Frogger, Q∗bert, Galaga. A neon-lighted claw machine displayed plush blue elf-like creatures and orange cartoon cats. He looked down at the pit and realized he was surrounded by little kids wallowing in the strangely clean and now brightly colored plastic orbs. He stood over the preschoolers like a giant. He stepped out of the pit to find his shoes, but they were gone.

  Standing on the colorful carpet in his sock feet, he looked around. There were lots of kids his age and younger, but there was something different about them. Everyone’s hair was styled and fluffy, and the boys wore polo shirts in colors lots of guys wouldn’t be caught dead in, like pink or aqua. The girls’ hair was almost unbelievably big, with bangs that stood out from their foreheads like claws; they wore pastel-colored tops that matched their pastel-colored shoes. The colors, the lights, the sounds—it was sensory overload. And what was that music?

  Oswald looked around to see where it was coming from. Across the room on a small stage, a trio of animatronic animals blinked their big blank eyes, opened and closed their mouths, and pivoted back and forth in sync with a jangly, annoying song. There was a brown bear, a blue rabbit with a red bow tie, and some kind of bird girl. They reminded Oswald of the mechanical animals he had caught himself drawing lately. The difference was that he could never decide if the animals in his drawings were cute or creepy.

  These were creepy.

  Strangely, though, the dozen or so little kids surrounding the stage didn’t seem to think so. They were wearing birthday party hats with pictures of the characters on them, and dancing and laughing and having a great time.

  When the smell of pizza hit Oswald’s nose, he understood.

  He was still in Jeff’s Pizza, or more accurately, what Jeff’s Pizza had been before Jeff took over. The ball pit was new and not roped off, all the outlets on the wall had arcade games plugged into them, and—he turned around to face the left wall. In the shapes of the shadows on the wall of Jeff’s Pizza was a mural of the same characters “performing” on the stage: the brown bear, the blue rabbit, and the bird girl. Below their faces were the words FREDDY FAZBEAR’S PIZZA.

  Oswald’s insides turned to ice water. How had this happened? He knew where he was, but he didn’t know when it was or how he got there.

  Somebody bumped into him, and he jumped more than was normal. Since he felt the physical contact, this must not be a dream. He couldn’t decide if this fact was good news or not.

  “Sorry, dude,” the kid said. He was about Oswald’s age and he was wearing a light yellow polo with the collar turned up, tucked into what looked like a pair of dad jeans. The white tennis shoes he had on were huge, like clown shoes. He looked as if he had spent a long time fixing his hair. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Oswald said. He wasn’t sure he was okay actually, but he didn’t know how to begin to explain his situation.

  “I’ve not seen you here before,” the kid said.

  “Yeah,” Oswald said, trying to figure out an explanation that wouldn’t sound too weird. “I’m just visiting here … staying with my grandma for a few weeks. This place is great, though. All these old games—”

  “Old games?” the kid said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right? I don’t know about where you’re from, but Freddy’s has the newest games around here. That’s why the lines to play them are so long.”

  “Oh yeah, I was just kidding,” Osw
ald said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had heard his dad talk about playing a lot of these games when he was a kid. Absurdly hard games, he said, on which he had wasted many hours and many quarters.

  “I’m Chip,” the kid said, running his fingers through his poofy hair. “Me and my buddy Mike”—he nodded at a tall black kid wearing huge eyeglasses and a shirt with wide red and blue stripes—“were about to play some Skee-Ball. Want to come with?”

  “Sure,” Oswald said. It was nice to hang out with some other kids, even if they seemed to be kids from another time. He didn’t think this was a dream, but it sure was as weird as one.

  “You got a name?” Mike said, looking at Oswald like he was some kind of strange specimen.

  “Oh, sure. I’m Oswald.” He had been too weirded out to remember to introduce himself.

  Mike gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Well, I’ve gotta warn you, Oswald. I’m a beast at Skee-Ball. But I’ll go easy on you since you’re new here.”

  “Thanks for having mercy on me,” Oswald said. He followed them to the Skee-Ball area. On the way they passed somebody in a rabbit suit that looked like a yellow version of the animatronic rabbit on the stage. Nobody else seemed to be paying attention to the rabbit guy, so Oswald didn’t say anything. It was probably a Freddy Fazbear’s employee dressed up to entertain the little kids at the birthday party.

  Mike wasn’t kidding about being a beast at Skee-Ball. He easily beat Chip and Oswald three times, but he was a good sport, and they spent the whole time joking around. It felt good being included.

  But after another couple of games, Oswald started to worry. What time was it really? How long had his dad been looking for him? And how was he going to get back to his real life? Sure, he’d wanted to give Dad a little scare, but he didn’t want to scare the old man so much he got the police involved.

  “Hey, guys, I’d better run,” Oswald said. “My grandma—” He almost said “just texted me” but realized Chip and Mike would have no idea what he was talking about. Whenever this was, there were no cell phones. “My grandma’s supposed to pick me up in a few minutes.”