The Fourth Closet

by Scott Cawthon

  When at last it began to abate, John rested his forehead against the wall, his eyes watering. Light-headed, he got to his feet, feeling as if years had passed. He did not look into the closet again.

  John limped toward the door, grinding his teeth with every step, but he did not stop moving until he was outside the house, and he did not look back.

  * * *

  “There!” Michael cheered, momentarily distracting Susie from trying to leave. The last phantom of the girl with long black hair came and sat with them. When she had merged with the others like her, she blinked, then looked up and took in a long, calm breath. “We’re all together now,” Michael said with a smile. The drawings on the ground had disappeared, and five real-seeming children sat with Carlton under the table, no longer ghostly images.

  “The rabbit isn’t your friend,” Carlton repeated. Susie gave him a puzzled look, and pointed to the only drawing left, the large one that showed all five children with the smiling yellow rabbit.

  “I said bring him to the table,” William said angrily, drawing Carlton’s attention across the shadows. The painted fox cocked its head to the side, but before William could scold it again, more noises came from the hall. The door opened, pushed like something was bumping against it, and a variety of mechanical things made their way into the room, crawling and clawing their way across the floor in various states of disrepair. There were the climbing babies, and the gangly clown that had sat atop a carnival game in the dining room; others filed in that Carlton did not recognize: waddling dolls painted with clowns’ faces, disjointed circus animals, and other things he could not even name.

  “Get back,” William hissed at the macabre processional, and brushed a crawler aside with his foot, struggling to keep his balance. The little blond boy had stopped crying; he was staring stunned at the creatures, shrinking away with his hand half blocking his face.

  “Afraid of them, now?” William turned on the boy. “Don’t fear them. Fear me,” he snarled with renewed strength, and he clenched his jaw, taking stiff but deliberate steps toward the boy. “I’m the only thing in this room that you should be afraid of,” he said, and the boy turned to him again, his face still full of fear. “I’m just as dangerous as I’ve always been,” William growled. He grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him to the table.

  “No, no, no!” Carlton shouted as he watched the shadowy figure hoist the boy onto the table. He glanced helplessly at the children, but they looked at him blankly. “Can’t you see? He’s hurting that boy!” The children just shook their heads confusedly. “He’s in danger, I have to help him. Let me out.” Carlton struggled to get up, but his legs were weighted down, and anchored to the illusion.

  “That’s just Bonnie.” Susie smiled.

  “Bonnie is not your friend! He’s the one that hurt you, don’t you remember?” Carlton cried with mounting frustration. He grabbed the final drawing from the wall, the one with the five children standing with the yellow rabbit, and laid it flat on the floor, then took up a red crayon. He bent over the drawing and began to make thick marks on it, pressing the crayon deep into the paper. The children strained closer to see what he was drawing.

  “Here we go,” William Afton said from the shadows. Carlton glanced up to see the little boy squirming on top of the mass of metal, where William was holding him in place. The table was heating up, the orange glow beginning to flare from within it. “I’m running out of ideas,” William said, failing to hide his anxiety. “But if I’m not going to survive this, then you certainly aren’t, either.” William pressed down on the boy’s chest, and the boy struggled to free himself.

  “Ouch!” the boy cried as his elbow touched the table below, where the orange glow was spreading. He jerked his arm up and cradled it, sobbing, then shrieked as his foot pressed onto the table and began to hiss. He yanked it back, howling.

  “We will see where this takes us,” William said.

  “Look!” Carlton yelled, tapping the drawing hard with his crayon. The children huddled close. The yellow rabbit’s eyes were now dark red, and blood dripped from its mouth. The children looked confusedly at Carlton, but there was a spark of recognition in their faces. “I’m sorry,” Carlton said desperately. “This—is the bad man. This. This is the bad man.” Carlton pointed from the drawing to William Afton and back again. “He is the bad man who hurt you, and right now he’s about to hurt someone else,” Carlton pleaded.

  * * *

  A hand gripped William’s pant leg, and he shook it off. “Get away from me,” he growled, but the hand persisted. The tangle of parts connected to the purple Freddy head was gathering around William’s ankles, pieces plucking at him. “I said get off me!” he said again. His legs shook beneath him, and he let go of the boy, teetering as he struggled to regain his balance. He grasped for something steady, and his hands instinctively found the table. He recoiled, gasping in pain, and fell backward onto the floor, watching helplessly as the little blond boy rolled off the table and ran to the back wall.

  Afton struggled to right himself as the wires and mechanisms scattered about the room all marched toward him to collect into a central mass, crawling up onto his body and threatening to engulf him. He pulled the pieces off and threw them aside to break apart on the concrete floor of the basement, then got unsteadily to his feet. William set his eyes on the boy once more: nothing else mattered. He took three laborious steps forward, machines still wrapped around his legs. The head of the white fox snapped at him from his ankle, where it had wound its limbs around his leg, and the purple bear had sunk its jaw into his calf, and was biting down. One of the crawling babies had climbed up onto William’s back, where it thrashed its weight back and forth, setting his frail body swaying. Another crawler held fast to his ankle, chewing at his flesh. Blood dripped onto the floor with each step he took, but William’s eyes remained fixed on the terrified boy, his fury only growing. Finally, in a burst of anger he flung the robotic baby from his back and stomped down on the metal bear’s head, breaking its jaw and dislodging its teeth from his leg.

  At last, William reached the child. The blond boy screamed as William brushed his bony fingers over the boy’s face, then suddenly William felt something blazing hot wrap around his waist, and yank him back. He twisted wildly and saw: the creature from the table was standing, and its two melted metal arms were now gripping William from behind, pulling him away from the boy. Its skin contorted and moved like molten metal, its motions jerky and unnatural. Its joints popped and snapped as it moved, as though each movement should have been impossible.

  “No!” William cried, hearing the crackle of flame as his hospital gown caught fire, pressed against the burning creature.

  Carlton opened his eyes and took a breath, a real one; he clutched his chest and tried to remain motionless, lifting only his eyes to watch as the amalgamation of metal and cords pulled William Afton backward into the massive furnace. Smoke and fire erupted from the thing with a roar, and then the room was still. The creatures and parts that had been wriggling on the floor stopped at once, and did not move again.

  Carlton felt the searing pain in his chest surge, and he slipped into darkness.

  Carlton. Carlton opened his eyes; Michael was sitting patiently beside him, apparently waiting for him to wake up.

  “Is he okay now?” Michael gave Carlton an anxious smile. Carlton looked up to see four small figures disappearing into a flood of light. Only Michael remained under the table. “Is he okay?” Michael repeated, waiting for confirmation.

  “Yeah,” Carlton whispered. “He’s okay. Go be with your friends.” He smiled, but Michael didn’t get up. He was looking at Carlton’s chest, where someone had placed a drawing over his wound. “This is a part of you,” Carlton said, grasping at the picture.

  “You’ll die without it,” Michael whispered.

  “I can’t keep this.” Carlton shook his head as Michael pushed it back. “You can give it to me next time you see me.”

  Michael s
miled, and the drawing began to fade, hovering where Michael had placed it for a last moment before the ghostly image vanished, seeming to sink into Carlton’s chest.

  Thank you. Carlton heard the echo of Michael’s voice, but Michael was gone, and there was nothing but the light.

  * * *

  “Carlton!” John.

  “Carlton, hang on!”

  “We’re going to get you out of here!”

  Marla. Jessica.

  “Carlton!”

  So, what happened then?” Marla had scooted so close to Carlton’s hospital bed that she was practically in the bed with him.

  “Ouch, Marla! The nurse said I need to sleep, and I shouldn’t be exposed to a lot of stress right now.” He reached for a juice box nearby, but Marla pushed it out of reach.

  “Oh please, I practically am a nurse, and besides, I want to know what happened.” Marla lifted a series of tubes and pulled them out of her way so she could get closer.

  “Marla! Those are attached to me! Those are keeping me alive!” He searched frantically around his bedside table. “Where’s my panic button?”

  Marla felt around the edges of the bed until she found the small device with a red button on it, then set it neatly in her lap, clearly under her protection. “No juice; no nurse; tell me what happened.”

  “Where’s Dad—Clay?” He lifted his eyes, searching the room until he found his father, who was standing by the window, his face tight with worry.

  “I’m right here,” he said, and shook his head. “You gave us a scare, and it wasn’t a practical joke this time.”

  Carlton grinned, but it was short-lived as he glanced around the small room in distress.

  “Are the kids all right?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “They’re safe. All of them,” Jessica said quickly.

  “All of them?” Carlton said in joyful disbelief.

  “Yes. You saved him, the last one.” Jessica smiled.

  “And he’s okay?” Carlton said again for confirmation, and Jessica nodded.

  “And Charlie?” he said softly. Jessica and Marla looked at each other, unsure.

  “We don’t know,” Clay said, stepping forward. “I’ve been out to look for her, and I’m going to keep looking for her, but so far …” He broke off, then cleared his throat. “I’m going to keep looking,” he repeated.

  Carlton looked down thoughtfully, then looked up once more. “And what about hot Charlie?”

  Marla slapped Carlton’s shoulder and he recoiled. “Marla! Ouch! I almost died; this is blood on my bed!”

  “That’s Kool-Aid. You spilled it all over yourself about an hour ago.” Marla rolled her eyes.

  “John?” Carlton suddenly spotted him in the doorway, hanging back so far he was almost in the hall. John waved, smiling slightly.

  “Looks like they have you patched up pretty good,” he said, nodding toward Carlton’s bandages.

  “Yeah.” Something’s wrong. Carlton considered John for a moment, but before he could formulate a question, a nurse stepped briskly into the room.

  “Visiting time’s over for now,” she said apologetically. “We need to run some tests.”

  Clay stepped up to the bed, displacing Marla briefly. “Get some rest, huh?” he said, and patted the top of Carlton’s head.

  “Dad,” he groaned. “I’m not five.” Clay smiled and headed for the door; John stopped him.

  “You’re going to keep looking for Charlie?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Clay said reassuringly, but gave him a confused look before leaving the room.

  “You’re not going to find her,” John said softly. The rest of them watched, discomfited, as John slipped out the door without another word, not waiting for anyone else.

  “Hey, we found this next to you. I wasn’t sure if it was important,” Jessica said, pulling Carlton’s attention back, and handed him a folded piece of paper, heavy with crayon marks within. He unfolded it, revealing a grassy hill with five children running over it, the sun overhead.

  “Yours?” Jessica asked.

  “Yeah.” Carlton smiled. “Mine.”

  “Okay.” Jessica gave him a suspicious look, then returned the smile, leaving the room. Carlton held the drawing close and gazed out the window.

  * * *

  He had come into the room cautiously, afraid to wake her up. The room was dark except for the light filtering in through the small dirty window, and she peered at him for a moment as if she could not see him.

  “John?” she whispered at last.

  “Yeah, did I wake you up?”

  She was so quiet for a time that he thought she was asleep, then she murmured, “You said you loved me.”

  The memory turned bitter here, and it had been nagging at him ever since—since everything ended. You said you loved me, she said, and he had babbled nonsense in response.

  He stood in the gravel parking lot for a moment, feeling woefully unprepared. He tapped his hand nervously on the metal fence post, then took a deep breath and went through the gate. Slowly, he followed the path he had once watched Charlie take, hindered a little by the brace on his ankle. Most of the cemetery was as green and well kept as any park, but this corner was all scrubby grass and dirt. Two small, plain tombstones sat together just beside the fence, a telephone pole rising behind them like a sheltering tree.

  John took a step toward them, then stopped with the sudden feeling that he was being watched. He turned in a slow circle, and then he saw her. She was standing beneath a tree just a few yards away, where the grass grew lush and green.

  She smiled, and extended a hand, beckoning him to her. He stood where he was. For a moment the world seemed blunted, his mind had gone numb. He could feel that his face had no expression, but he could not remember how to move it. He looked back at the stones with a sharp stab of longing, then swallowed and took steady breaths until he could move again. He turned to the woman under the tree, her arm still extended, and went to her.

  * * *

  A warm gust of wind rolled over the cemetery as they walked away together. The trees rustled, and a rush of leaves blew across the stones, sticking to some. Beneath the telephone pole, the grass rolled with waves, brushing against the two stones that sat together in the setting sun. The first was Henry’s. The other read:

  BELOVED DAUGHTER

  CHARLOTTE EMILY

  1980–1983

  From the telephone pole above, a crow cawed twice, then launched itself into the sky with a flurry of wings.

  Scott Cawthon is the author of the best-selling video game series Five Nights at Freddy’s, and while he is a game designer by trade, he is first and foremost a storyteller at heart. He is a graduate of The Art Institute of Houston and lives in Texas with his wife and four sons.

  Kira Breed-Wrisley has been writing stories since she could first pick up a pen and has no intention of stopping. She is the author of seven plays for Central New York teen theater company The Media Unit, and has developed several books with Kevin Anderson & Associates. She is a graduate of Cornell University, and lives in Brooklyn, NY.

  Copyright © 2018 by Scott Cawthon. All rights reserved.

  Photo of TV static: © Klikk/Dreamstime

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First printing 2018

  Cover art © 2018 Scott Cawthon.

  All rights reserved.<
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  Cover design by Cheung Tai

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-13933-4

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