From outside Marla’s consuming embrace, Jason heard brief static. He looked over Marla’s shoulder to see Lamar studying the walkie-talkie, preparing to speak into it.
“Jessica? We found him, he’s okay,” he said.
More static, and words Jason did not quite catch coming from the radio. The first wave of relief had worn off, and his ribs were starting to hurt.
“Marla?” He tapped her on the shoulder, first gently, then harder. “Marla!”
She let him go, but took hold of his shoulders for a moment, peering into his eyes as if to be sure it was really him, that he had not been somehow replaced, or irrevocably damaged.
“Marla, cool it,” he said as casually as he could, managing to keep his voice from shaking. Marla let go of his shoulders, giving him a playful shove, and began to scold him as she pulled him the rest of the way out from under the control panel.
“Jason, how could you—” Marla was interrupted as Lamar descended the rest of the way into the small room.
“Through the vent? Really?” Lamar laughed.
“You could have been killed, crawling through the air duct like that!” Marla added, grasping his shoulders.
Jason fought free, flailing his arms until she let him go.
“Okay!” He exclaimed. “Everybody missed me, good, glad to know I’m important.”
“You are important,” Marla said fiercely, and Jason rolled his eyes theatrically.
The little room lit up, as Lamar flipped a switch, bringing the screens to life. Marla looked at Jason thoughtfully, then turned her attention to the security cameras. “Okay, let’s see what we can see.” Lamar looked from screen to screen.
The top, middle screen showed the main dining room and the stage, and as they watched, Charlie, Jessica, and John appeared, crossing the room in a V formation, Charlie at the front.
“Look,” Marla said suddenly, and pointed to the screen at the lower right. “Look.”
The night guard was there; though they could not make out his face, his baggy uniform and sagging shoulders told that it was the same man. He was in the hall near the restaurant’s entrance, walking past the party rooms and the arcade with a slow, purposeful gait.
“Lamar, warn them,” Marla said urgently, and again Lamar spoke into the walkie-talkie.
“Jessica, the guard is somewhere around there, hide.”
There was no response from the radio, but onscreen, the group of three froze, then as one made for the control room under the stage, squeezing in and closing themselves in just as the guard appeared in the doorway.
Voices. People moving around.
Carlton did not allow himself to sigh in relief, a rescue wouldn’t do him any good if he got his insides punctured by a hundred tiny robot parts first. Instead he continued with what he had been doing: inching his way across the floor, into the view of the security camera that perched near the ceiling, just above the door. Each movement was so scarce it felt like nothing, but he had been doing this for over an hour, and he was almost, almost there. He kept his breathing steady, using his trapped hands to lift his body a tiny bit, move to the side, and let himself down again, just a little further to the right. His fingers were cramping and his head still ached, but he kept going, relentless.
Although he was still afraid, still painfully aware of how easily he could trigger his own death, at some point the fear had dulled, or perhaps he had just become accustomed to it. Panic could not last forever; eventually the adrenaline had run out. Now, at least, the need for slow, precise movement took precedence over everything else. It was all there was. Carlton made one final movement, and stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, as if that would feel like rest. He had made it.
Can’t stop now.
The others were here, it had to be them, and if they were looking for him, they would check the cameras. He stared up into the lens, willing himself to be seen. He could not wave, or jump up and down. He tried rocking back and forth a little, but no matter how stiffly he held himself, he felt the press of spring locks, ready to give. He bit his lip in frustration.
“Just see me!” He whispered aloud, to no one, but all at once, he felt as if he had been heard, felt the inexplicable sense of someone else’s presence in the room. His heart began to race again, the adrenaline that had given out finding its second wind.
Carefully, slowly, he looked around, until something caught his eye.
It was only one of the costumes, slumped empty in the shadows, half-hidden in the corner of the room. It was motionless, but its face was pointed directly at him, as if it were staring at him. As Carlton looked back, he realized that deep within the recesses of the costume’s eye sockets, were two tiny glints of light. He felt little muscles twitch, a restrained shudder running through his body, not quite enough to get him killed. He did not look away.
As Carlton held the creature’s gaze, he felt himself begin to calm. His heart’s pounding eased, and his breath grew even; it was as though suddenly, he were safe, though he knew the suit he was wearing was still only one flinch, one startled jump, from killing him. Carlton kept looking at those two pinpoints of light, and as he did, he heard a voice, and in a gasping instant it was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. As the voice spoke, that voice he would have known anywhere, that voice he would have given anything to hear again, Carlton began to weep, using all his will to keep his body from shaking. The eyes in the dark were intent on his face as the voice went on, speaking secrets to Carlton in the ringing silence, telling him things that he dreaded, things that someone had to hear.
Chapter Ten
The screens all lost their pictures and flipped to static.
“Hey!” Marla cried. She banged against the side of a monitor, and the imaged lurched and distorted, then sputtered and went out again. She hit it again, and with another spasm of static the image slowly cleared; as it resolved, the stage appeared.
“Something’s wrong,” Lamar said, and all three leaned forward, trying to get a better look.
“Bonnie.” Jason said in a grave tone.
“Bonnie,” Marla said, looking at Lamar with alarm. “Where’s Bonnie?” Lamar hit the button on the walkie-talkie.
“Charlie” he said urgently. “Charlie, don’t leave the control room.”
In the control room under the stage, Charlie and Jessica were peering at the monitors, scanning for signs of life. “It’s too dark; I can’t see anything on these.” Jessica complained.
“There!” Charlie said, pointing. Jessica blinked.
“I can’t see anything,” she said.
“It’s Carlton, right there. I’m going to get him.” Not waiting for a response, Charlie crawled toward the exit.
“Charlie, wait,” John said, but she was already out the door. It slammed shut behind her, and all three of them heard the dull metal thud of the drop lock falling into place. “Charlie!” John yelled again, but she was already gone.
“It’s bolted shut,” John grunted as he pulled on the door. The walkie-talkie sputtered, and Lamar’s voice came choppily from the little box.
“Ch-lie, don’t leave—r-m.” Jessica and John exchanged a glance, and John picked up the radio.
“Too late,” he said, looking to Jessica as he lowered the walkie-talkie.
Charlie made her way unsteadily between chairs, but after only moments she realized she had gotten herself turned around. The lighting had changed; now a single, blinding blue light was strobing on and off above the stage. Over and over, the room flashed with a blinding burst, like lightning, then was instantly dark again. Charlie covered her eyes, trying to remember what she had bumped into first. Metal chairs and foil party hats pulsed like beacons in the dark with each burst of light, and Charlie’s head began to throb.
She squinted, trying to orient herself, but beyond the tables surrounding her, all she could see were a thousand afterimages burned into her retinas. She had no idea which way to go to find Carlton. She leaned against a nearby chair and pressed her han
d tightly over her forehead.
A table screeched against the floor briefly and Charlie knew that it hadn’t been her. She turned around but the light had gone dark. When it flashed again she was looking directly at the stage; where there should have been three sets of eyes, she saw only two. Freddy and Chica stared down at her, their plastic gazes catching the light, twinkling with the strobe. Their heads seemed to follow her as she moved along the table. Bonnie is gone.
Suddenly, she felt exposed, all at once noticing just how many places there were in the open room for something to hide, and just how visible she was to anyone — anything— that might be watching. She thought briefly of the little control room she had just left, and felt a pang of regret. Coming out here might have been very stupid…
Another screech sounded and she whirled around to see the table behind her moving slowly away. She turned to run, but slammed into something before she could take a step. She jerked up her hands in the darkness to shield herself, and touched matted fur. The strobe threw its light out again, and this time there was sound: garbled noise blaring from the gaping mouth in front of her. Bonnie. Bonnie was standing only inches from her, his mouth opening and closing rapidly and his eyes rolling wildly in his head. Charlie jerked away, then backed up slowly; the rabbit did not try to follow, just continued his bizarre and silent incantation, his eyes aimlessly ricocheting in is head. Her foot caught on the leg of a metal folding chair, and she fell back, landing hard on her bottom. She started to crawl, staying low, hurrying to get away from Bonnie. A spotlight flashed from the stage, this one clearly aimed at her. She raised her hand to see who was there, but the light blinded her, and all she could make out were two sets of eyes continuing to follow her.
Charlie screamed and scrambled to her feet. She took off running, not looking back, and made it across the room and to the hallway that led to Pirate’s Cove, then ducked into the bathroom along its wall. The door echoed when it shut behind her; the room was empty, with nothing but three sinks and three stalls. Only one of the fluorescent lights was on, and just barely, only enough to color the room dark gray instead of black. The metal walls of the stall dividers looked flimsy, and Charlie had a sudden vision of Bonnie, larger than life, grabbing the metal frame with his paws and ripping it up from the ground, the bolts tearing right out of the floor. She banished the thought and ran into the farthest stall from the door, slipping the lock—so small it looked almost delicate—into place. She sat on top of the toilet tank, her feet pulled up on the seat and her back pressed against the blue tile wall of the bathroom. In the empty room, Charlie could hear her own breath echoing; she forced it to slow and closed her eyes, telling herself to be silent, to hide.
“Charlie?” John was still pounding on the little door of the control room. “Charlie! What’s going on out there?”
Jessica sat quietly, still rattled from the screams and crashes outside.
“She can take care of herself,” John said, easing his grip on the door.
“Yeah,” Jessica said. He did not turn around to look at her.
“We have to get out of here,” John said. He rattled the door again—the top swayed a little as he pulled, but the bottom was stuck fast. He hunched down further. There was a lock, a deadbolt that dropped straight into the floor. The latch to pull it open had broken off long ago, leaving only a jagged ledge so thin he could scarcely get his fingers around it. As he yanked it upward, it cut into his fingers, leaving thin red lines. The bolt stayed fast in place.
“Jessica, you try,” he said, and looked at her. Her eyes were on the wall of televisions; they were all showing static, but every now and then one flashed a picture. “Never mind,” John said. “Keep watching.” He bent his head again, and went back to the deadbolt.
In the bathroom, Charlie was silent. She paid attention to each breath she took, each inhale and exhale a slow, deliberate process. She had tried meditating once, and hated it, but now the intent focus on her breathing was calming. I guess I just needed the right motivation, she thought. Like staying alive. The stalls rattled briefly and there was a distant booming sound that went on for several seconds. It’s storming outside.
She kept her eyes trained on the floor. The light overhead was so dim it scarcely illuminated her stall. She held her breath; the light flickered and let out a brief hum, then was silent again. The toilet tank she was sitting on felt unstable; she scooted to the edge of it to quietly let her foot down. Just as the tip of her shoe touched the tile, the wide bathroom doors opened with a thunderous boom.
Without thinking she jerked her foot up, and the lid of the porcelain tank clanged like pots clattering together. She held herself perfectly still, her shoe suspending in the air, then carefully pulled her foot back into place on top of the toilet seat. That was too loud, she thought. Carefully, she leaned forward, and reached up with one hand to grasp the stall divider. Slowly, she pulled herself up to stand, the toilet seat rocking on its hinges beneath her feet.
She peered out over the top at the two stalls next to her. It was too dark to see beyond the metal stalls; the whole row of them was swaying gently from her weight hanging on them.
There was a shuffling sound; something wide and heavy was sliding across the floor, not trying nearly as hard as she was to be quiet. She kept watch; her eyes darted from the stall door beside her, to the bathroom door. The shuffling continued, but she could not tell where it was coming from; the sound filled the room.
Suddenly the nebulous sound resolved: it was crisp, and it was nearby. The wall she clung to trembled slightly. She panned her gaze around the room, hoping her eyes would adjust just a little more, and they did: she could make out a trash can by the door, and the outline of the sinks. Apprehensively, she looked back at the door of her stall, letting her focus creep along the edges until she set her eyes on the inch-wide gap along the door. A large plastic eye was there staring back, unblinking and dry, fixed directly on her, and two large and unnatural rabbit ears hung over the top of the door.
Bonnie. She clasped her hand over her mouth and jumped to the floor as fast as she could, dropping to her stomach and scooting along the floor into the second stall. She heard the thing rattle the door of the stall she had just left, but the shuffling feet did not move. She crawled under the next divider and into the stall nearest the entrance. This time her foot bumped the toilet behind her, and the lip dropped down with a loud clank.
Charlie froze. The shuffling thing did not move. For what felt like an age Charlie held her breath. It heard, it must have heard! But the thing still made no sound. Charlie held still and listened, waiting for another sound of movement to mask her own. Her breathing seemed louder than before. She lowered her head, trying to make out shapes along the floor.
The shuffling sound resumed, and now, without warning it was directly in front of her. She held her breath, desperately trying to make out any forms in the darkness. There it is. A large padded foot was just outside the door, as if it had stopped mid-step. Is it leaving? Please leave. Charlie pleaded. There was a new sound: stiff fabric, softly crunching. What is that? The foot outside the door had not moved. The noise grew louder: the sound of fabric and fur twisting and stretching, tearing and popping. What is that? Charlie dug into the floor with her nails, holding down a guttural scream. It’s bending over. A large paw touched down gently in front of her, then another shape: the creature’s head. It was massive, filling the space under the door. Gracefully, it lowered itself to the floor and turned its head sideways until its eye met Charlie’s eye. Is giant mouth was open wide with a ghoulish excitement, as though it had found someone in a game of hide-and-seek.
A warm burst of air rolled in under the stall door. Breath? Charlie clasped her hand over her nose and mouth; the stench was unbearable. Another wave of it hit her face, hotter and more putrid. She closed her eyes, on the point of relinquishing the hope of escape. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed long enough, she would wake up. Another gust of hot air hit and she jerked back, hitt
ing the back of her head on the toilet. She recoiled with pain and threw her arm in front of her, shielding her face against attack. No attack came. She opened one eye. Where is it?
Suddenly the metal walls around her swayed with a resounding bang. Charlie startled and covered her head as the thing struck again; the stalls rocked on their legs and the bolts screeched as they were yanked free from the floor, the whole assembly seeming ready to collapse. Charlie scrambled under the last divider and climbed to her feet, grasping for the door handles to pull them shut as she ran out.
She ran back into the main dining area, darting toward the control room. Her eyes no longer adjusted to the light, she ran with her hands in front of her, unable to see further than her next steps.
“John!” She cried, grabbing the doorknob and yanking at it, pushing. Nothing happened.
“Charlie, it’s stuck,” John shouted back from inside. As Charlie struggled with the door she glanced up at the stage. Chica was gone.
“John!” Charlie shouted in desperation. Without waiting for a response, Charlie took off again, running for a hall to her left, trying to get as much distance from the bathroom as possible.
The hall was almost completely dark, and as she ran, open doorways yawned at her with wide black mouths. Charlie did not stop to look inside any of them, and instead only prayed that nothing jumped out at her. She reached the last door and paused for a brief moment, hoping against hope that it would be unlocked. She grabbed the knob and twisted, and thankfully, it fell open easily.
She slid through the door then closed it rapidly, trying not to make a sound. She stood watching the door for a long moment, half-expecting it to be flung open, and then finally she turned. It was only then that she saw him: Carlton was there. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her, but he did not move, and after her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she understood why: he was trapped, wedged somehow into the top half of one of the animatronic suits, his own head poking out from the wide shoulders of the costume. His face was white and exhausted, and Charlie knew why. The spring locks. She heard her father’s voice for a moment: It could snap off your nose!
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