Chapter Text
“Okay, we’re here.”
The animatronic had been quiet during the walk. He hadn’t asked Gregory if Gregory had a family to go to, or a house he remembered the address to, or a phone number he could call. Gregory wondered if Freddy knew what Gregory’s answer would be, or had just decided that, in the moment, there were other things to worry about. Gregory on his part hadn’t asked where they were going, just trusting the bunny-shaped-bear to have a destination in mind. Gregory had continued to have his eyes shut, face buried into the uncomfortable plastic shoulder, as Freddy sneakily got them further and further away from the PizzaPlex.
Now, Gregory lifted his head to look at where they were.
They were standing in front of an old house. The lawn was extremely overgrown, and ivy crawled up the walls of the house. There were a few old newspapers on the driveway in bright yellow plastic wrappings, but even those looked old and forgotten. Freddy didn’t waste time staring like Gregory was; the sun was rising, people were waking up, and every passing second they spent standing out in the open was a moment that someone might notice the out of pace animatronic. Freddy walked around to the back and Gregory followed after him. There were stairs that led down to a door to the basement. There was a little keypad, and Freddy lifted his paw and delicately typed a code into it. There was the thunk of a big deadbolt disengaging and he opened the door.
“Come inside, Gregory,” Freddy urged as he walked in himself. After the PizzaPlex, the house should’ve seemed mundane, but Gregory found himself hesitating for a second anyway. Then, he hurried to ensure he stayed close to Freddy.
Freddy searched the wall for a light, and with a flick, the darkness of the room was banished to reveal a dusty and crowded workshop.
“Freddy,” Gregory whispered, like he could talk too loud and bring unwanted attention. He closed the door carefully behind him, “Where are we?”
“This location was programmed into me, and was where I was to go should anything have happened to Michael as he worked on his own Pizzeria. This is where Henry Emily once lived,” Freddy explained. There were parts strewn all over; half-finished animatronic limbs and torsos, gears and oil, rows of tools in all kinds of sizes. Freddy picked his way past them.
“Will he be angry that we’re here?” Gregory asked. Freddy paused for a moment before continuing to walk. There was a chair in the middle of the room that looked almost exactly like the one inside the cylinder in Parts & Service.
“I would not worry about it, Gregory. I do not think Emily comes here any more. If he did, I do not think he would begrudge a lost child from seeking refuge here, especially after what you have been through.”
Freddy had by now reached one of the many big closets in the room. Freddy opened it up, looking inside, and then closed it, walking over to the next one.
“What are you looking for?” Gregory asked.
“I am very sorry, Gregory,” Freddy sighed, “I should let you return to your guardian after last night, but I must ask your help with something else before then. I cannot function correctly, as I currently am.” The big rabbit ears on top of Freddy’s head twitched awkwardly. “You should return to where you are safe, but tonight I will be returning to the PizzaPlex. I cannot leave Bonnie behind. I cannot not let the disappearances continue. But I need your help right now.”
Freddy opened another cabinet and this time he nodded and moved aside so that Gregory could see what he had been searching for. It was hard to see the details of it, as the pieces were piled on top of each other, but Gregory could see golden faux fur. He moved closer and touched it. It was surprisingly soft to the touch.
“I will need this shell removed, and that one put on instead. I cannot do this myself, and it is tedious work, I’m afraid.”
Freddy had knelt down now so that he wasn’t towering over Gregory. His eyes were turned, sad but begging Gregory for help.
“Of course I’ll help Freddy.” Gregory put a hand on Freddy’s shoulder, looking the animatronic in his silver eyes.
Gregory’s promise was punctuated by his stomach growling.
“Do you, uh, do you think there’s anything to eat here, though?”
“Oh, right, of course! Young children must be well fed nutritious food to ensure they grow up big and strong!” Freddy stood back up. “Come, let us see if the kitchen has anything of use!”
The first floor of the building was just as dusty as the basement, maybe even more so. The curtains were all drawn, and Gregory bet that without them, the place would look a whole lot less haunted. While the basement was pretty big, the house proper was rather small, Gregory found. His foster families were usually living in decent-sized houses. This one was old, with little to it. There was little division between the kitchen and the dining with a computer off to the side like it was also the computer room, and a block of a TV wedged onto a short stand. There was a bedroom and Gregory peeked in to see a big king-sized bed. It looked just as old as everything else. The blanket was thrown askew, unmade.
Back in the kitchen, Freddy was using his superior height to rummage around the cabinets. There wasn’t anything rotting, thankfully. There wasn’t too much of anything, really. Freddy managed to find a can of soup that he handed to Gregory. Gregory critically assessed its expiration date and found it safe to eat. There was a perfectly usable sauce pan in another cupboard and he put it on the stove - only for the stove not to turn on. It was a gas stove, and though the little dial made the clicking sounds when he turned it, nothing happened.
“I think the gas has been turned off to this house,” Freddy said. He walked over to the light switch and flicked it on and off, but nothing happened. “And the electricity.”
“But the lights worked fine in the basement,” Gregory pointed out.
“Perhaps the basement runs on its own generator,” Freddy suggested.
The plumbing was also off, but in one of the cupboards there were some sealed plastic water bottles, and Gregory cracked one open and drank it as he and Freddy, very sneakily, returned to the backyard. They were mindful of any nosey neighbors as they collected little sticks and broken branches, making a pile on the concrete right outside the door and then lighting it on fire. They only let it go for just long enough to heat up the soup. Gregory grabbed a bottle of water to douse the fire, but Freddy stopped him, tossing some dirt on inside and suggesting that Gregory may want a fire again later, when he needed to heat up something else to eat before returning to his family.
With breakfast(?) out of the way, Gregory prepared to help Freddy - only give out a big yawn.
“You should rest, too,” Freddy said.
“No, it’s okay. I can help you!” Gregory insisted, but Freddy shook his head.
“I am not in such a rush that you cannot sleep. You have been awake for much too long for a child anyway. I, too, feel tired. I will be going to the basement to see if I can find the generator and recharge.”
The two parted ways - as much as they could part ways in the small house. Gregory looked at the unmade king-sized bed again, but decided he’d rather see what was upstairs first. There was something about it that creeped him out so thoroughly that he didn’t want to disturb the room.
Upstairs was even smaller than the bare-bones first floor. There was a couch and another squarish TV on one side of the main room, and then a pretty white desk with little flowers painted on it on the other side. A bookshelf near the white desk held, well, books, ranging from children’s picture books to small novels, even a few big thick books that had to be at least four hundred pages long. There was a bathroom, and what looked like a playroom with a fun and colorful mural painted on the wall by someone who clearly wasn’t an artist, but did put a lot of heart into it. Back near the stairs, there was another door, and Gregory opened this one.
It was a bedroom, where a child had once surely slept.
It was painted with green walls. Like everywhere else, the curtains were closed, and it made the room have almost the same effect as being in the woods under a thick canopy of trees. There was a wooden dresser with cute little knick-knacks on top. One corner of the room was taken up entirely by stuffed animals, including a few familiar faces, like a Freddy and a Bonnie. The bed itself had a soft blue blanket and dark blue pillows. Unlike the bed downstairs, this one was tidely made. Gregory walked over to the dresser, gingerly picking up a framed picture. The frame itself was clearly handmade, decorated with little stars and rainbows and probably a gallon of glitter glue. Inside the picture frame was a large man with a big brown beard. He was smiling at the camera. Held in his arms was a tiny little girl, maybe three or so. She had black hair that was pulled into two pigtails, and she was smiling and reaching for the camera with one of her pudgy little hands. Gregory set the picture back on the dresser.
He yawned, eying the bed. He needed to sleep somewhere. There were the couches, he supposed, but the idea of sleeping in a real bed… He hoped whoever’s bed this was, they wouldn’t mind.
Gregory pushed the curtains aside and opened the window. He grabbed the big blue blanket and brought it to the window, giving it a few good shakes and trying to get as much dust out of it as he could. Then he grabbed the pillows and did the same. He almost dropped one, but luckily managed to hold onto it enough with his other hand to pull it back inside. He shut the window and closed the curtains once more.
Curled up on the little girl’s bed, Gregory found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep.
The darkness accepted him in, warm and comforting. Although he was in a strange place, in a strange bed, he felt safe with Freddy nearby and far away from the PizzaPlex.
And then he opened his eyes.
He was swimming up from a pool of water. He didn’t need to breathe, so he wasn’t too worried about air, but he kicked his feet and moved his arms to swim towards the light of the surface. A shadow appeared, blocking some of the light, and then a hand was plunged down into the water. Gregory grabbed it, and with help he was pulled out of the water and onto a hard and dry surface. Despite not having drowned, Gregory found himself gasping for air nonetheless.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a voice told him. Gregory cleared the water out of his eyes.
He was in the middle of the woods, on a wooden dock, above a small lake. Sitting in front of him was a girl about his age. She had familiar straight black hair that was pulled into a pair of pigtails.
“I know it’s okay,” Gregory snapped and scooted away from her. He was shivering from the cold of being out of the lake.
“I know you might be a little surprised, and maybe a little scared,” she went on.
“I’m not!”
“You could’ve fooled me, “she rolled her eyes. Gregory opened his mouth to retort, and-
“Hey, play nice you two.”
Gregory flinched and turned to find that they weren’t alone on the dock. He quickly backed away from the large being next to them. It looked kind of like an alligator, if an alligator was red and wore a fishing hat and vest. It was holding a fishing pole, a line cast out in the small lake. His big and toothy maw was pointed towards Gregory and the girl with the pigtails. The animatraonics at Freddy’s were all funny cartoon-like animals, even when they were trying to kill him. This thing looked real, looked like it had flesh under its leathery hide, like it could actually taste blood and enjoy it.
“We are, we are,” the black-haired girl promised the monster. The monster looked at them both for another second, nodded, and returned his focus to his fishing line. The girl moved so she was dangling her feet off the edge of the deck, tips of the toes of her shoes hitting the water. Gregory looked between the monster, then to the girl, and then slowly moved to sit on the side of the deck as well. There was some space still left between them, and Gregory’s longer legs meant that his feet were basically submerged back into the water.
“Where am I?” Gregory asked, and followed it up with, “Who are you?”
“The ‘where’ is hard,” she said, “And we don’t have much time. My name is Charlie, though.” She stuck out her hand, and after a moment, Gregory shook it.
“I’m Gregory,” he said and she nodded.
“I need your help with something, Gregory,” Charlie said. “Some of my friends have gone missing recently. I want to find them, but it’s hard work. A different friend of mine left to find them, but I’m really really worried he can’t do it on his own.”
“Then why don’t you go?” Gregory asked.
“My friend said he’d go so I wouldn’t have to. He wanted me to stay behind, so I’m doing my best to do just that - to stay behind and let him take care of it. But I think he might need some help.”
“I’m kind of busy right now,” Gregory admitted, kicking his feet and splashing some water. Charlie seemed like a nice enough kid, but she was talking in such a vague way, and he was honestly having a hard time focusing, head lolling about. He was tired.
“Can you try to, at least? Please?”
“Okay,” Gregory sighed, “I’ll try. What do your friends look like?”
He hoped they weren’t the missing children.
“They look like,” Charlie opened her mouth and then,
A writhing mass of pain, yearning to break free, desiring to cause others the pai they were in. Anger, and hate, and mind-numbing agony that made his senses freeze. Roaring of monsters and beasts, and screaming of children in fear and confusion. And the smell of blood and rot and death.
“Have you seen anyone like that?” Charlie asked, curious and hopeful, while Gregory wrapped his arms around himself, trying to banish the strange feeling that had come over him.
“I-I,” Gregory swallowed as he tried to recompose himself, “No, I haven’t.”
“Oh,” Charlie wilted. “Well, if you do, please help them, okay? Promise me?”
Charlie put out her hand, pinkie extended.
“Y-yeah,yeah, I promise,” Gregory locked his pinkie with Charlie. She smiled happily at him.
“Okay, I’m counting on you!”
She put her hand on Gregory’s back, and then pushed him off the deck and back into the lake.
Gregory sank like a rock. As he looked up, the girl wasn’t there anymore, but some kind of long black and white creature with purple tear marks running down its face.
oOo
You are in a royal courtyard. You don’t recognize it, and yet it feels oddly familiar.
You look down and can see your own reflection staring back at you. You’re wearing a poofy dress and a crown lies upon your head. Both are golden in color, shining and sparkling and glowing. You girl the luxurious dress a twirl, splashing in the puddle at your feed. Crimson droplets fly to stain the edges of your dress. Your mirror of liquid you had been staring into, you realize, had been a pool of blood. You look behind you for the source.
There is a hare sitting on top of a child’s corpse. The hare is golden as well, with shiny fur and bright purple and intelligent eyes. The longer you stare, however, the less sure you are it’s really a hare. There’s something wrong with it, something you struggle to define. It takes a few hops forwards, and you realize the fur isn’t shiny at all, but dull. Its mouth is coated in blood, and its graceful movement deteriorates into a sickly dead and rotting thing that somehow moves nonetheless.
Your father showed you Monty Python and the Holy Grail when you were little. Any dirty jokes went completely over your head, but you like some of the other comedy bits. You remember the part where the knights need to get past a terrible beast that looks like a cute little white rabbit. You laughed so much at the cartoonish blood and death, and your father had laughed along with you. The sight before you reminds you of that, but this feels oddly more real. So why does a laugh still build in your throat?
(You once laughed at a horror movie in the same way. Blood had gushed from the poor dumb victim as the murderer drew the weapon out of the fatal wound. Your date had slowly pulled his arm off of your shoulders, as if, if he did it slow enough, you wouldn’t notice. A few days later, he broke up with you. After that, you watched horror movies alone.)
You and the hare-that-is-not-a-hare stare at each other for a full minute before the hare takes off, fast fast fast, into the woods. You do not hesitate to chase after it.
Through the trees and the shadows, the rabbit runs and you chase, panting and gasping for air, but refusing to let it out of your sight. Your hands are full of the skirts of your golden dress, trying to lift it out of your way. The bloody edges are now becoming dirty and torn. Yet still, you follow after. The hare leads you to a large meadow, and you can see glints of fur through the long grasses. You’re getting slower and it shows no signs of stopping - if anything, you’d say it’s getting faster.
The ground beneath you is shaking. There is something coming up behind you, something big. You throw yourself out of the way just in time to avoid being trampled by a beast.
At first, you think it’s a giant black bear. Closer inspection shows that there is something inside the black fur and skin, something with long black and white tendrils that seem to puppeteer the bear skin around. Atop the not-bear sits a small figure, riding the huge monstrosity. A white mask with purple tear marks adorns her face. She does not turn to look at you, too focused on chasing after the golden hare, hands holding a set of reigns with a white-knuckled grip.
After her is another impossibly large bear, this one with two heads that keep turning to growl and bite at each other. Two riders sit on with one, a golden bear mask each to match their mount. They, too, pay you no mind as they charge forward.
Many more beasts follow after; a hunting party. All the mounts are monsters, animals that have been changed into nightmarish beings, given too many fangs and claws, looking stitched together or dying or dead. Chickens and rabbits and foxes and bears. But they all run swiftly, much faster than your legs could carry you. Every rider wears a mask, but they are all small. They are all children, their innocent youth hidden behind the terrifying masks they’ve put on.
Bringing up the rear of the hunting party is easily one of the strangest beasts of the lot. It has three heads; the rabbit and bear heads are surprisingly docile, focused forwards. They’ve been grafted onto the main body of the creature, a twisted fox. The fox looks older than its extra heads, much more scarred, and it snaps and growls at you as it comes to an abrupt stop right before you. The sharp teeth are just barely too far away to catch you between them. The rider of this beast is an adult man, with a mask of a simple and almost cartoonish yellow bear. You can see his hands and the edges of his face; he is a rotted corpse of a human, a surprising reversal of all the children.
“Well?” he says.
“What?” You do not know what he wants from you.
“Will you take up your mask and join the hunting party?”
They are hunting a hare. It should remind you of a silly old cartoon, or maybe that one Aesop’s fable; it feels very different from those.
“I am not a hunter,” you say.
“And yet you chase our quarry,” the man replies.
“I will be a hare,” you inform him. He studies your face. You can see, just barely, purple eyes looking at you from behind the mask.
“You will not keep up,” he tells you. “At best, you will for a while. And then he will bite your leg and leave to be trampled by the rest. Or you will fall behind, and if you are not running with him, you are chasing, and you are hunting.”
“I will be a hare,” you assert again. The rider shifts his hold on his reigns. They are not leather, but chains, shackled to his wrist and sunken into the flesh of his mount.
“Wear your mask and run then, little hare; the hunt does not cease. Lead or chase; the choice be made for you. And if you truly believe yourself a hare,” The mount and man lean closer. You can smell the fox head’s breath, and it is rotten, “Then I wish you luck in staying ahead.”
He spurs his mount onwards again. The fox head yowls and spits, but its legs claw into the dirt and it runs again to catch up with the rest.
You look down and there’s a mask in your hands. You cannot tell whether it is a hare, like the hunted, or a rabbit, like the many of those forced to hunt.
Red blood licks at your heels; the pool from the child’s dead corpse had grown so much it has reached you again.
Vanessa jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest.
She tried to fall back asleep. She felt like she could still hear the thumbling of large paws on the forest floor. She did her best to ignore the mask that sat in her bag at the foot of her bed.