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Gregory stared ahead at the dull walls of Vanessa's apartment, his bag tucked against his side and Freddy's head set on the small coffee table infront of him. Freddy's eyes were shut and a couple of wires ran from the wall sockets to his ears. It was a rough set-up, but it got the job done and charged Freddy's power, so they would have to make it work. Vanessa was out looking for a job after quitting her last one at the Pizzaplex—not that they'd even take her back, they probably blame her for all the damage done to the propetry during that night.
Gregory was alone. Alone with his thoughts once more.
He glanced at his bag, and hesitated for a minute before reaching for it and digging an old journal from it's pocket. The covers and the pages were starting to have a yellowish tint to them, and the pages were lightly burnt at the edges.
Gregory sat back on the couch and ran his hand across the front cover, staring at the words written on it with shaky yet clear handwriting.
Michael Afton
How cruel and ironic of the universe.
The book was the only thing Gregory had left of his dad who he never knew. He hardly remembers his mother either, and the only thing he has left of her was an old stuffed toy that he lost sometime in the orphanage.
This journal is all that he has left of his parents, of his dad—and of course his dad is from that family.
Gregory had apparently arrived to the orphanage at two years old with this book and his old toy. The adults never dared to touch the book, since it clearly contained something personal and couldn't be recycled to the other kids, unlike his old plushie.
Gregory never had the time nor care to actually open it. He had spent some nights idly tracing the name of his dad, but never opened the book or read past the title. He either felt like he didn't want to know whatever his dad had written, or he had been too busy worrying about his safety.
But now he had the time.
So, with a small sigh, Gregory reached for the corner of the journal, and opened it.
The first two lines were scratched out, leaving Gregory to only see a couple of words that gave him no context. There was a drawing of a two-story house on a hill at the top of the page.
A lot of this isn't going to make sense to you and I'm sorry about that.
Gregory stared at the page for a moment, then turned the page.
I'm just going to start at the beginning with the house.
Michael stood at the side of the road, watching cars drive past him. None of the drivers noticed him, or if they did, they didn't notice his undead status. Luckily.
Michael stared ahead at the hill, at his childhood home. With his dying bones weary from the years of being constantly on the move, he started walking down the forest path.
I lived here until I was eighteen, but I wasn't allowed into the basement nor my father's office. I avoided most of the rooms during my last years living here.
I hadn't been back since my mother's funeral.
Michael walked down the path cutting through the forest. The familiar forest felt unwelcoming and welcoming at the same time. It unnerved him a little, but only in a small way. Almost nothing could make him worried these days. A simple forest only held wild animals, not machines possessed by angry and restless souls.
In his will my uncle, Henry, left me a key, but didn't tell me what it unlocked. Maybe he thought I'd know. Or he thought the mystery would be enough to bring me back.
The truth is, even after I inherited the house from my father, I never thought I'd come back to it. But now I had questions about my father that only the house knew the answers to.
The woods around the house have always been uncomfortably silent. As if they're about to say something but never do. No one had driven this way in a long time, but I saw a few hoofprints.
Michael saw the trees part and reveal a familiar house with a familiar, although dying, garden. He glanced at the mailbox briefly.
Inside the mailbox were bills from almost thirty years ago marked "urgent, open immediately".
The house was exactly like I remembered it. The way I'd been dreaming about it.
Michael walked past the mailbox and towards the house. He instinctively tensed up and began walking towards the front door.
As a child, parts of the house made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn't put into words. When I got older, that feeling grew, and when I was seventeen, the whole house made me feel that way.
Now, as a soul trapped in my decaying corpse without my organs, I knew exactly what those words were. I was afraid of the house.
Michael sighed and walked up the steps to the porch and dug the key from his pocket.
I hoped the key might unlock the front door, but it didn't. I haven't had mine since I was nineteen.
Looking in through the windows, it felt like the house itself had been waiting for me.
Michael put the key back into his pocket. It was a real pain that he lost his own key after he moved out, but no can do. He'd have to find a different way in.
With one last look at the garden with wilting flowers that his mother had cared for, Michael stepped down from the porch and walked around the house, ending up at the backdoor with the doggie door.
So, he'd have to sneak in the old-fashioned way, huh?
Ignoring the ache screaming in his dead and frail muscles, Michael crouched down and pushed the doggie door, and crawled through.
Crawling through the doggie door used to be a lot easier when I was a kid. Even though I got scolded for it everytime.
With a pained sigh, Michael pushed himself upright and stared at the living room. It looked exactly the way it had been left. He tried the lights, but they had been turned off.
Not like he really needed the lights. He has been in darker places, both figuratively and literally.
Michael looked around a little, letting the old memories come back to him in waves. Despite the negativity he often associates with this house, the warmth of the happier times was greatly apprechiated.
For the first time in years, I felt like I was home.
But instead of a family, there were just memories of one.
Like how only one restaurant would deliver to our house, so we had chinese a lot when we got sick of the pizza. Or how when uncle Henry would babysit us when father was busy with work.
It felt strange.
Bittersweet.
The counters were covered in a thick layer of dust and the windows were stained with years worth of leaves and dirt hitting them in the wind. The floorboards creaked under his slight weight and the wind rustled the windows.
Michael walked through the living room to the kitchen and then to the dining room, and stared at the table.
The table was still a wreck from the night I left. It was like a bomb had gone off, killing everyone but sparing the furniture.
Michael stared at the table. Dishes and the boxes from the chinese restaurant were scattered across the table. A bottle had been pushed over and the drink inside was staining the carpet underneath the table.
Michael walked past the table and to the front door. There were moving boxes still open left by the door.
A lot of things got left behind in the whirlwind of that last night.
Father always told me to stay out of the basement, so I wasn't too surprised when the key uncle Henry left didn't fit.
Michael ignored his father's office's door, and instead walked up the stairs. He hesitated for a long while at the top of the stairs. He stared at the hallway leading ahead. He knew whose room it was.
Not yet. He isn't ready yet for that.
Instead of walking down either of the two hallways to the bigger bedroom, Michael turned to the left. He stopped right at the door.
Reading this, maybe it sounds like I had a plan.
But I had no idea what was behind that door.
Just like I had no idea where all this was gonna lead.
Michael pushed the door of Elizabeth's room open. The familiar pink walls and the flower painting on the wall brought back fond memories of his sister. The door closed behind him and Michael hesitantly walked around, afraid to touch anything.
God, he missed her.
I spent a lot of time in Elizabeth's room after she died, until I got too busy trying to live in the same house as my father.
I could tell my mother spent as much time here as I did.
Michael walked over to Elizabeth's bed and reached underneath it, blindly feeling around for the diary Elizabeth had once told him about, the one she had told him to not tell father about it. He had kept his promise and said nothing about her diary.
Maybe he should've. It would've been breaking her trust, but maybe she would still be here.
Eventually Michael felt a small and thin book placed right between the bed and the wall. He pulled the small journal free from it's hiding spot, and stared at it for a moment.
Then he opened it.
The last page had no date, Elizabeth for some reason liked leaving her diary entries without dates. Something about being more mysterious, but Michael didn't need to know the day she had written that. He already knew.
Dear diary,
Daddy said that Circus Baby's is opening tomorrow, but he still won't let me see her.
Elizabeth tugged on William's shirt. "Daddy, you let the other children go see her. Why won't you let me go?"
"Because I said so, Elizabeth." William answered simply. "Go play the arcade games or with your brother, I have work I still need to do."
Elizabeth huffed quietly, but didn't let William see her displeasure.
I don't get it. Daddy said that he made her just for me! Why wouldn't he let me go play with her if he made her for me?
Elizabeth peeked around the corner again. William didn't look too busy. He probably wouldn't get angry at her if she asked now.
"Daddy, just once let me go play with her." Elizabeth asked, then stared at the floor. "She's so pretty and shiny... Didn't you make her just for me?"
"I told you no, Elizabeth." William didn't look up from the papers and blueprints he had infront of him. Elizabeth was too short to see them fully, but not like she was interested in them.
I've asked multiple times, even promised to be really careful, but daddy hasn't changed his mind. I even asked Mikey to ask for me, but even that didn't work!
Elizabeth stared into the room where Circus Baby was. She watched in awe as the red haired robot sung and danced. An excited gasp broke free from her when she saw Circus Baby make a balloon for one kid.
Elizabeth immediately turned around and ran to find William. "Daddy, she can make balloons! Have you seen her make balloons? Oh daddy, let me go to her!" Her voice was full of wonder and pleading.
"I've already said no multiple times, Elizabeth." William replied. "You aren't going."
Elizabeth pouted, disappointment rooting deep within her.
I don't know why daddy won't let me see her. He made her just for me!
I don't wanna break the rules, daddy would be disappointed if I did, but I really wanna see her.
Elizabeth found herself walking towards Circus Baby's party room again. She stared at the group of four kids in the room, watched Circus Baby entertain them.
She glanced around. There were no adults nearby. "...Daddy isn't watching."
Elizabeth slipped into the room and stood a little away from the other kids, her full attention on Circus Baby. She was so wonderful!
Suddenly Circus Baby stopped singing and turned to look at Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled excitedly and walked over to her. She brought a finger to her lips and grinned. "Don't tell daddy that I'm here, I wanted to watch your show too." She whispered. "I don't know why he wouldn't let me come see you, you're wonderful!"
Circus Baby didn't say anything, and Elizabeth took that as a sign that she was going to keep their secret.
Elizabeth them remembered the other kids in the room and turned around to look for them, to tell them to keep it a secret too, but found the room empty apart from her and Circus Baby. "Where did the other children go?"
Elizabeth heard a whirring and a clank noise, and she turned around to look at Circus Baby. Circus Baby's stomack was open, and a claw was holding an ice cream cone.
Elizabeth stared in awe. Circus Baby could make ice cream too? That's so amazing! Why was hasn't she seen it before though?
Elizabeth walked over to the stage and climbed on. Remembering William telling her to mind her manners and be polite, she looked up at Circus Baby with a smile on her face. "Thank you!"
She reached for the ice cream cone.
Maybe if I just watch her from a distance without daddy knowing. Or maybe if I sneak into her room to watch her show just a little before daddy finds out.
But I'll try to ask daddy one more time. Maybe he'll change his mind!
Michael closed the diary, a heavy feeling in his chest.
Oh, Elizabeth...
Michael set the diary onto Elizabeth's pillow, and opened his journal. He doodled Elizabeth onto the page, drawing her with a Circus Baby plushie in her arms.
Elizabeth went missing when I was fifteen. Father acted like he didn't know where she went, but I think he always knew she had died that day.
Michael stared at his journal, at the drawing of Elizabeth, before closing it and putting it away. With one last look around the familiar room, Michael turned around and left, closing the door behind him.
This will be obvious later, but my mother never told me any of the things she found out about.
I think she knew something was up with my father for a while, but never said anything. Maybe she was afraid, or maybe she was holding onto some semblance of hope.
Michael walked to the door opposite of Elizabeth's, hesitating before opening it.
When I was little, I spent a lot of time in my parent's room whenever my father wasn't busy.
We got along back then, and it was a good place to hide from my mother. She didn't like having me near my father's projects, thought they were dangerous.
She had been right of course, but back then I thought it was unfair and boring. My father didn't mind having me near then, and never told me to go away back then.
Michael looked around the mostly empty room. William never bothered with furnishing or anything like that, he was more focused on his animatronics and whatnot. Laura had started to pack the things she brought before she died.
Michael idly looked through some books left on a table and flipped through some stack of papers. Then his eyes fell onto a framed picture. A picture of his mother with baby Elizabeth in her arms. He remembers the last night he ever saw her.
My mother found about the things my father had been doing, at least some of it. Enough for her to be suspicious and start preparing to leave.
At that point both of my siblings were already dead, and she didn't have the heart to leave alone. So one day while father was away, she told me to start packing.
"Michael." Laura knocked on Michael's door and opened it.
Michael blinked the daze away from his head, having been lost in his thoughts. He looked up from the book which he had not been paying attention to, and focused on his mother. "Yes?"
"Start packing." Laura said simply.
"What?" He blinked. "Why?"
"We're leaving." Laura answered. "I won't- I can't spend another day in this house with William, and I won't leave you behind."
Michael stared at his mother for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
"I'm going out to buy a bit of groceries so we can make some lunch to take with us for the trip." Laura smiled and closed the door.
I remember watching my mother hop into her car and drive away before I started packing.
She never came back.
Michael heard the front door open and close, and crept downstairs. Instead of Laura, he found William at the front door, absentmindedly hanging up his coat.
"Father?" He spoke up hesitantly.
William looked up, a strange look in his eyes. "You're still up, Michael? Don't you have school tomorrow?"
"Uh- no, I have a free day tomorrow." Michael shook his head.
"Ah, right." William nodded.
"...Where's mother?" Michael asked.
William glanced at Michael. A chill ran down Michael spine as William stared at him silently for a moment. Then his off expression softened, almost forcefully. "Oh, Michael... Laura, she..."
"What?" Michael stepped a couple of the steps down.
"She was in a car crash, Michael." William said. "The road was slippery from the storm."
Back then I couldn't place the odd look my father had. I think the shock of my mother's death overshadowed it. But I think I always had a suspicion that my father did something then.
Now I can say for certain that my mother hadn't crashed the car because of the storm. My father had done something while she was away. I wouldn't be surprised if he did anything from just messing with her car while she wasn't looking to attacking her with a knife.
Michael placed the picture frame down. There was nothing else in his parent's room. Most of the important stuff was probably in William's office or the basement. Michael took out his journal again and made a quick drawing of his mother.
With a sigh, Michael walked out, his old and tired and fraying bones protesting. His soul was already tired from the years of chasing after the remains of his father, of trying to free all those poor children whose lives he has stolen.
But his job is far from done. He knows there are more, he knows that William is still out there. He has to gather them all into one place like Henry told him to, and then burn it all down, like planned.
As Michael closed the door behind him, he noticed a familiar room.
Dave's room.
...He had avoided it long enough.
My father gave my brother Dave a Fredbear plushie for his birthday once. He never put it down and carried it with him everywhere.
Michael reached for the door handle, and opened one of the doors. Dave room was the way it had been left, the way it looked that week.
The bed was neatly made and four plushies—Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy with his head missing—were in the corner of the room.
Dave's death had been my fault.
But nobody ever talked about that.
Michael sat down the edge of the bed and picked up one of the plushies, staring at it absentmindedly.
The thing I remember about my brother is that when he got attached to something, he never let it go.
He had trouble with nightmares and always carried a plushie with him for comfort, even when he got bullied for it.
"Hah! Look at the crybaby! Still carrying a stuffed animal like a toddler!"
I wasn't the brother Dave deserved or needed. I was the opposite.
I didn't protect him when he needed me. I didn't comfort him when our parents were busy. The most I did was make sure he and Elizabeth were fed when our parents were too busy to make food.
I wasn't the older brother my siblings deserved.
I tormented my little brother. I bullied him and made fun of him. I scared him on purpose.
"What did he do this time?"
Dave sniffled and hugged his Fredbear plushie closer. He could hear Michael's laughter from the other side of the door.
"He locked you in your room again. Don't be scared. I am here with you."
Tears still in his eyes, Dave went over to his door. He knocked on it and tried the handle, but it remained locked. Michael kept laughing.
"Mikey, let me out, please!" Dave called out. "This isn't funny!"
Michael didn't open the door or answer. He kept laughing.
Dave tried the door again and again. He knocked on the door more and more, becoming more frantic with each attempt. But the door stayed shut.
Eventually Dave curled onto the ground, hugging his knees close to his chest, and cried.
"Tomorrow is another day."
I can't even remember why I was like that. It's been so long since those days, and all I can remember when I think of them is the guilt and the regret and the sadness and the longing I have for them.
"You know he's hiding again."
Dave wiped his face, trying to lear his cheeks from his tears. He could hear Michael again. He was laughing again, planning something, no doupt another prank.
Dave crept out of his room and wandered a little. When he went downstairs and into the living room, Michael jumped out from behind the TV, his Foxy mask on his face, and screamed.
Dave fell to the floor in fear.
"Tomrrow is another day."
Every day I wish that I could go back and change how I behaved.
Maybe if I simply hadn't treated him the way I did, then maybe he'd still be here.
Dave was crying underneath one of the tables at Fredbear's.
"He left without you. He knows that you hate it here. You are right beside the exit. If you run, you can make it."
Dave kept crying.
"Hurry, run towards the exit."
Dave sniffled and wiped his snot and tears away and stood up, scrambling out of his hiding place and towards one of the halls.
"NO! Don't you remember what you saw? The exit is the other way! Hurry and leave."
Dave turned around and ran towards the exit, but Fredbear was suddenly infront of him.
"It's too late. Hurry the other way and find someone who will help! You know what will happen if he catches you!"
Fear gripping at his heart, Dave ran back towards the other way. Fredbear and Spring Bonnie were right behind some tables with balloons.
"You can find help if you can get past them. You have to be strong."
Dave looked behind him and saw red doors open. He saw dad with someone else, placing a Spring Bonnie head over theirs. Dad glanced at him before closing the doors.
Dave turned around to continue, but Fredbear was now right behind him. Fear got the best of him, and Dave crawled underneath one of the tables to cry.
"Tomorrow is another day."
I hate myself for the way I treated Dave. While me and Elizabeth had a lot of fights, I never tormented her, not the way I tormented Dave.
If I could, I would gladly take Dave's place. But I can't.
I don't want to make him go through what I have. I deserve what I've been put through, Dave doesn't.
Dave was back at Fredbears, once more hiding underneath one of the tables.
"He hates you."
Dave kept crying.
"You have to get up. You can get out this time but you have to hurry."
With a stuttering breath, Dave stood up and made a run for the exit, making it this time. Outside were a couple of cars and some kids.
"Where's your plush toy?" A boy holding a Spring Bonnie plushie asked. "Mine's Spring Bonnie. My daddy says I have to be careful with him or I will pinch my finger."
The boy leaned closer with a grin. "He's a finger trap, he says."
Dave continued down the path away from Fredbears.
"You'd better watch out!" A girl with pigtails said with a sing-song voice and a grin. "I hear they come to life at night. And if you die, they hide your body and never tell anyone."
She noticed his expression. "Why do you look so worried? See you at the party! Ha ha ha!"
Dave sniffled and continued his way home.
"Aren't you the kid who always hides under the tables and cries?" A laughing teenager sitting on the side of the road asked. "Hahaha! No one else is scared! Why are you? Stop being such a baby!"
Dave kept walking and walking. He would've liked if Michael was here. Michael wasn't any better, but at least when Michael was with him, the other kids were too afraid to bully him.
"Are you going to the party?" A kid holding a pink balloon asked. He was waiting by a blue car. "Everyone is going to the party. Oh wait, you have to go! It's YOUR birthday! Haha!"
Dave wasn't really excited about his birthday. He knew it was just going to be miserable.
Finally making it back home, Dave heard Michael laughing again.
"Be careful."
Dave crept up the stairs to his room, hoping that Michael wouldn't hear him. Just as he got to his room, Michael sprung out from underneath his bed, his Foxy mask on his face and scared Dave with a loud yell.
"Tomorrow is another day."
Dave was always unnerved by the animatronics. He liked the characters, but seeing the animatronics in person always made him cry.
Back then I didn't know why, but now I do.
I wish I had known then.
"Please let me out." Dave sobbed, refusing to look behind him. Michael didn't and kept laughing. "PLEASE!"
Michael had locked him in one of the storage rooms, specifically one with animatronic parts. He knew Dave was scared of them.
Dave curled in on himself. "...please let me out..." He hugged himself.
Maybe if I had known why Dave was so afraid of them, then maybe I would've been a better brother.
Then maybe he'd still be here.
Dave sat on the floor of Fredbears, surrounded by Michael and his friends.
"Wow, your brother is kind of a baby, isn't he?" The one with a Bonnie mask asked.
"Why don't we help him get a closer look! He will love it!" Michael laughed.
"No! Please!" Dave cried. He didn't want a closer look!
"Come on guys, let's give the little man a lift. He wants to get up close and personal!" Michael moved closer.
Michael and another one his friends picked Dave up, even as he squirmed and kicked and pleaded. They carried him towards the stage where Fredbear and Spring Bonnie were.
"No! I don't want to go!" Dave cried and kicked at Michael.
"You heard the little man! He wants to get even closer!" Michael laughed.
They were now right infront of Fredbear's stage. The animatronic bear terrified Dave and each mechanical movement scared him even more.
"Hey guys, I think the little man said he wants to give Fredbear a big kiss!" Michael held Dave even tighter, restricting his escape attempts. "On THREE! One... two..."
They lifted him up.
Dave's head was too close to Fredbear's jaws.
Dave squirmed and cried and tried to get down, until-
Fredbear's jaws clamped down.
Soon after the funeral, father closed the location. I never stepped foot into Dave's room again.
I couldn't bare seeing it after what I had done.
Michael set the plushie back down onto the floor with the rest of them. There was a bile in his throat.
Michael doesn't know how long he stayed there, but eventually he pushed himself up. He had one more place to investigate.
Before Michael left the room, he took out his journal and drew Dave, making sure to give him his Fredbear plushie. Then he put the book away and walked back downstairs and to Willaim's office. It was locked, but the key Henry had left him unlocked it.
I had been allowed inside my father's office a couple of times when I was little. Back when everything was still normal.
As normal as this family could be, that is.
William's office looked like the man had simply vanished into thin air while working on another project. There were notes and unfinished animatronics scattered around the room.
I don't know if my father started out as a simple man who enjoyed making robots and creating characters and simply spiraled into maddness as the years went by, or if he had always been that way.
Regardless of the answer, the man who I once called my father is dead. He died sometime ago. I don't know when exactly, it's hard for me to understand when he started making his animatronics killing machines.
Michael picked up one of the countless stack of notes on the table. It contained most of what Michael assumed and heard from Henry during the man's final moments.
I've always been told how much I am like my father.
When I was young, I took it as a compliment. I felt proud hearing other people compare me to him.
Now, I felt disgust. But maybe there was little semblance of truth in that. I had killed my little brother, and my little sister died because I wasn't watching her closely.
But the difference between me and my father is that he enjoys it.
My father enjoys killing, he enjoys taking the lives of others.
My father went further down that dark path upon discovering it, while I clawed my way away from it.
By the time Michael was done reading the notes William had written, he had crumbled so many of them out anger and disgust.
Death and immortality fascinated my father during his latest years.
So much so that it ended being his downfall.
William hummed to himself as he sorted through the animatronic parts he had collected.
It had been so easy.
Maybe he could truly achieve immortality with this.
William turned around, and froze.
Five small figures stood at the doorway, blocking his exit. They all glared at him with hatred.
William's heart sped up.
Ah, Susie, Jeremy, Gabriel, Frizt, and Cassidy. His first victims.
Cassidy approached him, and uncertain fear overtook William.
They were dead, he knew that much. Were they ghosts? Souls? Something else? What was even the proper term for something undead like that? What could they do? What couldn't they do?
Could they harm him?
Cassidy's demeanor told him that the intention was to at least try so.
William backed away. "Stay back."
Cassidy didn't listen.
He ran around the little ghost even as those hateful eyes stayed locked onto him.
Then William noticed the Spring Bonnie suit.
It was old, hadn't been used at all in years, but it was familiar.
William had used it when he killed those kids. Surely that would trigger a trauma response and scare them off?
Without thinking any further, William made a run for it.
The little souls watched in silence as he donned the familiar Spring Bonnie suit. When William stood up, none of them approached.
William let out a laugh.
He was right! They were terrified of the suit! He knew it!
More laughter broke out of him, and then-
Something sharp jabbed into his side. Then another, and another, and another. More and more and more until it felt like William was being pulled apart.
No no no no... the springlocks! They had failed!
William choked and collapsed onto the floor and wound after another tore his skin and muscle.
He was going to die here...
No. No, he was not going to. William would not die here. Not when he has discovered so much. Not when he is so close to figuring out the secret to immortality.
Not when Henry still had Michael.
The ghosts stared in silence as William silently suffered. He couldn't scream at all. Then they faded away, leaving him to die alone.
My father toyed with life and death, and got dragged into the game he made.
It's a fitting fate for him, in my opinion.
Michael crumbled the last note William had written, kicked down an unfinished animatronic prototype out of spite, and left. Once he closed the door behind him, he decided to draw William as well, even though he hated the man. He made the drawing next to Laura's, before snapping the journal shut.
Then Michael started walking back up the stairs.
On the way back from my mother's funeral, uncle Henry told me to start packing again. He waited until the day before we left to tell my father.
I don't know if he wanted to make it easier or harder for him. I'm hoping the latter.
Michael made his way to his old room.
What happened that night had been coming a long time. Maybe it should have come sooner.
But it had to end one way or another.
Michael stared at his old room. It was mostly empty, save from some stuff he had gotten in his earlier teenage years and never got rid of. He took barely anything with him when he left.
All that's left now is to tell you about that last night.
Michael walked up to his old bed and sat down, his dying corpse relaxing now that he was finally still again. He took out his journal and picked up his pen again.
That whole last day, father just watched uncle Henry move moving boxed without a word. Until supper when he raised his glass with a distainful expression.
"I really apprechiate you taking Michael in for a little while. It's good for him to get out of the house every once in a while." William gave a stiff smile to Henry who had stayed for supper out of obligation and worry for Michael. "Though I don't understand why you'd have to take anything with you. After all, this won't be permanent."
Henry shot William a pointed look. "William we talked about this. You're not nearly as involved in Michael's life as you were before this. This isn't some temporary thing, at least not if you can't fix that."
William's gaze hardened. "I don't see how I parent my nearly adult son is any of your business. I will have you know that no matter what happens, he is still my son, and my care for him won't waver."
"Of course." Henry sighed. "I didn't say you didn't care about Michael. But your focus on your work and personal projects is preventing you from seeing how much he is suffering."
Michael shrunk down in his seat.
"Michael, you're excused. Go rest." William said sharply.
Michael pushed his chair back and left the dining room as fast as he could without running, but he didn't go upstairs to his room. He stayed downstairs and listened for the argument.
"Stop trying to parent my son, Henry, and don't you dare act like I'm neglecting him!" William yelled. "I'm working as hard as I can to make sure my remaining child won't have to suffer like his siblings!"
"Your wife and children are dead because of your work, William! My daughter is dead because of your work!" Henry accused.
Michael pressed himself against the wall and remained silent.
"I think it's best if Michael comes with me. I'll take care of him until you can fix your own issues." Henry finished and sharply left the dining room. When he noticed Michael, he paused, his voice and expression softening. "You didn't go to bed, Michael?"
Michael shook his head. He couldn't sleep.
Henry nodded. "It's okay. We can leave now."
Henry led Michael to the front door without a word and placed his coat into his arms. William came out of the dining room and stared angrily at them.
Michael avoided looking at his father as he put his coat on and picked up his bag. Henry shot one last glance into his old friend's direction before opening the door and leading Michael out of the house and into his car.
When Henry started the car, Michael had the courage to glance behind him. William stood silently on the porch and stared after them as Henry drove away with Michael in the car.
We both tried to make the best of it.
A few years went by.
Michael stumbled in, his freshly rotting limbs collapsing underneath his weight. Henry was right next to him in an instant. "Michael!"
Michael tried choking out words, but couldn't get anything apart from pained and paniced gasps out of his throat.
Whatever my father had been making came back for me.
I hadn't heard from my father since that night, but I still foolishly went into Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rentals in hopes of freeing Elizabeth. Back then I didn't understand what it all meant, but I soon figured it out.
I died on my fifth night there, and I've been stuck in my own slowly decomposing body. And I know there are more. I now know that there are other souls my father forced into this immortality none of them wanted.
Uncle Henry started putting the pieces quicker than me, and before I knew it, he seemed to have every piece of knowledge gathered up.
The weight of the truth however was too much on him.
"Uncle Henry?" Michael called out into the house. It was dead quiet. "Henry?"
Michael dragged himself and his rotting body to Henry's office and pushed the door open, freezing at the sight infront of him.
Henry was lying in a pool of his own blood. There was a note next to him.
"I'm sorry for leaving you as well, Michael, but finding out the lenghts of William's cruelty has been weighing on me."
"I've put the pieces in place for you. All you have to do is find them, and end this once and for all."
"I'm sorry I won't be here to help you, but I truly can't take this any longer."
And then I was alone.
The last Afton left alive.
Until I found out about you.
I'm still not sure what to tell you about all this.
If we lived forever, maybe we'd have time to understand things. But as it is, I think the best we can do is try to open our eyes, and appreciate how strange and brief all of this is. Living forever comes with a cost nobody should be willing to pay. I don't want you to pay that price.
This journal was supposed to be for you, but now I hope you'll never see it.
I just want to raise you and give you a life you deserve, and tell you these stories myself.
But I guess if you're reading this now, things didn't work out that way.
Gregory flipped onto the last page of the journal.
This is where your story begins.
I'm sorry I won't be there to see it. It's a lot to ask, but I don't want you to be sad that I'm gone.
I want you to be amazed that any of us ever had a chance to be here at all.
Good luck,
Michael
Gregory closed the journal and stared at the front silently.