Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(12)
Chica the Chicken was more bulky, and had an apprehensive look, thick black eyebrows arched over her purple eyes and her beak slightly open, revealing teeth, as she held out a cupcake on a platter. The cupcake itself was somewhat disturbing, with eyes set into its pink frosting and teeth hanging out over the cake, a single candle sticking out the top.
“I always expected the cupcake to jump off the plate.” Carlton gave a half-laugh and cautiously stepped up to Charlie’s side. “They seem taller than I remember,” he added in a whisper.
“That’s because you never got this close as a kid.” Charlie smiled, at ease, and stepped closer.
“You were busy hiding under tables,” Jessica said from behind them, still some distance away.
Chica wore a bib around her neck with the words “Let’s Eat!” set out in purple and yellow against a confetti-covered background, and a tuft of feathers stuck up in the middle of her head.
Standing between Bonnie and Chica was Freddy Fazbear himself, namesake of the restaurant. He was the most genial-looking of the three, giving no hint that he would rather be somewhere else. A robust, if lean, brown bear, he smiled down at the audience, holding a microphone in one paw, sporting a black bow-tie and top hat. The only incongruity in his features was the color of his eyes, a bright blue that surely no bear had ever had before him. His mouth hung open and his eyes were partially closed, as though he had been frozen in song.
Carlton drew closer to the stage until his knees pressed against the rim of it. “Hey Freddy.” He whispered. “Long time no see.”
He reached out and grabbed at the microphone, wiggling it to see if he could get it loose.
“Don’t!” Charlie blurted, looking up into Freddy’s fixed gaze as though making sure he hadn’t noticed.
Carlton pulled his hand back like he had touched something hot.
“Sorry.”
“Come on,” John said, cracking a smile. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the place?” They spread out across the room, peering into corners and carefully trying doors, acting as though everything might be breakable to the touch. John went over to the small carousel, and Carlton disappeared into the dark arcade off the main room.
“I remember it being a lot brighter and noisier in here.” Carlton smiled as though at home again, running his hands over the aging knobs and flat plastic buttons. “I wonder if my high-scores are still in there,” he muttered to himself.
To the left of the stage was a small hallway. Half-hoping no one would notice where she had gone, Charlie started down it silently, as the others occupied themselves with their own curiosities. At the end of the short, plain corridor was her father’s office. It had been Charlie’s favorite place in the restaurant; she liked to play with her friends in the main area, but she loved the singular privilege of coming back here when her father was doing paperwork. She paused outside the closed door, her hand poised over the knob, remembering. Most of the room was filled with his desk, his filing cabinets, and small boxes of uninteresting parts. In one corner was a smaller filing cabinet, painted a salmon color that Charlie had always insisted was pink. That had been Charlie’s. The bottom drawer held toys and crayons, and the top had what she liked to call “my paperwork.” It was mostly coloring books and drawings, but occasionally she would go over to her father’s desk, and try to copy down whatever he was writing in a childish, crayoned hand. Charlie tried the door, but it was locked. Better this way, she thought. The office was personal, and she did not really want it opened tonight.
She headed back into the main dining room and found John looking pensively at the merry-go-round. He eyed her with curiosity, but did not ask where she had gone.
“I used to love this thing.” Charlie smiled, approaching warmly. Yet now the painted figures seemed odd and lifeless to her.
John made a face, as though he knew what she was thinking.
“Not the same,” he said. He rubbed his hand over the top of a polished pony as though to scratch it behind the ear. “Just not the same,” he repeated, removing his hand and gazing elsewhere. Charlie glanced over to see where the others were—in the arcade, she could see Jessica and Carlton wandering among the games.
The consoles stood still and unlit like massive tombstones, their screens blank. “I never liked playing the games.” Jessica said, smiling. “They moved too fast, and just when I’d start to figure out what to do, I’d die and it would be someone else’s turn.” She said as she wiggled a joystick that squeaked from neglect.
“They were rigged anyway.” Carlton said with a wink.
“When’s the last time you played one of these?” Jessica said, peering closely into one of the screens to see what image was burned into it from too many years of use. Carlton was busy rocking a pinball machine back and forth trying to get a ball to come loose.
“Uh, there’s a pizza place I visit sometimes.” He set the table back on four legs carefully and glanced at Jessica. “But it’s no Freddy’s.” He added.
John was roaming through the dining room again amidst the tables, flicking the stars and spirals hanging overhead. He plucked a red party hat from the table, stretched the rubber bank hanging loosely from its base and snapped it around his head, red and white tassels hanging down over his face.
“Oh, let’s check out the kitchen,” he said. Charlie followed as he bounded off toward it.