Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(30)

“I forgot they used to do that,” Lamar said, as Carlton brought them slowly to a halt.

There was a large black dial to one side of the buttons, and Carlton spun it, but it seemed to do nothing.

“Let me try,” Lamar said. He elbowed Carlton to the side, and pressed another button. There was a high-pitched whine; they all jumped, and it quickly faded down to a static hum. Lamar pressed the button again, and the sound was gone.

“I guess we know what turns the speakers on,” Carlton said.

“I bet we could figure out how to play the music,” Jessica said. She reached forward and pushed something else, and stage lights popped up while the main lights dimmed. The figures on the main stage suddenly stood out a little, commanding attention. She pushed it again and the lights faded back to normal.

“I love that,” Carlton said.

“What?” said Marla.

“Stage lights,” he said. “One switch, and it’s like a whole ‘nother world up there.”

Another button flickered the stage lights on and off in the room behind them, while another started and stopped the little merry-go-round, its tinkling music grinding too slowly, as if the ride itself were trying to remember how the song went. They managed to get the speakers on again without the feedback whine, but there was still only static.

“I have an idea,” Jessica said, and pushed to the front of the group. She switched on the static again, then started turning the knob back and forth. The hum grew lower in pitch, then higher, responding to her adjustments.

“Progress.” Carlton said.

“It’s still just static,” Marla said, unimpressed. Jessica turned it lower again, then snatched her hand from the dial like she had been bitten and punched the button, shutting the speakers off.

“What?” Marla said.

Jessica remained motionless, her hands still suspended in the air.

“What happened? Did it shock you?” Carlton said.

“It sounded like a voice,” Jessica said.

“What did it say?” Marla said, apparently interested again.

“I don’t know. Let me try again.”

She turned the speaker on again, calling forth the static, and lowered the hum as they all listened, intent on the sound. As it sank to a lower register, just below the range of a human voice, they all heard it: grinding and broken words, almost too slow and distorted to be considered speech. They looked at each other.

“What on Earth?” Marla said.

“No, it’s just random static,” Lamar said. He reached for the controls and dialed the pitch back up slowly. For another fleeting moment, there was a purposeful sound.

“That sounded like singing,” Carlton said.

“No,” Lamar said, but sounding more unsure this time.

“Do it again,” Marla said. Lamar did, but this time the static was empty.

“Is that Charlie?” Marla suddenly became focused on a blurry figure moving down the dark hall toward them, sliding along the wall as though to remain unnoticed.



Charlie was hurrying, almost skipping, and trying to find another place to hide. She glanced behind her, vaguely suspecting that John might be cheating. She moved through the darkness and toward the colorful glow of the small stage curtain, which was throwing eerie reds and blues onto the tables and party hats. Going down this passage had always felt like a long and perilous journey, one not to be made alone. She kept her gaze fixed behind her, letting the wall beside her guide her step. She knew John was close, probably creeping up on her in the dark. Suddenly she backed into something, stopping short. She had been moving faster than she thought, or more likely the hall was not as long as she remembered.

She saw his shadow at the end of the hall—if he turned his head, he would see her. Without thinking, Charlie climbed up onto the platform that she had bumped into and ducked behind the curtain, tucking herself between the wall and a large, bulky prop, trying not to breathe.

“Charlie?” He called, still far away. “Charlie!” Charlie felt her heartbeat quicken. There had been boys she liked, now and then, but this was something different. She wanted him to find her, but not quite yet. As she waited, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was able to make out the shape of the curtain, and the edge of the stage. She looked up at the object in front of her.

No. Her body shuddered, then froze.

It was standing over her. It was the thing from her father’s workshop, the misshapen thing that hung in the corner, shaken by random convulsions as its eyes burned silver. Does it hurt? Now it was still, and its eyes were blank and dull. It was staring straight ahead, insensate, and its arm with its hook hung useless at its side. She recognized his eyes, but he was somehow worse now, encased in hollow body parts and matted with red fur, with a stench of oil and glue. He had a name now: they called him Foxy. But she knew better.

Charlie shrank away, pressing against the wall. Her heart was racing, and her breath was shallow, too fast. Her arm had been touching its leg, and now she felt a sudden itchiness from it, as though she had been contaminated. She wiped her hand violently against her shirt as she began to panic.

Run.

She sprang away from it, pushing off the wall to get away, to move before it saw her, but the edge of the stage caught her foot. She stumbled forward, momentarily becoming entangled in the curtain. She struggled to get free when suddenly the thing’s arm jerked up, and the hook slashed at her arm. She ducked away too late, and it cut her, the pain shocking, like freezing water. She tripped backward, and felt herself falling for long seconds, and then she was caught.