Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(62)

“What year do you want to start with?” She said. “1979?”

“I guess,” Charlie said, and Harriet nodded. She went to the machine and threaded the film through expertly, flipped a switch and the screen came to life; a newspaper appeared.

“January 1, 1979,” John announced, leaning forward to read the headlines. “Politics, somebody won a sports game, and there was some weather. Also there was a bakery giving away free cookies to celebrate the New Year. Sounds like now, except no cookies.”

“You use these to see more,” Harriet said, manipulating the controls. “Let me know if you need help switching the reels. Have fun, you two!” She winked conspiratorially and closed the door behind her as she left.

Charlie positioned herself in front of the machine, and John stood behind her, his hand on her chair. It felt good to have him close; like he would stop anything that tried to sneak up on her.

“This is pretty cool,” he remarked, and she nodded, scanning the paper for answers.

“Okay, let’s narrow it down,” he said grimly. “What’s the thing most likely to make the papers?”

“I was looking for an opening announcement,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but what’s going to make the papers? Sorry,” he added. “I didn’t want to say it, but we have to.”

“Sammy,” Charlie said. “We should have started with Sammy. We moved to the new house when I was three; it’s got to be 1982.”

Carefully, they switched the reel. Charlie eyed the door as if they did, nervous that Harriet might catch them making a mistake.

“When’s your birthday?” John said, sitting to take her place.

“Don’t you know?” She teased. He screwed up his face in an exaggerated mime of thinking.

“….. May 13,” he said at last. She laughed, startled.

“Yes, how did you know?”

He grinned up at her. “Because I know things,” he said.

“But why does it matter?”

“You remember being three when you moved, but you didn’t turn three until May, so we knock out five months. Do you remember anything about the restaurant the night Sammy disappeared?”

Charlie felt herself flinch with an almost physical pain.

“Sorry,” she said. Her face felt too hot. “Sorry, you startled me. Let me think.” She closed her eyes.

The restaurant. The closet, hung full with costumes. Her and Sammy, there safe in the dark, until the door opened, and the rabbit appeared, leaning over them with its awful face, its human eyes. Charlie’s heart was racing; she slowed her breathing and held out a hand; John took hold of it and she held on tight, as if he could anchor her. The rabbit leaning over them, its awful face, the yellow teeth beneath the mask, and behind the rabbit… what was behind the rabbit? The restaurant was open, she could hear voices, people. There were more people in costumes, other performers? Robots? No…. She almost had it. Scarcely breathing, Charlie tried to coax out the thought, scared to frighten it away. Move slowly; speak softly. She had it, snatched it from the depths of her mind and held it wriggling in her fingers. Her eyes snapped open.

“John, I know when it was,” she said.

Earlier that night, when they were still wide awake, the closet opened, and her mother looked in. She was haloed with the light from behind her, smiling down at her twins, radiant in her long, elegant dress, her flowing hair, her gleaming tiara. Mommy’s a princess, Charlie murmured sleepily, and her mother bent down and kissed her cheek. Just for tonight, she whispered, and then she left them in the dark to sleep.

“She was a princess,” she said excitedly.

“What? Who?”

“My mother,” Charlie said. “She was dressed up as a princess. It was a Halloween party. John, go to November 1.”

John struggled briefly with the controls, and then it was there. The headline was small, but it was on the front page of the paper on Monday, November 1: TODDLER SNATCHED. Charlie turned away. John began to read aloud, and Charlie cut in, stopping him.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just tell me if it has anything useful.”

He was quiet, and she stared anxiously at the door, waiting, tracing the knots in the false wood with her eyes.

“There’s a picture,” he said finally. “You need to look.”

She leaned over his shoulder. The story had continued over an entire page inside, with pictures of the restaurant, of the family all together, and of her and of Sammy, though neither of the twins were named in the article. In the bottom left corner, there was a picture of her father and another man. Their arms were slung around one another’s shoulders, and they were grinning happily.

“John,” Charlie said.

“It says they were joint owners,” John said quietly.

“No,” Charlie said, unable to take her eyes from the picture, from the face they both knew.

Suddenly the door behind them erupted in pounding from outside, and they both jumped.

“CHARLIE! JOHN! ARE YOU IN THERE?”

“Marla,” they said as one, and Charlie rushed to the door and threw it open.

“Marla, what is it?”

She was red-faced and breathless, and Harriet was anxiously hovering behind her. Marla’s hair was wet, and water was dripping down her face, but she did not wipe it away, did not even seem to notice. I guess the rain started, Charlie thought, the mundane reflection drifting unbidden through her head despite her alarm.