Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(72)
“Charlie?” John was still pounding on the little door of the control room. “Charlie! What’s going on out there?”
Jessica sat quietly, still rattled from the screams and crashes outside.
“She can take care of herself,” John said, easing his grip on the door.
“Yeah,” Jessica said. He did not turn around to look at her.
“We have to get out of here,” John said. He rattled the door again—the top swayed a little as he pulled, but the bottom was stuck fast. He hunched down further. There was a lock, a deadbolt that dropped straight into the floor. The latch to pull it open had broken off long ago, leaving only a jagged ledge so thin he could scarcely get his fingers around it. As he yanked it upward, it cut into his fingers, leaving thin red lines. The bolt stayed fast in place.
“Jessica, you try,” he said, and looked at her. Her eyes were on the wall of televisions; they were all showing static, but every now and then one flashed a picture. “Never mind,” John said. “Keep watching.” He bent his head again, and went back to the deadbolt.
In the bathroom, Charlie was silent. She paid attention to each breath she took, each inhale and exhale a slow, deliberate process. She had tried meditating once, and hated it, but now the intent focus on her breathing was calming. I guess I just needed the right motivation, she thought. Like staying alive. The stalls rattled briefly and there was a distant booming sound that went on for several seconds. It’s storming outside.
She kept her eyes trained on the floor. The light overhead was so dim it scarcely illuminated her stall. She held her breath; the light flickered and let out a brief hum, then was silent again. The toilet tank she was sitting on felt unstable; she scooted to the edge of it to quietly let her foot down. Just as the tip of her shoe touched the tile, the wide bathroom doors opened with a thunderous boom.
Without thinking she jerked her foot up, and the lid of the porcelain tank clanged like pots clattering together. She held herself perfectly still, her shoe suspending in the air, then carefully pulled her foot back into place on top of the toilet seat. That was too loud, she thought. Carefully, she leaned forward, and reached up with one hand to grasp the stall divider. Slowly, she pulled herself up to stand, the toilet seat rocking on its hinges beneath her feet.
She peered out over the top at the two stalls next to her. It was too dark to see beyond the metal stalls; the whole row of them was swaying gently from her weight hanging on them.
There was a shuffling sound; something wide and heavy was sliding across the floor, not trying nearly as hard as she was to be quiet. She kept watch; her eyes darted from the stall door beside her, to the bathroom door. The shuffling continued, but she could not tell where it was coming from; the sound filled the room.
Suddenly the nebulous sound resolved: it was crisp, and it was nearby. The wall she clung to trembled slightly. She panned her gaze around the room, hoping her eyes would adjust just a little more, and they did: she could make out a trash can by the door, and the outline of the sinks. Apprehensively, she looked back at the door of her stall, letting her focus creep along the edges until she set her eyes on the inch-wide gap along the door. A large plastic eye was there staring back, unblinking and dry, fixed directly on her, and two large and unnatural rabbit ears hung over the top of the door.
Bonnie. She clasped her hand over her mouth and jumped to the floor as fast as she could, dropping to her stomach and scooting along the floor into the second stall. She heard the thing rattle the door of the stall she had just left, but the shuffling feet did not move. She crawled under the next divider and into the stall nearest the entrance. This time her foot bumped the toilet behind her, and the lip dropped down with a loud clank.
Charlie froze. The shuffling thing did not move. For what felt like an age Charlie held her breath. It heard, it must have heard! But the thing still made no sound. Charlie held still and listened, waiting for another sound of movement to mask her own. Her breathing seemed louder than before. She lowered her head, trying to make out shapes along the floor.
The shuffling sound resumed, and now, without warning it was directly in front of her. She held her breath, desperately trying to make out any forms in the darkness. There it is. A large padded foot was just outside the door, as if it had stopped mid-step. Is it leaving? Please leave. Charlie pleaded. There was a new sound: stiff fabric, softly crunching. What is that? The foot outside the door had not moved. The noise grew louder: the sound of fabric and fur twisting and stretching, tearing and popping. What is that? Charlie dug into the floor with her nails, holding down a guttural scream. It’s bending over. A large paw touched down gently in front of her, then another shape: the creature’s head. It was massive, filling the space under the door. Gracefully, it lowered itself to the floor and turned its head sideways until its eye met Charlie’s eye. Is giant mouth was open wide with a ghoulish excitement, as though it had found someone in a game of hide-and-seek.
A warm burst of air rolled in under the stall door. Breath? Charlie clasped her hand over her nose and mouth; the stench was unbearable. Another wave of it hit her face, hotter and more putrid. She closed her eyes, on the point of relinquishing the hope of escape. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed long enough, she would wake up. Another gust of hot air hit and she jerked back, hitting the back of her head on the toilet. She recoiled with pain and threw her arm in front of her, shielding her face against attack. No attack came. She opened one eye. Where is it?