Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(73)
Suddenly the metal walls around her swayed with a resounding bang. Charlie startled and covered her head as the thing struck again; the stalls rocked on their legs and the bolts screeched as they were yanked free from the floor, the whole assembly seeming ready to collapse. Charlie scrambled under the last divider and climbed to her feet, grasping for the door handles to pull them shut as she ran out.
She ran back into the main dining area, darting toward the control room. Her eyes no longer adjusted to the light, she ran with her hands in front of her, unable to see further than her next steps.
“John!” She cried, grabbing the doorknob and yanking at it, pushing. Nothing happened.
“Charlie, it’s stuck,” John shouted back from inside. As Charlie struggled with the door she glanced up at the stage. Chica was gone.
“John!” Charlie shouted in desperation. Without waiting for a response, Charlie took off again, running for a hall to her left, trying to get as much distance from the bathroom as possible.
The hall was almost completely dark, and as she ran, open doorways yawned at her with wide black mouths. Charlie did not stop to look inside any of them, and instead only prayed that nothing jumped out at her. She reached the last door and paused for a brief moment, hoping against hope that it would be unlocked. She grabbed the knob and twisted, and thankfully, it fell open easily.
She slid through the door then closed it rapidly, trying not to make a sound. She stood watching the door for a long moment, half-expecting it to be flung open, and then finally she turned. It was only then that she saw him: Carlton was there. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her, but he did not move, and after her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she understood why: he was trapped, wedged somehow into the top half of one of the animatronic suits, his own head poking out from the wide shoulders of the costume. His face was white and exhausted, and Charlie knew why. The spring locks. She heard her father’s voice for a moment: It could snap off your nose!
“Carlton?” Charlie said cautiously, as if her voice alone might set off the spring locks.
“Yup,” he said, with the same faltering tone.
“That costume is going to kill you if you move.” Charlie said.
“Thanks,” he wheezed while half attempting a laugh. Charlie forced a smile.
“Well, today is your lucky day. I’m probably the only person who knows how to get you out of that thing alive.”
Carlton exhaled, a long and shaky breath. “Lucky me,” he said.
Charlie knelt at his side, studying the costume for long moments without touching it. “These two spring locks at the neck aren’t holding anything back,” Charlie said at last. “He just rigged them to snap and pierce your throat if you try to move. I have to undo those first, then we can open the back of the costume and get you out. But you can’t move, Carlton, seriously.”
“Yeah, serial-killer-man explained the not moving to me,” he said. Charlie nodded, and went back to looking at the costume, trying to devise an approach.
“Do you know who I’m wearing?” Carlton asked, almost casually.
“What?”
“The costume, do you know what character it was supposed to be?” Charlie studied it, then looked around until she saw the matching head.
“No,” she said. “Not everything he built made it to the stage.” Her fingers suddenly stopped working. “Carlton.” Charlie carefully surveyed the array of costumes and parts that lined the walls in varying stages of completion. “Carlton.” She repeated. “Is he in here?”
With a new sense of dread, Carlton struggled to get a look behind him without moving. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t think so, but I’ve been kind of in and out.”
“Okay, stop talking. I’ll try to work fast,” Charlie said. She had the mechanism figured out, or at least she thought she did.
“Not too fast.” Carlton reminded her.
Carefully, slowly, she reached into the costume’s neck and took hold of the first spring lock, maneuvering it until her fingers were wedged between the lock and Carlton’s neck.
“Careful with that artery; I’ve had it since I was a kid,” Carlton said.
“Shh,” Charlie said again. When he spoke, she could feel his neck move; he was not going to set off the locks by talking, she thought, but the feeling of his tendons moving under her hands was unsettling.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Sorry. I talk when I’m nervous.” He clamped down his jaw and bit his lips together. Charlie reached down further into the costume’s neck, and found the trigger. With a stinging snap, the lock sprung against her hand, so hard it numbed her fingers. One down, she thought, as she pulled it, harmless, out of the neck of the costume. She flexed her fingers until the feeling came back into them, then crawled over to Carlton’s other side, and began the process again. She looked over her shoulder from time to time, making sure every costume was still in its place against the wall.
His skin was warm under her touch, and even though he was not speaking she could still feel movement, feel the life in him. She could feel his pulse against the back of her wrist as she worked, and she blinked back unexpected tears. She swallowed hard and focused on the task, trying to ignore the fact that she was touching someone who would die if she failed him.
She worked open the spring lock again, taking the impact on the palm of her hand, and pulling the disabled device free of the costume. Carlton took a deep breath in, and she startled.