Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(74)

“Carlton, don’t relax!”

He stiffened, and exhaled slowly, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Right,” he said. “Still a death-trap.”

“Stop talking,” Charlie pleaded again. She knew exactly how much danger he was still in, and she could not bear to hear him speak now, if he was about to die. “Okay,” she said. “Almost there.” She crawled around behind him, where a series of ten leather and metal fasteners held the back of the costume together. She considered it for a moment: she needed to keep the costume still, exactly as it was, until the last moment. She sat down behind him, and bent her knees, positioning herself so that she could hold the costume in place with her legs as she opened it.

“I didn’t know you cared.” Carlton muttered, as though attempting to put a joke together but too tired and too scared to finish it. Charlie didn’t answer.

One by one, she worked the fasteners free. The leather was stiff, the metal tightly fitted, and each one fought back as she worked, clinging together. When she was halfway up the back of the costume, she felt its weight begin to shift and she gripped it tighter with her knees, holding it together. Finally, she undid the last one, at the nape of his neck. She took a deep breath. This was it.

“Okay, Carlton,” she said. “We’re almost done. I’m going to open this, and throw it forward. When I do, you pull out of it as fast as you can, okay? One… Two… Three!”

She yanked the costume open and thrust it away with all her strength, and Carlton jerked back from it, toppling roughly into her. Charlie felt a sharp, quick pain on the back of her hand as she pulled free, but the costume skittered halfway across the room, leaving them clear. A series of snaps like fireworks sounded, and they both cried out, leaping back and banging into a heavy metal shelf. Together they watched as the empty costume writhed and twisted on the floor, the animatronic parts snapping violently into place. When it came to a stop, Charlie stared, fixated. The thing was just a torso, just an object on the floor.

Beside her, Carlton let out a low, pained groan, then turned and vomited onto the floor beside him, heaving and retching so hard it was as if he would be turned inside out. Charlie watched, unsure what to do. She put a hand on his shoulder, and kept it there as he finished, wiped his mouth, and sat gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?” She said, the words sounding small and ridiculous as they came out of her mouth.

Carlton nodded wearily, then winced. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry about the floor, I guess it’s your floor, kind of.”

“You might have a concussion,” Charlie said, alarmed, but he shook his head, moving more slowly this time.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “My head hurts like somebody hit it really hard, and I feel sick from being stuck in this room and pondering my death for hours, but I think I’m okay. My mind is okay.”

“Okay,” Charlie said doubtfully. Then something he had said finally registered.

“Carlton, you said ‘serial-killer-man explained’ for you not to move. You saw who did this to you?”

Carlton got to his knees carefully, then stood, bracing himself on a nearby box. He looked at Charlie. “I was trapped in that thing for hours; I’m all tingly.” He shook out his foot as if to make the point.

“Did you see who it was?” Charlie repeated.

“Dave, the guard,” Carlton said. He sounded almost surprised that she did not know. Charlie nodded. She had known already.

“What did he tell you?”

“Not much,” Carlton said. “But...” His eyes opened suddenly, as if he had just remembered something of grave importance. He looked away from Charlie and slowly dropped to his knees.

“What is it?” Charlie whispered

“Do you want to hear?” He said. He seemed suddenly calm for someone who had so narrowly escaped death.

“What is it?” She demanded. He glanced nervously at her for a moment, then took a deep breath, his face draining to white.

“Charlie, the kids, all those years ago…”

Charlie snapped to attention.

“What?”

“All of them, Michael and the others, they were taken from the dining room when no one was looking, and they were brought here. Carlton suddenly recoiled and moved toward the doorway, watching the walls as though they were crawling with invisible creatures. He—Dave, the guard—he brought them here…” Carlton rubbed his arms as though suddenly cold, and squinted in pain. “He put them into suits, Charlie,” he said, his face twisting in sorrow or disgust. “Charlie.” He stopped abruptly, a faraway look in his eyes. “They are still here.”

“How do you know that?” Charlie said in such a soft whisper that she was almost inaudible.

Carlton motioned toward the far corner of the room. Charlie looked; a yellow Freddy costume was propped against the wall, the costume all fitted together, as if he were about to walk out onstage for a show.

“That’s the one, that’s the bear I remember from the other restaurant.” Charlie clasped her hand over her mouth.

“Other restaurant?” Carlton looked puzzled.

“I don’t understand.” Charlie’s gaze was still fixed on the yellow costume. “Carlton, I don’t understand.” Her tone was urgent.