Five Nights at Freddy's: The Silver Eyes(88)
Charlie was already running, racing to lure him away from the others. Then what? She thought as she ran furiously out of the dining room and down the hall. The arcade. It was dark; there were things to hide behind.
She kept running full-out until she reached the door, then turned so fast she almost fell, hoping to give Foxy a moment’s disorientation. She looked around frantically; there was a row of arcade machines at the back of the room, set out just a little from the wall. She heard footsteps behind her, and dove for it.
The space was so tight she could barely squeeze herself into it. Her sides were pressed between the consoles and the wall, and there were thick, coiled wires beneath her feet. She took a step back, moving deeper into the crawl space, but her foot slipped on a cable, and she barely kept from falling. Movement in the room caught her eye, and she saw a flash of silver light.
He sees me.
Charlie dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled backward, scooting inch by inch. Her foot caught on a cable and she stopped to free it, twisting into an impossible position to quietly dislodge it. She moved back farther, then her foot bumped against another wall, and she stopped. She was closed in on three sides; it almost felt safe. She closed her eyes for a moment. Nothing here is safe.
There was an awful sound, a clash of metal hitting metal, and the console at the far end of the row rocked on its foundation, banging back against the wall. Foxy leaned over it and now Charlie could see him as he smashed the display, spilling shattered shards of plastic onto the floor. His hook caught on something inside the machine, and he yanked it out again, trailing bits of wire.
He moved on to the next game, smashing the screen and throwing the console against the wall with a casual brutality. Charlie felt the impact of it, echoing through the wall as he moved closer.
I have to get out, I have to! But there was no way out. Now that she was sitting in one place, she realized that her arm was stiff with pain, and only now did she look at it; the bandage was soaked through with blood; the wall beside her was streaked with a line of it, where her arm had pressed against the wall. She wanted to cry, suddenly; her whole body ached: the wound in her arm, the constant tension of the last day or so—who could tell how long it had been?—draining her, taking all she had.
The next console crashed against the wall and Charlie flinched: it was only two away. He was almost to her. She could hear his gears working, humming and grinding and sometimes screeching. She closed her eyes, but she could still see him, his matted fur, the metal bones showing through, and the searing silver eyes.
The console beside her was wrenched away, tumbled to the ground like it weighed nothing at all. The cords beneath Charlie’s hands and knees jerked forward with it, and she slipped, grabbing at nothing, trying to regain her balance. She caught herself and looked up, just in time to see the downward swing of a hook.
She moved faster than she could think: she hurled herself at the final console with all her strength, and it balanced precariously, then fell, knocking Foxy to the ground and trapping him. Charlie started to run, but his hook shot out and snared her leg, cutting into her. She screamed, falling to the ground. She kicked at him with her other foot, but his hook was stuck deep in her leg and every time he jerked back she felt the impact. She kicked him in the face and he tore free, slicing open her leg. She screamed again, instinctively grabbing the wound, and Foxy was on top of her, snapping his jaws and clawing her as he tried to free his legs from under the console. She fought back, struggling to get away. His hook slashed at her again and again as she tried to block the blows, screaming again for help.
Suddenly, John was there. He stood over Foxy and stomped down hard on the creature’s neck, holding his foot there. Foxy flailed, but could not reach him.
“Charlie, get up!” He called, who just stared at him for a second, too shaken to register the question. He stamped his foot on Foxy’s neck again and again, then in one quick movement, he grabbed Charlie’s hand, heaved her up, and started to run, holding onto her hand, pulling her along behind him. They made it to the main dining room, where the rest of the group was huddled in the middle of the room. Relieved, Charlie rushed to join them; she could tell she was limping, but she did not feel any pain, which, she realized somewhere dimly in the back of her mind, was not good. When they got to the others, her heart sank. Their faces were grim. Lamar was holding the flashlight out in front of him, but it rattled in his trembling grip.
Marla gestured quickly to the entrances: Freddy stood in the hall to the storage room, while Bonnie now blocked the way to the office. Chica, reanimated, stood on the stage, looming over them. Charlie glanced back the way they had come.
Foxy was approaching; he had freed himself. He stopped in the doorway as if waiting for a signal. There was no escape. Suddenly acutely aware of everything around her, Charlie noticed the sound of a music box, as if she had, unconsciously, been hearing it all along. She took a deep breath. The moment seemed to go on forever. It had come to this; they were trapped. They waited. Now, perhaps, for the animatronics, there was no hurry. Charlie cast her eyes around futilely for a weapon, but there were only the party hats and paper plates.
As one, the animatronics started their approach. Charlie grabbed the back of a metal folding chair, not sure how she could even use it. The animals were moving faster now, coming in unison, as if this battle were a choreographed dance. Marla took Jason’s hand and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, he shook his head, set his jaw, and balled his hands into fists. Lamar glanced at him for a moment, but said nothing. Jessica had her hands stiffly at her sides, and she was murmuring something to herself, inaudible. The animals were almost on top of them: the music-box notes were coming from Freddy’s direction—from inside Freddy, she now realized, and his trundling walk was predatory. Chica leaped from the stage and took small, bouncing steps toward them as if excited, holding herself back. Bonnie’s big paw-like feet slapped the ground like a challenge, and Foxy slunk forth with a malevolent grace, his eyes fixed on Charlie as if she were the only thing he saw. She gazed into the silver eyes, they filled her vision, crowding out everything else, until the world was silver, the world was Foxy’s eyes, and there was nothing left of her.