Down in Flames (VII)

Before I plopped myself down in the plush chair, it became apparent to me that my furry friend had left me a gift.

A plastic, toy microphone. The sort of prop you would give to a middle school theatrical production. Lifting it off the chair, it was surprisingly heavier than I thought it would be, weighing around five pounds. As I depressed the black, shiny handle of the mic, a black, tar substance oozed out from the orifice in the bottom of it, one which probably allowed children to hold the microphone with relative ease in the daytime. Investigating this new entrance with two right fingers, I experienced a slight burning sensation on my fingertips, akin to an acidic chemical. I began to feel my fingers being drawn into this substance. It pulsated and throbbed, and craved. I felt more and more of me being drawn into the mic. It hungered.

I let go of the mic, and a spittle, like a grappling hook, attached itself to my fingers while gravity pulled the mic down close  to the floor. Still hanging on, after a 5'8 plunge and four inches thick of...something, it spun from it's momentum, suspended in the air.

I put my left foot onto the "globe" of the mic, and a stream of liquid gushed out from the handle I was trying to free myself from. I got some of it onto my shoe, and the puddle attempted to reach more of me.

I put my goo-infected shoe onto the drool-like string, and tore my hand free from it. I still had some of the gunk on my fingers, but it withered at the site of amputation and began to turn a deep dark red, whilst hardening. The crust peeled off like glue.

I took off my shoes, and ran for the east door when I realized that I should be checking for my "friend". Whatever affliction Freddy had, he sure as hell won't be passing it on to me. Standing with my back to the security office entrance, I watched the hallway to assure myself I wouldn't be caught off-guard. A Bite of '91 would be hell on the mind.

 I pulled up the cameras, and located Freddy in the back-room with the heads. He wasn't hard to find, his back being presented to the camera. My dearest friend stood in front of a shelf with heads. He was still, and I could only hear Maybe he'd be running some self-maintenance program-who the hell knew how these bots worked at night; I had low hopes for that but if I played my cards right, I would be out of here without a hitch. The fat bitch could kill Phil herself.  I set a brisk pace in my socks down the hallway, and came into the Party Room.

There wasn't a door, or windows, or anything of any kind. Across from me was Freddy, standing  outside the doorway of what I hoped was the storage room. The stage was still here, thankfully. Except it was only a foot from the ground. But that was honestly the least of my worries right now.

And my missing animatronic friends, they were there. A purple rabbit, a yellow duck and the everlovin' Freddy all stood on the stage. Staring dumbly like cattle in a slaughterhouse.

Oh shit. Freddy's on the stage. This one was tinted a darker brown, rather than the yellowed color of the freaky one.

I turned to see the yellow tinted Freddy stomping towards me, accompanied by a cracking sound as more and more red leaked from his shins. As he was ten feet away from me, his legs gave out as hard, red bits spilled from his shin joints and clattered to the floor. He toppled over onto a table and broke it in two, beginning to pool blood in the gap created on the tablecloth.

On stage, a loud rapid beeping emitted from one of the robots, and the formerly inert Freddy turned his torse and head towards the collapsed figure.

In that iconic, goofy voice of his, he opened his jaws and blinked his eyes with a new liveliness. "Looks like one of our friends got a little bump! Would you kids like to sing to cheer him up?" Even seven years later, I could remember Fredbear's chuckles.

Freddy turned and looked down at his hand, empty of the microphone he was known for. This didn't seem to faze the Fazbear, however. A harsh, somber melody played from him, as he made a mockery of the dance art. Shaking his arms and turning around on his waist.

The broken Freddy emitted a loud, masculine sobbing noise, tuned with the electronic filter that had been absent from his earlier request.

The music stopped. I could hear some rustling in the halls behind me. A tinkling noise, like if you shook teaspoons against each other.

Freddy turned his head to his right.

"Come on, Bonnie! We need some back-up!"

The purple rabbit turned it's head in the awkward silence formed by this impromptu concert.

It looked at the golden Freddy below, eyelids squinting, and let out an unholy scream. Like a child.

Golden Freddy was swiftly assaulted by something. I felt wind rush past me as a shadowy figure sprinted from behind me, and more tinkling, much like the bars hung up in windy areas, to ring with the breezes' coming.

He was immersed in darkness, and the patch of the room he was located in, he was gone. The table was there, but  not collapsed and perfectly healthy.

I was assailed from behind with a strong, metallic clamp on my shoulder. Bits of muscle and vein splattered onto the ground as my attacker drew away. I turned my head to my right in surprise, and a robotic skull, with one golden eye, drew away with a good chunk of my nerves dripping from it's maw.

I fell away from the world as two arms took hold of me from under the arm pits, and Bonnie staring fervently at me, while lifting my feet in it's arms. It's eyes echoed of a madman's.