Sweet Dreams

The young child collapsed bonelessly into his bed. He rolled up into the covers until he was firmly swaddled, and stared up at his bedroom ceiling with puffy red eyes. His brother was always bad, but today he'd been especially so. Stalking him around the house, jumping out to scare him when he was least expecting it, all the while wearing that stupid mask of his.

The need for sleep eventually overtook the need to brood. The boy's eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until at last he lost the fight to keep them open. His trembling shoulders still, his gasps of fear evened out, his scrunched face relaxed. Darkness overtook the child, who fell into an uneasy sleep.

Hours passed. The boy tossed and turned in his bed. A light sweat broke out on his skin. His eyes shot open and his body jolted upright. Dazed and afraid — although he wasn't quite sure why — the boy looked around his room. He searched every dark corner, not even aware of what it was he was looking for. Not finding anything, he lowered his head back down to his pillow. The realization that it was all a dream had taken a while to set in, and the fear lingered.

Something was wrong with his room.

The child's eyes opened wide. He glanced around the room once more, knowing that something was wrong but unable to put his finger on what. Something was definitely wrong. The proportions were subtly messed up, the shadows darker than they should be, his toys not where he left them. The longer the child looked at his room the more unrecognizable it became, until he felt completely lost looking at a bedroom similar to his own and yet so very different.

A sensation, prickly and cold, crawled up his back like a caterpillar. The boy shook and shuddered, trying to physically shake off a feeling that wasn't physical in any way.

There was something under his bed.

A noise hadn't clued the boy in. Neither had movement, or vibrations of movement. It wasn't a tangible feeling that made him draw this conclusion, no. It was a cold pit settling in his stomach, a shiver racing up his spine, a sensation from deep within his gut that something was watching him.

Fabric brushed against carpet. Something bumped against his mattress. The child cowered. Dried tear tracks on his cheeks became wet once more. He pulled his sheets above his head and hid, as children often do. He held his breath, choking back the squeaks and whimpers, and stilled.

Everything was silent. The noises from under his bed had ceased. One moment became two, which became three, which became four. Just as the child's chest ached, as his lungs demanded air, as spots danced across his vision, it happened. A weight settled on his mattress.

The young boy leaped from his bed. His short legs and panicked mind took him to the first available safe space he saw, his closet. Barely recognizable in the warped and twisted chamber his bedroom had become, it still offered a meager sense of security. The child grabbed his closet's handle and bodily wrenched the door open.

A massive fox, fur a muddy crimson and its metallic skeletal frame exposed all over, jumped out at him. It's jaw gaped wide, as though primed and ready to take a bite. The teeth approached his face as though in slow motion, and the boy felt as though he were moving in slow motion as well as he slammed the closet door shut. He wasn't quick enough, though, and the fox's hook, cruel and crooked, scratched his forearm just deeply enough to draw blood.

The fox howled and pounded its large fists against the door. It tackled, it kicked, it clawed, it snarled. The closet shuddered with every impact and vibrated with every scream. It took all the strength the child could muster to keep it closed. The violence seemed to go on forever. Just as suddenly as it began, however, it stopped.

The child breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he heard the creak of metal springs behind him. He froze. He had forgotten why he had left his bed in the first place. Almost against his will, the child turned his head to look behind him.

A humanoid bear, spiked and evil looking, crawled out from under the boy's bed. Its too-large-to-even-fit frame seemed to pour out like a sludge, until at last it was fully free and stood up. Its head brushed against the ceiling, its legs were thicker than his brother's body. Smaller bears squirmed around inside the bear's body like maggots, visible through the holes in the bear's 'skin'. Every so often they clawed and ripped and tore their way out with gnashing teeth, making new holes and revealing metal bars holding the fur in place.

The child immediately sprinted for his bedroom door. The bear made no moves to follow, merely turning its head to calmly track him with burning orange eyes, but the child didn't care. He ran as though it were chasing them, legs pumping and feet stumbling. His hands shook and failed to grasp the doorknob the first time, but then they latched on and twisted and the boy fell through his bedroom door and kicked it closed behind him.

There was only one place for him to go now. The boy made a run for the bathroom and dived in, locking the door behind him. He stumbled further into the room, climbing into the shower and pulling closed the curtain. Then he curled himself into as small a ball as he could and trembled. The seconds stretched into minutes. All was quiet, but the child continued his quivering.

The doorknob rattled. Struck with fear, even the child's tears stopped moving. The doorknob was jiggled once, twice more, then stopped. Several heartbeats later, a sob forced its way out of the child's throat. The doorknob rattled again. Then, it turned and the door opened.

A shadow was cast on the shower curtain, an imposing figure of a similar shape to the bear from earlier. Red eyes pierced the curtain and locked gazes with the child. The sound of deep, thudding footsteps bounced around the bathroom's linoleum, echoing and multiplying until it sounded as though an army was marching.

The bear approached the shower. A giant hand, covered in golden fur and fingers tipped with twisted claws, reached out and grabbed the curtain. Then, it yanked it aside.

"What are you doing in here, loser?"

The child jolted and blinked away the bright light suddenly in his eyes. He looked up at his brother, confusion evident on his face. His brother looked down at him, impatient grimace plastered on his face. The child's brother clicked his tongue. "Were you sleepwalking again?" He didn't wait for a response. Instead he roughly grabbed his brother by the arm and yanked him up. "Get out of here, you crybaby. I gotta take a shower. Dad's waiting downstairs with breakfast."

The child wandered out of the bathroom bewildered. The nightmare he'd had was already slipping away from him like smoke through his fingers. There had been a monster, a lot of them even, but what they did or what they even looked like escaped him. He sniffled, tears already threatening to leak from the corners of his eyes. He resolved himself to forget about the nightmare, forget about his brother, and forget about Fredbear's. He'd make today a good day, no matter what.

The young boy, already in a much better mood, skipped into the kitchen. It wasn't until he banged his arm on the table and winced at the sharp pain it caused that he looked down at his forearm. A long, shallow gash, itchy and red and swollen, shined up at him.