Red Right Hand (ICM 4)

William Afton left the warehouse at 4 pm. His flavors were well stocked, with classics such as Cookies N Cream, Mint Chocolate Chip, and of course, strawberry.
The Chocomaker was left at home, in favor of duct tape and other necessities.

At this time, the children would be home from school, but their parents would likely still be at work. Leaving him a window of opportunity. William returned to the neighborhood, and drove around. The music played, and kids would come over. The usual routine. He’d scoop directly from the bucket for the simpler orders, and use his machines in the back for more complex transactions. He got good money from it, too. As expected, few parents were home, or at least watching. Still, he would have to wait. Business was too good; at the sound of the jingle many children would come running out of their homes. Groups of them thronged around the van, and wasted his time.

Eventually though, William got lucky. It was almost 6  when he was about to go home. One girl came out of her home.  Between eight and nine years old. She had a lot of meat on her bones.

Perfect.

William straightened his hair, and asked her what she wanted. A double vanilla waffle cone with sprinkles. He scooped the vanilla with Philip, offering a generous amount with each scoop.  “Excuse me for a second,” William said as he opened the door on his right, and went to the back where his machines were. He put Philip onto the table, with a cold, echoing clack, as he walked over to the Red Queen, and squeezed her.  The Red Queen was as generous as Philip was, squirting out a large amount of sprinkles. William stuffed a clean, cotton rag into his pants pockets, and leaned on the door, applying more and more pressure.

It’s hatches released, and William tumbled out onto the street. He yelped loud enough for the girl to hear, and rush over as the ramp slid out of the truck.

“Are you okay?”, she asked.
“Yes,” William said. “It was just an accident.”
He looked at his chest; still laying on the ground. The ice cream had splattered onto his purple shirt and tie. “Aw, crap”, he said. “I’m gonna have to make you a new one.

“Need a hand, Mister?”, the girl asked again. She stretched out a hand towards him. William took it, and gingerly got to his knees before pulling her towards him and stuffing the rag in her mouth, his hands plunging down her throat. William felt the vanilla rub off his shirt and  onto her face as she struggled and kicked. Her cries now muffled, William took her up the ram and into the truck. His hand hit a button, and as the ramp began to retract into the vehicle she broke free, kicking William in the chest.  He reeled from the impact, and as he saw her run, he dropped to the ground and grabbed her ankle.

The girl  fell hard, and the sound of her fall  throughout the room. The door was about to close, and she was inching forward with all her strength. She stretched out a hand as it closed shut, and she let out a shrill, pained scream. Her other hand flailed behind her, and eventually managed  to scratch William’s face. The nails were sharp, and left a mark. Blood dripped down William’s  brow and into his eyes,  while  his lips burned with fresh, red grooves on each side of his mouth.

William propelled himself forward with his free hand, putting him on the girl’s body. His hand moved from the ankle to the shoulder, while his other hand reached out blindly. It found the handle of an empty cooler, which it lifted and brought down on the girl’s head. She was stunned by the impact, allowing William to stand up and move.

His eyes scanned the nearby tables’ surfaces for anything he could use. A red toolbox was one option. Philip was another. He grabbed Phillip, tucking him into his shirt while he grabbed the toolbox with both hands. It rattled, with various scoopers inside. He brought it down on her head with a mighty swing, putting his weight into it. It stunned her, allowing him to go in for another. Blood came out this time. He flipped her over, her nose and other bones in her face apparently broken, as those parts were purple  and puffy. William  slammed the toolbox down on her, the sting of her nails on his face fueling him. Now her face was more red than purple, and he brought it down again, until she stopped making noises.


He stepped away from the girl, and listened for her breathing, which was muffled, but obviously pained. He fished the rag out of her mouth, and it became clearer.

“What’s your name?”, William Afton asked.
“B-Betsy”, the young woman said.
“Betsy,” William said. “What a pretty name,” he said after a moment of thinking.
“Why are you doing this?” Betsy  sputtered. Her mouth filled with blood.
“I’m not going to kill you, Betsy.” William lifted up the toolbox. “But I will if you don’t follow my command.”
“I won’t, I’ll do whatever you want,” she said. Her tears were discolored by blood and bruising.
“Good,” William said. “So you’ll do whatever I say?”, he asked, as he began unrolling tape.
“Y-yes”, Betsy wailed.
“Then stay right there, and let me wrap this around you.”
“Okay.”

Betsy did not protest as William bound her in duct tape, nor did she attempt to escape as William drove away with her as his unwilling passenger.  She did not think much, either. She faded in and out of consciousness for the rest of the ride to William Afton’s shack of a home, and when William Afton attempted to revive her to no avail at the end of the journey, he cleared the tools off of a table and laid her on it.

Had Betsy been alive and able to see what was happening, she would have laughed hysterically  at William’s face when he saw her right hand, which had three freshly severed stumps in place of three fingers.