Sewer Scum

It was March 9th, 1994.  After a week of beautiful spring sunshine, the sky was now a  dark gray, with rain pouring down in torrents, and Jackson McSweeney was walking home from school. He walked this way every day, the routine ingrained in him. Rain or shine, Jack would walk the street at the same time. Sometimes switching sides. He still wore his Freddy Fazbear backpack, even if Fred was dead. That’s what the other kids said. Freddy’s dead, and he’s not coming back. It’s been a year since they closed shop.

Part of him held out hope. His dad said Freddy shut down, and came back before. He also said, “Friends leave. They might not come back, but they’ll always be alive.”

“Where?” Jack asked.
“In you,” Terry said. “As long as you remember them, and love them, they will be there.”

Jack thought about this as he walked. He lifted his feet up and brought them down, clomping like how he remembered Freddy doing.  Splish splash. He liked the sound, so he stopped walking.  He found a nice big puddle on the sidewalk, and jumped.  It got his jeans wet, but he didn’t mind. It went everywhere. In his shoes, on his pants, and over the curb.

“Yowch!” yelled  a voice. Jack stopped playing.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” it said. “I hate water.”
It sounded familiar. He hadn’t heard that voice in months. Could it really be him? Husky voice, crisp American accent...
“It gets my fur wet,” it added.

Yes!

“Where are you?”, Jack asked.
“Down here!”, Freddy exclaimed. “In the drain.”
Jack moved off the sidewalk, and into the street.
“I see you. Over here!” the voice said.

Jack moved to the drainage gate. He bent down, and peered inside. There was nothing, just darkness
“Freddy?” he asked.
“It’s me,” Freddy said. “I guess you know me. But I don’t know you. Who are you?”
“Jack. Jack McSweeney.”
“Well Jack, it’s good to see you. I haven’t talked to anyone in a while.”
“I’m a big fan,” he said. “I even have a backpack with your face on it!”
“I can see that,” Freddy said. “It looks neat. Oh, do you have any pizza?
“Sorry,” Jack said. “I wish I did.”
“I miss Chica’s pizzas. She made them just right. Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah. They were always so cheesy. What happened to her?”
“I’m not sure,” the voice said. “I haven’t seen her since we shut down.”
“How’d you end up down here?”, Jack asked. His heart was pounding. So many questions!
“Management flushed us down the drain, and here we are.”

“Does it get lonely?”

“No, I have friends. We’ve been having ourselves a party, but without the pizza it’s not quite right.”

“A party in the sewers?”

“Yeah, Jack. We’ve been looking for a way out. It’s been fun, but partying for so long… You get a little bored.”
“Who’s with you?” The smell of popcorn and strawberry filled Jack’s nostrils. It was a party, alright.

“Foxy’s taking a nap right now, but we’ve got Mikey, Steven and Juan. That’s not even including our clowns and dancers.”
“Mikey?”
“He’s the newest guest. He just arrived here yesterday, in fact.”
“How’d he get here?”
“Nobody wanted him. So now he’s with us.”
“Can I join?”

Freddy paused. “I don’t know. You have parents, don’t you Jack?”
“Yeah…”
“Where are they?”
“They’re on the next block over,” Jack said. He pointed north, so Freddy could see.
“Which house?
“The red one, you can’t miss it.”
“Okay,  Jack. You should ask their permission, then come back.”

“I will,” Jack said. He stood up, and started walking.

“Wait.”
“What is it?
“Do you have a pen, Jack?
“Yeah. Why?”
“What say I sign that backpack of yours?”

Jack couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He never expected to meet an old friend like this. It was weird. But that’s life, isn’t it? Full of surprises. Dad said something about that, one time or another.
Jack returned to the drain, and took off his backpack. He rooted around in the bag of books and binders for a pen, still holding the backpack. He pushed the bag towards the drain.

The bag was pulled into the drain instantly, before he could react. He was pulled with it, hitting his head on the concrete. Jack was still disoriented when he was pulled into the drain.

Metal wiring filled Jack’s mouth, worming it’s way inside him with a burning pain. His legs jerked and his arms flailed, blindly. Reaching out for something, and finding nothing.
His head was pulled further into the drain, and blood was released as more and more was expelled from his body and replaced.

After a few minutes, he stood up. The stomach had burst from all the machinery, but Jack’s yellow raincoat would hide this well. The fingers clenched into a fist, but they would soon fall in line. As would the gagging. Jack kept trying to vomit, but they wouldn’t let him. He wanted to close his eyes, but they wouldn’t let him. There were other things at work here. Jack turned, and began shambling north.

“It’s the red house, isn’t it?” a woman asked. “Yes,” said a girl. “Let’s go say hello.”

Jack’s lips quivered.