Better this way, she thought. The office was personal, and she did not really want it opened tonight. She headed back into the main dining room and found John looking pensively at the merry-go-round. He eyed her with curiosity, but did not ask where she had gone. Yet now the painted figures seemed odd and lifeless to her. John made a face, as though he knew what she was thinking. He rubbed his hand over the top of a polished pony as though to scratch it behind the ear.
Charlie glanced over to see where the others were—in the arcade, she could see Jessica and Carlton wandering among the games. The consoles stood still and unlit like massive tombstones, their screens blank.
Carlton was busy rocking a pinball machine back and forth trying to get a ball to come loose. He plucked a red party hat from the table, stretched the rubber bank hanging loosely from its base and snapped it around his head, red and white tassels hanging down over his face.
Charlie followed as he bounded off toward it. John overheard someone calling her Charlotte one day when they were in kindergarten, and persisted in teasing her with it constantly. He could always get a rise out of her with that.
Her father called her Charlotte, and it was like a secret between them, something no one else was allowed to share. The day she left Hurricane for good, the day they said goodbye, John had hesitated.
In their cards and letters, in phone calls, he had never called her Charlotte again. She never asked why, and he never told her. The kitchen was still fully stocked with pots and pans, but it held little interest for Charlie in the midst of her memories.
She headed back out into the open space of the dining room and John followed. At the same time, Jessica and Carlton stumbled out of the arcade, tripping into each other as they crossed the thresholds between rooms in the dark.
Jessica playfully gave him a punch in the shoulder. She headed toward it swiftly before anyone could answer, and they followed her. The hallway was long and narrow, and the further they went, the less the flashlight seemed to illuminate.
At last the passage opened out into a small room for private parties, set up with its own tables and chairs. As they entered, there was a collective hush. There in front of them was a small stage, the curtain drawn.
They stood still for a minute, then Jessica went up to it, and poked the sign. No, Charlie wanted to say again, but stopped. She stepped back cautiously, suddenly becoming aware of the drawings and posters surrounding them like spiders on the wall. John reached out a hand to steady her as she righted herself. She giggled nervously, looking down at the others as though for guidance, than grabbed hold of the tasseled edge of the fabric.
She waved her other hand in front of her face as dust fell from the cloth. As she thought about it her own breathing began to feel odd, like she had forgotten how to do it. She did not move. It was almost like the hushed moment in a theater crowd, when the lights go dark but the curtain has not yet risen. They were all still, all anticipating, but they were not watching a play, no longer playing a game. As Jessica hesitated, Charlie realized her hand hurt; she was making a fist so tight her nails dug into her flesh, but she could not force her grip to loosen.
A crash sounded from back the way they came, a cascading, clanging noise ringing out and filling the whole space.
Jessica dropped the curtain and leapt off the stage, bumping into Charlie and knocking the light out of her hands. They hurriedly searched the walls and Charlie chased the light beam spiraling across the floor. Just as they were all back to their feet, Carlton came trotting in. The rest took off after her, picking up speed as they reached the hallway until they were racing, as though something were behind them. They squeezed back through the door one by one, and pushed it shut with the same painful squeal, Carlton and John leaning on it until it sealed.
They all took hold of the shelf, hefting it back into place and replacing the tools so that it appeared undisturbed. She felt as though something locked deep inside her had been disturbed, and she was not sure if that was a good thing or bad. Charlie began to laugh, and John joined in. Charlie shook her head, still laughing a little. You and Carlton sound exactly like you did when we were six.
Carlton gave a little wave over his shoulder. She had not been looking forward to this. She smiled at Jessica. It was small and black with a long strap, and on the drive to the construction site Charlie had already seen her remove a lip gloss, a mirror, a pack of breath mints, a sewing kit, and a tiny hairbrush.
Now she pulled out a small notebook and pen. Jessica started reading Charlie the directions, and Charlie obeyed, turning left and right without paying much attention to her surroundings. Jessica had already checked in so they went straight to their room, a small beige box of a room with two double beds covered in shiny brown spreads.
Charlie set her bags on the bed closest to the door, and Jessica went to the window. As children she remembered being slightly intimidated every time they got together to play, then remembering after the first few minutes how much she liked her. Jessica flopped down on the bed, lying across it to face Charlie. Charlie shrugged awkwardly, put on the spot. Jessica laughed. What an awful thing to ask, right? I mean how do you answer that? Um, how about school? Any cute boys? What are we, twelve?
She told Jessica as much. He was so sweet to everyone. He wore all black all the time, and he had this black curly hair so thick all I could think about when I sat behind him was burying my face in it.
I was so distracted I ended up with an A- in Trig. And he showed me his poems. She wanted to take Jessica seriously, but she felt as though her I.
Jessica scooted forward on the bed to whisper. I mean, like, just reading them made me embarrassed for him. Charlie laughed. You must have broken his heart! They were just like us, but so different. I like to imagine living in other times, other places, wonder who I would have been.
Anyway, what about you? The tiles were made of loose, stained Styrofoam, and the one above her head was askew. Plus, I might change my mind, or not get into college, or something. She supposed it was becoming a defect, her earnest refusal to consider the past or future. Live in the present moment, her Aunt Jen said often, and Charlie had taken it to heart. She had made a clumsy-looking birdhouse for the backyard. She never took another shop class, and the birdhouse only attracted one squirrel who promptly knocked it down.
Jessica came out of the bathroom wearing pink striped pajamas, and Charlie went in to get ready for bed, changing and brushing her teeth hurriedly. When she came out again, Jessica was already under the covers with the light by her bed turned off. Charlie turned hers off, too, but the light from the parking lot still shone in from the window, somehow filtering past the dumpsters. Charlie stared up at the ceiling again, her hands behind her head. Like, do they want us to speak?
She had sealed off the subject of Michael in her mind; locked him tight behind a mental wall she never touched. You know? But she did know. You know I just went to a funeral last week? I think I met him once, and I hardly remember it. But it was at an old-fashioned funeral parlor, like in the movies, with an open coffin. And we all walked by the coffin, and when it was my turn I looked at him, and he could have been sleeping, you know?
There was nothing that I could have pointed out that made me think dead, if you asked me; every feature of his face looked the same as if he were alive. His skin was the same; his hair was the same as if he were alive. It made my skin crawl. She knew what Jessica meant, probably better than Jessica did. The slight lurch of realistic animals who did not move the way a living thing should. The occasional programming glitch, that made a robot appear to have done something new, creative.
Her childhood had been filled with them; she had grown up in the strange gap between life and not-life. It had been her world. Charlie closed her eyes. Charlie startled out of sleep, disoriented. Something was banging on her door, trying to force its way in. The motel. Someone was knocking on the door. As Jessica went to answer the door, Charlie got out of bed and looked at the clock.
It was AM. She looked out the window at the bright, new day. She had slept worse than usual, not nightmares, but dark dreams she could not quite remember, things that stuck with her, just beyond the back of her mind, images she could not catch. Charlie hugged her back, tighter than she meant to. When Marla let go she stepped back, grinning. When she was gloomy, a pall fell over all her friends, the sun gone behind her cloud.
When she was happy, like now, it was impossible to avoid the lift of her joy. She was always breathless, always slightly scattered, always giving the impression that she was running late, though she almost never was. Marla was wearing a loose, dark red blouse, and it suited her well, setting off her fair skin and dark brown hair. Charlie had kept in better touch with Marla than the others.
She was resolutely positive, and assumed that everyone liked her unless they made it clear otherwise, using the proper expletives. Charlie admired it about her—she herself, though not shy, was always calculating: does that person like me? Are they just being polite? How do people tell the difference? Marla had come to visit her once when they were twelve. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, and Charlie stifled a smile.
It was nice to see something about Jessica in disarray, for once. Jessica found her hairbrush and held it up triumphantly. Take that, morning frizz! Marla nodded. No one emerged. He was short and wiry, darker- skinned than his half-sister. His hair was cut close to his head, and his arms and legs were streaked with dirt.
Get inside. He went to the TV and started fiddling with buttons. Marla rubbed her eyes. I am so tired. Charlie headed into the bathroom to get dressed, while Jessica fussed with her hair. A little less than an hour later, they pulled into the diner parking lot. When they got inside Marla performed a second round of squeals and hugs, only slightly quieter now that they were in public. Overshadowed by her enthusiasm, Lamar stood and waved at Jessica and Charlie, waiting until Marla sat down.
He was wearing a dark tie and dark grey suit. He was tall and thin, black, with his hair shaved close to his head; his features were sharp and attractive, and he looked just a little older than the rest of them. It could have been the suit, but Charlie thought it was something about the way he stood, holding himself like he would be comfortable wherever he was. They had all dressed up a little for the ceremony. Marla had changed at the motel, and she and Jessica were both wearing dresses.
They all sat down. Marla groaned. Lamar looked briefly down at the table, but he was smiling. There was a brief flicker of something across his face, and Charlie knew what it was. John liked being the clever one, the precocious one.
Lamar had been kind of a goof-off when they were kids, and now he had leapt ahead. John forced a grin, and the moment passed. Marla came bursting in again, this time towing Jason behind her, holding on to his upper arm. At the hotel she had made him change as well, into a blazer and khakis, though he was still wearing his Nikes.
He pulled a video game out of his pocket, and was oblivious to the world. When their food came, Charlie checked her watch. I know this is a nostalgia trip for all of you, but I just live here. He looked down at his plate. When he looked up he was a little flushed. They laughed, and his blush deepened. I was kind of anxious the whole time they were gone. I kept looking out the window, hoping they would come back early, like something bad was going to happen to them if they stayed. Charlie knew they had all moved, all but Carlton, but she had never thought about it—people moved all the time.
Carlton was right, though. Lamar, you left in the middle of the semester that year. They all turned to her. She said spirits were stirring in the town, unquiet. My dad told her she was being ridiculous, but we still left as fast as we could. She felt like she was talking from a great distance, was almost surprised they could hear her. It hung in the air like humidity; the walls were saturated, like the wood had soaked in it.
It had been there before she came, it was there now, it would be there forever. It had to be. There was too much, too great and vast a weight, for Charlie to have brought it with her. Like, literally stored in the brain, you can see it on a scan.
Peeling paint, old-fashioned furniture, lace curtains, details that tell us to be nostalgic, mostly things we pick up from movies, probably. She closed her eyes for a minute, thinking. She kept them in their own special room, and it was full of them, shelves and shelves of dolls, some tiny and some almost as big as I was.
I loved it; one of my earliest memories is playing in that room, with the dolls. She was from the s, and I loved her; I told her everything, and when I was lonely I would imagine myself in that room, playing with Maggie. My grandmother died when I was six, and when my dad and I went to see my grandfather after the funeral, he told me I should pick a doll to keep from the collection.
I went to the room to get Maggie, and as soon as I walked through the door, something was wrong. I looked around, and the lively, playful poses of the dolls now seemed unnatural, disjointed. It was as though all of them were staring at me. Maggie was in the corner, and I took a step toward her, then stopped. I met her eyes, and instead of painted glass I saw a stranger. I turned and ran.
He asked if I had picked a doll, and I just shook my head. I never went back in that room. Charlie was transfixed, still seeing little Marla running for her life. You missed your grandmother, you were frightened of death, and dolls are inherently freaky. John looked around the table, from person to person, as though he were waiting for something. She was looking at John. Charlie did it too, eager to hear, even though she knew exactly what he was going to say.
They just… built around it. Charlie nodded confirmation. Jessica cleared her throat hesitantly, and they all looked at her.
Should we? His eyes were wide and he was hanging on to every word. She was the one they were really afraid of offending; they needed her permission. Jessica was nodding.
They wanted an excuse. Marla pointed to the game in his hand. When they arrived, the parking lot was already jammed full. Charlie parked on a side street, in what she hoped was a legal spot, and they walked to the school along the familiar sidewalk. Jessica shivered. The school looked unchanged from the outside, but the fence was new, slick, black-plastic coated chain link. The whole town was like this, a mix of old and new, familiar and not.
The things that had changed seemed out of place. The things that had remained the same made Charlie feel out of place. It must be so strange for Carlton to live here, she thought. Somehow, Charlie was not sure she believed that. Rows of folding chairs had been laid out in front of them to add more seating, and Charlie spotted Marla and the boys at the front. Charlie looked at her. There was one open in the front row, next to Carlton, and one right behind it, beside Marla.
Jessica winked at Charlie and sat down next to Carlton. She leaned toward him and they started whispering. Charlie repeated herself to Marla. Plus, his parents still live here. People remember. There was a small raised stage set up in front of them, with a podium and four chairs. Behind the chairs a screen was suspended, projected on it a larger-than-life picture of Michael. It was a close-up, just his face. It was not the most flattering picture: his head was thrown back at an odd angle, his mouth open in laughter, but it was perfect—a joyful moment, snatched up and kept, not curated.
He looked happy. She was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Charlie put an arm around her. The sound system came on suddenly with a whine that slowly faded. The man in the suit stepped up to the podium, and the elderly woman sat down in one of the four chairs. The couple stayed back, but they did not sit. When she was young they had just been parents, a species that was for the most part unremarkable.
He said a few things about loss, and community, and the fleeting preciousness of youth. It was true, Charlie reflected. Michael had been an unusually charismatic child. They stood at the podium awkwardly, each looking from face to face in the crowd, as if they were not sure how they had gotten here. Finally Joan stepped forward. We wanted to give Michael a legacy, with this scholarship, but it is clear that he has already left one, all on his own.
As we all know, Michael was not the only child lost during those terrible few months. Charlie glanced at Marla. Now, Charlie felt a pang of guilt. To someone, those little girls and boys had been as vital as Michael. To someone, their losses had meant the end of the world.
She closed her eyes for a moment. No one can. Joan was still talking. Now, I would like to call to speak a young man who was particularly close to my son. Carlton, if you would?
Joan hugged him tightly, and stayed close behind him as he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He cleared his throat, looking over the heads of the crowd, then crumbled the paper up again and put it back in his pocket. I remember playing superheroes, drawing, which he was much better at than me, and as we got older I remember… well, playing superheroes and drawing. What I really remember, though, is that my days were always more exciting when he was in them. He was smarter than me; he was the one always coming up with new ideas, new ways to get in trouble.
Sorry about those lamps, by the way, Mrs. If I had jumped the way Michael said, I probably would only have broken one. Their grief, naked, was too much to watch.
It was raw, an open wound, and she could not stand to look. Carlton came back down to sit with them. It must have been strange for Anne, Charlie thought, her honor so overshadowed by its origins. But then, she realized, Anne must have known Michael, too, however much in passing. What did you say to someone who has lost a child? Can it be any easier?
Can ten years make a difference, or do they wake up each morning as fresh with grief as the day he died? Things they remembered, things they wished they had said. Charlie went over and browsed through them. There were pictures of her, and the others, as well as of Michael.
She saw herself in the middle of a smiling pose; her, Michael, and John, all covered in mud, with Jessica beside them, still perfectly clean, refusing to go near them. That looks about right. In another, a five-year-old Marla struggled to support the weight of her newborn little brother, with Lamar peering suspiciously at the tiny thing over her shoulder. Charlie picked one up, a drawing of what she supposed was a T-Rex, stomping through a city. It was actually, she realized now, almost amazing how talented he was.
Charlie startled. Whatever it was, it was better than she could draw now. Suddenly her chest tightened, gripped with loss and rage. Taking a deep breath, Charlie set the picture back down on the table, and turned away. The gathering was continuing, but she needed to leave. From their various vantage points, they all headed for the parking lot. No one seemed to notice their departure, which made sense.
Except for Carlton, they were all strangers here. She had somehow called down a miracle and found a space right next to the school. Suddenly, Marla grabbed her brother and pulled him close, hugging him to her for a long minute. She cleared her throat. They all looked at one another. It felt right. A dozen feet from the lot, she realized she was being followed. She turned around. Anyway, I went to see my old place, too. It was painted blue and there was a garden in the yard.
It was weird. She thought of the first time John saw the toys, his fascination, an interest that was all his, that had nothing to do with pleasing her. She relented. They walked together for the better part of three miles, away from town and down old roads, first paved, then gravel. Three rooftops peeked over the leaves, scattered widely over the hill, but no one had lived in these houses in a long time.
At last they walked up the driveway, and John stopped short, staring up at the house. Impatient, Charlie took his arm for a second and pulled him away, leading them around the side of the house. It was one thing for him to be here with her, but she was not quite ready to let someone else inside. She was not quite sure she wanted to go inside again anyway.
He followed her without protest, as if aware that they were in her territory, and she would decide where they went. The property was large, more than a lawn. There were woods surrounding the wide space of the backyard, and as a child Charlie had often felt like she was in her own little realm, ruler of what little she surveyed. The grass had gone wild, weeds growing feral and up to their knees.
They walked the perimeter. She knew from her storybooks, as all children did, that the woods contained wolves, and more dangerous things. Instead, he went to a tree in the middle of the yard, and put a hand on it. It had been a sunny day, springtime; they were six years old, maybe.
The door was open and he would notice if someone screamed, but short of that, the outdoors was their own. John counted to ten, eyes covered, facing the tree that was home base. The yard was wide and open, there were not many places to hide, and so Charlie, buoyed up by the excitement of the game, dared to hide beyond the forbidden edge of the woods, just barely past the tree line.
He realized where she must be, and Charlie braced herself to run as he began to walk the edges of the yard, darting into the woods and out again, looking behind trees. When at last he found her she took off, tearing across the lawn to the home-base tree. He was just behind her, so close he could almost touch her, and she sped on, staying just out of reach.
She hit the tree, almost slamming into it, and John was right behind her, bumping into her a second later, too fast to stop. They were both giggling hysterically and then they stopped at the same moment, still gasping to catch their breath. Charlie shrugged. Then, after a moment. Charlie closed her eyes, waiting, still not entirely sure what she was supposed to do. Charlie jumped back. He was grinning like something wonderful had happened, although Charlie was not quite sure what it was.
When she looked up again, John was grinning, that same satisfied, six-year-old grin. She leaned back against the tree. We were six! Charlie realized, suddenly, that he was standing very close to her, and she was breathing a little too fast.
She did not want to open the workshop door. She closed her eyes, still leaning against the tree. She could still see it; it was all she could see, when she thought of that place. The twitching, malformed, metal skeleton in its dark corner, with its wrenching shudders, and its blistering silver eyes. The image welled up in her head until it was all there was. The memory radiated a cutting anguish, but she did not know who it belonged to: to the thing, to her father, or to herself.
Charlie felt a hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes. It was John, frowning at her like he was worried. Her eyes went first to the dark corner. The figure was not there. She looked around. There seemed to be almost nothing left of the workshop: the benches were there, where her father had assembled and tweaked his inventions, but the materials, the blueprints and the half-finished robots that were once crammed onto every surface had disappeared.
Where are they? Had her aunt had them carted away to a junkyard to rust and crumble among other discarded, useless things? Or had her father done it himself, so no one else would have to? The concrete floor was littered, here and there, with scraps: whoever had done the clean-up had not been thorough. Charlie knelt and picked up an oddly-shaped scrap of wood, then a small circuit board.
She turned it over. Whose brain were you? She wondered, but it did not matter, really. It was battered and worn, the etched copper too badly scratched to repair, even if someone wanted to. He was in the dark corner; if the skeleton had been there, it could have reached out to touch him. Charlie knelt down before it. It looked as if it had just been polished. It was made of dark, stained wood, glossy with some kind of lacquer. She opened it gently. Charlie picked up an awl from the top tray and held it for a moment, the rounded wooden handle fitting into the palm of her hand as if it had been made for her to use.
Not that she knew how. She picked up the tools one after another, lifting them from their places. The toolbox had wooden spaces, carved out to fit the precise shape of each item.
All the tools were polished and clean, their wooden handles smooth and their metal unrusted. They looked as though they had been used just that morning, wiped down and put away meticulously.
Like someone still cared for them. She looked at them with a fierce, unexpected joy, as if something she had fought for was returned to her. Something in the world was not as it should be. Seized suddenly with an unfounded fear, she thrust the awl back into its place in the box, dropping it like something burning. She closed the lid, but she did not stand. Memory overtook her, and she closed her eyes, not fighting against it.
Her feet were wedged in the dirt, and two large and calloused hands covered her eyes. Suddenly there was a bright light, and Charlie squinted, squirming impatiently to see what was before her. Three complete and gleaming figures towered over her, motionless, the sun reflecting off every edge and contour: they were blinding to behold.
The three masses of standing metal all looked similar in structure, but Charlie had grown accustomed to seeing more than was there, imagining the final result. For a long time now, there had been three empty suits, hanging like carcasses from a rafter in the attic. Charlie knew that they had a special purpose, and now she understood what it was.
Two long beams protruded from the top of the head of one of the hulking masses. He looks like Theodore! It was clearly a bear, and a single metal beam stuck out from the top of its head as well.
Charlie was puzzled for a moment, then smiled. The last form was perhaps the most frightening: a long, metal clamp protruded from its empty face, in the place where a mouth might go. It was holding something on a platter, a metal structure that looked like a jaw, wires running like strewn spaghetti up and down the frame and in and out of sockets.
Suddenly, her laughter stopped. Her hands were trembling. How could she have forgotten? The corner. She looked at the ground, unable to lift her eyes, unable to move. One of her shoes was untied. There was a screw next to her foot and an old piece of tape, opaque with dirt. There was something behind her. Just lost. She glanced behind her, as if the memory might manifest. The corner was empty; there was nothing.
She knelt again and put her hand on the ground, fishing around until she found a small screw in the bare dirt. She palmed it, then looked closer: there were small holes in the ground, exposed when she moved the loose dirt.
Charlie ran her fingers over them, thoughtful. Charlie looked around the workshop and stood up. He followed her out into the yard and back to the hide-and-seek tree. She was tired, a wrung-out exhaustion deep inside. She would be fine in a minute, but she wanted a place that held only silly childhood memories. She sat down in the grass, leaned against the trunk, and waited for John to talk. He settled himself cross-legged in front of her, a little stiffly, smoothing his pants and she laughed.
It had been bizarre, their movements upsetting. They were moving too fast, bending and spinning, cycling through their limited, programmed moves over and over. They seemed frantic, panicked. Charlie was mesmerized. She should have been afraid of them, but she was not; she saw, in their juddering motion, a kind of desperation. She was reminded, for a moment, of dreams of running, dreams when the world depended on her going just ten steps forward, yet her body could only move in slow motion.
Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Chaotically, violently, the animatronic animals on stage thrashed robotic limbs in all directions, their eyes rolling in their sockets. That technician came over, remember, and even he was just watching the animatronics, I guess he was trying to figure out what was happening. And so was the mascot. I was… I was a kid, you know? You figure that the grown-ups already know everything you know. Do you remember anything? What the person looked like?
His voice was deliberate, steady. They were dead. Like they still moved, and blinked, and saw, but whatever was behind them had died a long time ago. It was growing dark. There was a bright, almost unnatural streak of pink across the Western sky, and Charlie shivered. He seemed to come back to himself, slowly. Charlie chased after him, her feet pounding the asphalt, and her arms swinging free. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet as if she were ready to run for the door of the abandoned building.
Everyone but Charlie and John had changed their clothing, wearing jeans and t-shirts, things more suited for exploration, and she had a brief moment of feeling out of place. Charlie thought.
He looked at Jessica. He tossed one to Jason, a small one with an elastic headband attached. Jason turned it on and fixed it around his head, and began moving enthusiastically in waves and circles, making the light bob and dance. She went to her trunk and hefted out the police flashlight, but did not turn it on.
Instead Carlton switched on two of his smaller lights, and handed one to Jessica. They headed into the mall. Knowing where they were going, and what was waiting for them there, Charlie, John, Jessica, and Carlton moved through the empty spaces with a sense of purpose, but the others kept stopping to look around.
Next to him, Marla nodded, mimicking his posture. From a distance, they heard footsteps echo in the emptiness. They entered the black void of the department store, creeping along in the shadows until they reached the break in the wall. John held back the hanging plastic obscuring the opening as the others maneuvered around the scaffolding. Jason was slow, and Charlie put a hand on his shoulder to hurry him up. As she steered him to the opening, a strong beam of light swept into the room, scanning up and down the walls.
They waited. Charlie was next to John this time, and after that moment by the tree, whatever it was, she was very, almost uncomfortably, aware of him. They were not quite touching, but she seemed to know exactly where he was, an awkward sixth sense.
She glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed on the opening to the hallway. He was moving slowly, deliberately. Charlie closed her eyes, listening. She could tell where he was from the sound, she thought, getting closer, then farther, crisscrossing the open room like he was hunting for something. The steps came right up to the entrance of the ally, and stopped while they all held their breath. He knows, Charlie thought. But the steps started again, and she opened her eyes and saw the light receding.
He was going away. They waited, still motionless, until they could no longer hear the tapping of his hard-soled shoes, then got up. She and John both stumbled a little as they stood, and she realized they had been leaning against one another without realizing it. Lamar tried to find a place to help, but there was not really room.
Marla just waited. This time the screaming of the metal door was not as loud, as if it no longer protested their entrance quite so strongly. Still, Marla and Jason covered their ears. The others ignored him. Charlie turned on the big light and shone it down the hallway.
Suddenly it became real, and her face flushed with awe and fear. They went in one by one. The temperature seemed to drop as soon as they walked into the hall, and Charlie shivered, but she did not feel ill-at-ease. She knew where they were, now, and she knew what they would find. When they got to the dining room, Carlton spread his arms wide and twirled. Jessica giggled, but the melodrama did not actually seem out of place.
Marla and Lamar gaped at the room, awestruck. She set the large flashlight on the ground, the beam facing up, and it lit the main room up in a dim and ghostly illumination. His eyes lit on the merry-go-round, and he raced for it and jumped onto the back of a pony before anyone could stop him. He was too big for it, his sneakers dangling all the way to the ground. Lamar had walked to the stage and was standing transfixed, staring up at the animals.
Charlie went over to him. Charlie smiled back. There was something surreal about the place; she had certainly never told any of her school friends about it. She would not have known where to begin. Worse, she would not have known where to stop. Jessica poked her head out from the retracted curtain at the side of the main stage, and they both startled. She disappeared into the folds of cloth again. After a moment they heard a thud as she jumped to the ground, and she came strolling over.
Truthfully, she had no idea how they worked. They had always just been, set to intermittent life by whatever alchemy her father performed in his workshop. She was kneeling by the stairs to the stage. Though well-hidden along the grain of the wood, there was a door inset into the wall of the stage. The whole group had gathered, and now Jessica looked around at them with a grin, put her hand on the little doorknob, and pulled. Magically, it opened. The door opened to a small, sunken room.
Jessica shone the light around it; it was full of equipment—one wall was covered in TV screens. The space was too cramped for all of them, but they crowded together; Jason sat on the step, feeling more comfortable by the exit. There were eight of the television screens across the wall, each with their own little panel of buttons and knobs, and sticking out beneath them was a panel, almost a table, covered in buttons.
They were large and black, unlabeled, and spaced in an irregular series. The other wall was blank, except for a single, large switch by the door. He hesitated, just long enough for someone to stop him, then he pulled it. The lights came on. They all stared at one another in confused silence.
Jason climbed up and poked his head out into the main room. Jessica turned on the rest of the TVs, adjusting them until the pictures became clear, although most were still poorly lit. A moment later, she appeared on camera, onstage beside Bonnie. Marla waved. She appeared multicolored as the stage lights bathed her in purple, green, and yellow from different sides.
Lamar was staring at the buttons. Marla screamed. We pushed a button! He pressed it again, and the rabbit swiveled back to face the absent audience again. Carlton started pressing buttons, as the rest of them watched the cameras.
After a moment, Charlie left the room as well. She stepped out into the open to watch them experiment with the animals onstage. Most of the dining room was still dark. There were three colored spotlights suspended from the ceiling, aiming beams of purple, yellow, and green at the stage. The animals were cast now in unnatural colors, and dust in the beams of light shone like tiny stars, so many that it was difficult to see through them.
They had always been there, and Charlie wondered now where her father had gotten the first ones, when the restaurant opened.
Had he used her own childish scribblings, or had he made them himself and stuck them up, forgeries to encourage actual children to display their art? She noticed the flashlight still on in the center of the room, and went to switch it off.
Scott Cawthon is the author of the bestselling video game. Based on the bestselling horror video game series, Five Nights at Freddy's. It's been exactly ten years since the murders at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and Charlotte Charlie for short has spent those ten years trying to forget. Her father was the owner of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and the creator of its four adult-sized animatronic animals, and now Charlie is returning to her hometown to reunite with her childhood friends on the anniversary of the tragedy that ripped their town apart.
Curiosity leads Charlie and her friends back to the old pizza place, and they find it hidden and sealed, but still standing. They discover a way inside, but things are not as they once were: the four mascots that delighted and entertained them as children have changed. The animatronic animals have a dark secret, and a murderous agenda. I love this book! It's so good? I'm listening to it again. I can't wait to read the second one??? Loved it!
More background into the story. Find out about Charlie and her friends. How they dealt with the murders and now how they live with it. This is the best book ever red, as a FNAF enthusiast it was quite the book 2 of 2 people found this review helpful. Absolutely love this book, can't wait for the next one, the twisted ones, only a few more weeks.
Loved this book wish there was a second!
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