Work Text:
One more place to check.
The clack of Henry’s shoes echoed off the corridor walls, accompanied by the jangling clinks of his keys. He fiddled with them, eyes darting back and forth, peering past the rims of his glasses. He couldn’t help but feel on edge here, especially where he was headed now. It was one of those times that the manager he’d hired—whom he had since figured out to be Michael Afton—was not present, and Henry preformed a sweep of the building for himself. He needed to make doubly sure everything was in place and working as intended. After all, they were one animatronic away…away from when finally he would end this horror story for all of them.
He stopped beside the trapdoor, eying its metal surface. It seemed to stare back at him, daring him to go down, practically begging. It was the one area Henry had yet to enter, ever since he built it. That was Michael’s department. A dangerous one, at that. But a peek couldn’t hurt.
And so, after testing the lock mechanism (to keep the threats below out), he descended into the cramped office. He cringed the moment his feet touched floor, grunting to himself at the confined, suffocating space. How did Michael do it?
“That boy,” he mumbled, gazing upon the desk. It distracted him from the gaping vents on either side, or even the waiting computer for that matter. Across the already messy desk were scattered more items he knew he hadn’t put there. Globs of gum stuck in twined wrappers and various doodles littered it; impressive ones, he had to say. It brought a sense of nostalgia, a warmer kind he hardly experienced now—always dampened by swallowing grief, by the horrors that happened back then.
By the loss he could never move past.
He welcomed this new familiarity, tracing fingers over Michael’s doodle of Henry himself, all bushy and silly looking. Reminded him of the art from when Michael was a teenager, or a child even. The warmth in his chest started to die, though it lingered longer than usual, fueled by the knowledge they would both be free soon. Free and with their family. No more pain. No more suffering. Just heaven.
A loud clang made Henry jump. Snatching the flashlight from his belt, he first beamed it down the right, where he’d heard the sound. A waft of dusty air hit his face, but not a thing could he see. Only an empty metal shaft. He turned to the other, while he trained his ears on everything around him. In the distance, he detected rustles and clangs of movement. All accounted for, it seemed.
To double check, he clicked on the computer and activated the censors. Just as he suspected.
Henry didn’t let himself linger. For his own safety (and for fear of what he might do, should he see even a glimpse of the encased corpse that roamed these passages), he decided to leave.
Turning, Henry grabbed the first rung of the ladder. As his foot lifted, he froze, for a glitching voice boomed behind him and stung his ears.
“W-why you’re…you’re not the usual g-guy!” shouted that metal wire abomination in the endless passages. “I…I-I saw you! You’re different!” Garbled laughter came, and Henry bit back a sigh, ignoring the pathetic creature. “Y-you’re the one running the party! O-oh, what f-fun!”
Rung by rung, he climbed.
“No! Where’re you go-going? We just me-met!”
He reached for the trapdoor, fingers brushing its cool metal.
“W-where are our- m…m-my kills?!” The sudden shriek of its voice made Henry flinch, and he couldn’t help risking a glance over his shoulder.
Long, metal fingers curled around the edge of the right vent. The shifting and grinding of wires scraped metal, and a glowing yellow eye flickered and twitched from shadow.
“Where d-did…you…p-put the children?” it hissed, followed by deeper, longer laughs.
“Patience.” Henry narrowed his eyes, then flung open the trapdoor. Last thing he heard before shutting it was a gravelly voice he knew far better. It was rotten now, rough and ragged, but he recognized it in an instant.
“Henry? Is that you? What is this? What are-”
The trapdoor shut, and Henry bolted it, then slammed his hands against it. His head dropped and glasses fell, skittering across the floor as he tried to steady sudden rushed, rasping breaths. There it was again—that burning anger, piercing and twisting his gut, all caused and urged by a deep, grasping, wrenching sorrow he could never escape. It lay over him like a heavy, sopping blanket, and he stayed on his knees for he didn’t know long. His mind remained a jumble, and his gut a swirling world of mixing emotions constantly trying to overtake each other.
Once he finally recovered, Henry felt around, till he found his glasses. He replaced them and straightened, looking upon the trapdoor with a dark glare. “Soon, old friend.” He headed back out, flashlight and keys reattaching to his belt. “You will learn soon enough.”
After a final round of the building, he stopped in the dining area. The colorful stages stood around, all pristine and happy, thanks to Michael. This place stood as a final location for the franchise, one last show of Henry’s work, before it all ended. It was like his final goodbye, in a way. One last restaurant, filled with animatronics he was certain Charlie would have loved to see.
He smiled in particular at the Security Puppet, who still let off a tinkling melody he knew well. Hand clasping to his chest, he let the tune sink in and swirl through his mind, while he headed for the exit. Each chime reminded him of his dear daughter. The final guest to this pizzeria. Soon, her torturous cycle would be over with.
He hummed along and grabbed the handles of the glass doors. The sound died in his throat, and he jolted back, making the doors rattle. His head whipped behind him, but he saw nothing. No, but there had to be something! In the glass, for a fleeting, startling moment, he knew he’d seen a child. A young blond boy, standing rigid in the middle of the room, staring after him. He hadn’t looked normal, however. Not one bit. The eyes had glowed, and he could have sworn he saw unnatural black liquid dripping off his pallid face.
“Hello?” Henry called. Only his own voice called back. He was no stranger to the supernatural, of course. He was aware of all the energy here, and had always suspected that everything already here would draw in other, more unexpected visitors. This had to be related to William’s deeds, but which child could it be? Through all his research, he was certain those poor five children from the old pizzeria had passed on. There were countless other victims, but none as active or even present as them, and those who were would be put to rest here.
“It’s alright if you’re here.” He walked farther in again. “If you can hear me, just know, all victims of that monster are welcome here.” No response. He clenched his jaw, wondering now if perhaps it’d been a trick of the light or his own mind.
But it looked so clear.
With a sigh, he turned to leave. There was so much going on in this building, and it would be gone soon, anyway. Whoever this child was would be at peace like the others.
This time, he didn’t even get to take a step. A whisper bounced through the room, difficult to understand at first, a whole whirlwind of hisses and indiscernible words. Shuddering, he whirled to look everywhere he could. He saw nothing, and in an instant, the voice had died down to nothing.
“Hello? I…I can’t…” Nervously, he adjusted his glasses. At this point, it was best to leave. But one more time, just for another moment, he lingered to see if anything else happened. After all, if this spirit was active enough to speak, he needed to know. No wildcards. Everything had to be perfect.
Thankfully, he got his wish. The voice came again, with less volume, but still like a breeze if someone didn’t listen closely. It echoed in and out, a young voice, one that sent chills trailing down his arms and spine.
“I know what you plan to do.”
Henry’s fingers curled. So this ghost was more aware than the others?
“Then you know you will be free,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, even as it wobbled. Never had he properly interacted with one of the ghosts like this, and it sent his heart pounding, till he heard it in his ears. “This will all be over. But please…keep this information to yourself. They are not to-”
“It can’t end. He can’t end!” The voice grew akin to a shrieking wind, sending Henry back a few steps. His back pressed against a glass door, and he inhaled to steel himself.
“I’m not going to argue with you. I have made up my mind, and it’s what is best for all of you.”
“Can’t. Can’t, can’t. Don’t! You won’t!” The lights flickered, despite the fact they were off. One of the speakers in the room glitched, playing garbled music, then fizzling out again.
He swallowed thickly. “Who are you?”
“You won’t. I need him; he must suffer.”
“He will.” Henry almost threw himself forward with the force of his words. “Trust me, he will. There is a very horrible place waiting for him, punishment for all he’s done. Everyone here will have peace, but he will know nothing but torment.”
There was no response. It sent more shivers trembling through his body.
“Hello?” he said, peering through the shadows of the dining area. “Are you still-”
“No. Not enough. Never enough.”
Exhaling, Henry rubbed a hand down his face. Exhaustion thrummed behind his eyes, while his gut burned with seething rage for the man he knew was roaming uselessly somewhere beneath his feet. Tired. So tired. How had he not accounted for whichever spirit was speaking to him? Would this murdered boy be the wrench in his plan?
“Why not?” Slowly, Henry lowered himself to sit on the floor. His bones ached, and he grunted, head falling to his hands while he tried rubbing away a headache that never seemed to leave fully. “Hell is the greatest punishment any man can face. And with the crimes he has committed? It will be a living nightmare.”
“But it will not be by my hands.” Shadows moved around him, and he lifted his head, watching a short silhouette pass over the wall beside him. A giggle sounded to his right, and he whipped his head in that direction. Still nothing. “I will be the one to bring his nightmare.”
He blinked, processing, fingers gripping his pantlegs. What did that even mean? Did this ghost plan to sabotage everything? Could he even?
The headache throbbed harder, and he rubbed an eye, a heavy, withering sigh gusting out. He’d accounted for everything. Every minute detail and possibility, and it had worked so flawlessly (not counting the various lawsuits Michael had to put up with.) Did he have the energy left to deal with another outlier?
Exhaling, slowly and agonizingly, he got back up. His body complained, but he ignored it, murmuring into the dark, not daring to look anywhere for fear of seeing that crying white face again, “Whatever you plan to do, spirit, I will not talk you out of it. I simply ask that you do not meddle with the fates of the other souls who must be put to rest. Not my daughter’s, not Michael’s, not mine; not any of them.” One last time, he turned to the doors and grabbed their handles, ready to leave. He wouldn’t come back until it was time for the end.
He half expected to not receive a reply, to have to research deeper once he got back home. Find out what he could do about a seemingly roaming spirit in the building, if anything.
A single word whispered behind him, directly, a cold breath touching the back of his neck. “Understood.”
Henry jumped and looked over his shoulder, but once more, all he saw was his last pizzeria.
After lingering a final time, he left, each step feeling numb and distant. He couldn’t register what just happened, but in the end, so long as it didn’t get in the way of their peace…then it did not matter. All he could do was send up a silent prayer for whoever this vengeful child was, and continue with his quest. Finally, doing something. Putting an end to these tragedies, like he should have done long ago.
He went to bed that night to the sound of a music box he’d rocked and soothed little Charlie to years and years go. Wouldn’t be long till he could hold her in his arms again…