"What do you remember, Mike? Just tell me what you remember."
It happened just yesterday, but five-year old Michael Schmidt did not remember. Nor did he want to. Whatever he did remember he could only see through a haze – a misty film. Colors had drained from his memory, but the pizzeria was such a colorful place. His mother said so that afternoon when they arrived, and Mike happily agreed. Now it was noon the next day, and Michael found himself in the most colorless room ever conceived. A lone light hung from above, swaying to its own beat. The walls were gray and dull. Across from the table Michael was seated at there was a one-way mirror. His mother was in the next room, probably watching him closely. He looked into his reflection's eyes then quickly looked away. Tears began to well.
The interrogator leaned closer. Mike could smell his breath. The smell was pungent, like the smell of the bottles that covered the kitchen counter sometimes. The man's tie was loosened and hung freely around his neck. The shirt he wore was wrinkled, his sleeves were dirty and his collar was turned up. The man looked like a mess. Mike tried to focus on him rather than what the man wanted.
"Mike? Still with me, sport?"
Mike looked up to the interrogator. He nodded slowly.
"I need you to tell me what you remember, kiddo. Alright?" He pulled out a small tape recorder and set it on the table. With the flick of his thumb he clicked it on. "Just tell me what you remember."
Mike inhaled deeply. He knew what the recorder meant and unlike the police in TV shows, the police always meant business. It was either tell them what he remembered or stay in the room forever. He didn't particularly like either option, but one was more in his favor than the other. Mike squirmed in his seat. The chair creaked with his movements.
"I got good grades. Three A's and two A minuses. I told Mommy I wanted to go to the new pizzeria. All the kids in school said it was, really fun. I was excited." Mike shifted again.
The interrogator gave a nod. He pulled up a chair and sat down. "Take your time, son," he said softly.
"There was a birthday party, going on in the back. I saw the kids. They were in the cove. I wanted to stay in the arcade. They had balloons there. Free." Mike looked at the man. "I like balloons."
"Did you take one?"
"Red. I got the red one." Mike looked at his sweaty palms. "Red's my favorite color. But now I don't like it."
"What happened next, Mike?"
"I heard something snap in the cove. There was a pile of little wires and a robot skeleton. The wires looked like colored snakes. And there was a face there. It was a fox head. The birthday boy looked at it. He just looked at it and, and, and it jumped. It bit him in the face! When it let go his head was, was exploded. Then, then, then there was blood, and screaming, and I don't know how but I got out."
"Your mom pulled you out. She's right in the next room if you need her." The interrogator leaned back in his chair. "Anything else you remember?"
"They all moved. All of them. They moved before but they were running this time."
"Did you see them take anyone?"
Mike looked up. "Huh?"
"Five kids went missing yesterday. All of them were in Freddy's pizzeria. Two were part of the party, and three were there playing games." The interrogator placed photos of the five different children on the table. Mike leaned over the table to see the photos. "Recognize any of them?"
After a moment of looking them over, Mike leaned back and shook his head.
The man sighed. "It was worth a shot. We'll find them eventually. They couldn't have gone far." He reached over and grabbed the tape recorder. "Thank you for your help, Mike."
"Can I go now?"
With a flick of his thumb the tape recorder clicked off.
This is going to be a short story. Most of it is just going to be a quick write - nothing too huge. And I know this doesn't really follow any popular theories of the FNAF community, but with the prequel out and a side addiction to Five Nights I decided to try my hand at something that isn't Mario.
Not my best work but meh. Just trying it out.
Criticism or not, all reviews are welcome!
- Great Mistake