shit.

I pulled the flashlight out of my bag. Will usually keeps his garage door unlocked. I fidget with the small, metallic button on the flashlight, blinking it on and off. The grass was tall and wilting. I don’t remember the last time he pulled his mower out of the garage. 

Garage, garage, garage…

I find the knob of the door, pushing it open. I click the flashlight on. The floor seemed freshly cleaned. It was kind of jarring with the difference between the outside and inside of his home. It was just about spotless in the garage, but the backyard was a completely different story. There’s something so wrong about the whole thing, something that nobody but me seemed to notice. Even his kids seemed to think this was normal. The hanging endoskeletons and constantly watching eyes. You know they don’t move, but it just feels like they do. It smelt of rotting flesh, something I had unwillingly been able to recognize. It was only the remains of that dog. I was always afraid it might’ve been something different, though. I had a reason to be paranoid. 

The door to the house was pushed open. I jumped, pointing the flashlight toward the door. His little girl, Elizabeth, also held some kind of light in her hand. I sighed and lowered the flashlight so as to not shine it in her eyes. In her little hands was a lighter, flicked on. The flame bounced around, coming scarily close to her thumb at some points. 

“Don’t tell Daddy about me and I won’t tell him about you,” Elizabeth said, holding the lighter out toward me like it was some kind of threat. I nodded, trying to come up with an excuse as to why I was there “I’m not supposed to be out here. He said it’s dangerous.” She held up her lighter, looking around at the many animatronics around her. 

“It is,” I move my beam of light toward the fridge, aware that there might be something inside. She giggled. It was so innocent that I almost started to cry. If I could take her away from here, bring her to live with Charlie and Ellie, then maybe it’d stay that way. “I mean that, Elizabeth. You shouldn’t be messing around with some of this stuff.” 

“You sound just like him.” That comment was a punch in the stomach. I turned, making note not to move the flashlight anywhere near her. Elizabeth’s back was turned, staring up at the hanging mess of limbs. “I don’t want to play with them. I just want to look.” I watch her stare at the machines. “He always says he made them for me,” she pouted. “He said he’d show me when I got a little older.”