That Time in 1987. . . . (A FNAF Fanfic) (#WATTYS2015)

Chica

 (WARNING: FEELS)

Jonathan led them all through the doors of the building. They couldn't escape him. They knew that. How would they get out of this?

Chica was absolutely worried about what would happen to them in this strange new place. At night, it seemed so creepy, as though pulled straight from a horror movie. When they got inside, that was when the real horror seemed to kick in.

It was all very dusty and ragged. It was a very small building, but nothing kept it from being any more creepy. The lights were all out and there were puddles littering the dusty floor. Chica shivered as Jonathan led them through, as silent as could be. Finally, they made it to a raised platform at the end of the room, almost like a stage. Jonathan stood up on it and used his power to raise Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy onto it. He smiled and turned back around, continuing his journey.

"Where are you taking us?" Foxy asked.

Jonathan laughed. "Oh, just an area for . . . mandatory testing."

Chica almost groaned aloud. More testing? She definitely thought that the simulations were enough for her brain to handle, but was she really going to have to complete another test? She kept her mouth shut and waited as Jonathan walked to a door behind the stage. He opened it and revealed what was inside. It was pitch black for a moment, but soon illuminated. It was a long hallway with many doors plastered to the sides. At the end of it, it was a dead end.

"Go in," Jonathan taunted with a smile. "I made it for you."

Chica took a deep breath and slowly hopped forward through the door, squinting against the agonizing light. Jonathan walked in front of her and pointed to the first door on the right. "Your room," he said, motioning for her to enter. With a deep breath, she blindly stepped through the door and into the room.

The walls were Victorian, giving an old feeling to the room. The carpet had been taken out, leaving a cold slab of cement for a floor. At the end of the room, there beckoned a white chair. She looked around for any other things in the room, but that was it.

"Sit on the chair and wait," Jonathan commanded. Chica glared at him, but turned back around and walked across the room slowly. She hadn't realized until now that the ropes that were on her feet were no longer burning into her ankles. She felt so free, but her wrists were still tied together.

With a loud slam! the door behind her was shut. Chica turned back around and looked at the chair. What was the chair for? She shivered and walked over to it, examining it. It looked like any chair, like the ones at school. It didn't seem harmless, but then she thought back to the painting. When she touched it, she was always sent into some horrible simulation.

Was that what she was here for? More simulations?

Chica held back, staring at the chair for a while, contemplating whether or not she should sit on it. It was so strange to her. It was just a chair, after all. What harm could it do?

What harm could a painting do?

Suddenly, the door behind her swung open and slammed shut, frightening her and sending her pulse high. She spun around and saw Jonathan walking in. She took a deep breath and sighed. It was only him.

"Sit down in the chair," Jonathan muttered to her. Chica was hesitant at first, but then sat down in it. Nothing around her changed. She almost smiled with the satisfaction of no simulation happening to her.

"Good," Jonathan said with a wide grin. "Now, stay right there while I get something. Do not move at all."

"Or else what?" Chica asked smugly.

Jonathan paused for a moment. It was the first time Chica had seen him with any type of emotion in his eyes that wasn't psychotic. What did she say wrong?

He sighed and walked up to the wall, placing his hand on it. At first, Chica thought it was some sort of emotional gesture, but to her surprise, a square in the wall spun around, revealing all sorts of tools and shiny things. Chica felt like she was swallowing a golf ball.

Jonathan reached into the cabinet and produced a syringe. Chica felt like she was a deflated balloon, nervousness shaking her body. She didn't move at all as Jonathan looked at her. He then sighed and took the syringe and put it into his own stomach. As he pulled the lever on the back of it, it started to fill up with a purple liquid. He shivered profusely as it happened, but then took the syringe out. Chica had the sudden idea that . . .

With a small laugh, Jonathan walked over to Chica, flashing the syringe in her face. "This, you do not touch, alright? Now . . . don't move—" Chica couldn't even shriek as his arm darted toward her neck. She felt the needle rubbing against her neck muscles as it went deeper in. She didn't really feel it, but it was mainly the soreness afterward that made her dizzy. She looked up at the single light on the ceilings, letting everything suddenly go blurry.

Black edged in toward the center of Chica's vision before everything went pitch black.

*****

Freddy.

Chica saw Freddy.

He was laying in his room, secretly calling 911 on his bed without his mother noticing. Chica instantly noticed that he didn't have his top hat on. His eyes sparkled with tears as he pleaded to the person on the other line: "Please, you have to save them! A man who is all . . . a color! He took my friends and took them somewhere!"

He paused for a moment before sobbing. "No, you have to believe me! I know it's crazy, I do! They really did go through simulations after touching a painting! Please, I'm being serious!" His next sentence was dotted with sobs. "You-have-to-help-me!"

He paused again, his face growing more and more somber. "NO! Please, save them! Save them! I don't know where they went, but we have to help them! Ple-e-e-ease!" Freddy put the phone from his ear and buried his head in his pillow, whimpering, "No, no, it's all my fault. I didn't save them. I would've . . . I could've . . ." Freddy put the phone back against his ear, letting the operator on the other end talk. Chica's own eyes were beginning to sting with tears. They had to believe Freddy. It was all true.

"I don't know what he looks like! I just know that he's a color! I know that it starts with a P . . ."

He paused for a moment before his face brightened up. "Purple! Yes! He's purple! You sound very annoyed, but please, help me save my friends! They could be in huge danger! They are in huge danger! PLEASE!" he screamed.

Chica wanted to run up to him and give him a hug. He really needed one, especially with the intense emotional state he was in. They had to help him or else Chica would most likely not be alive at the end of the entire charade. She screamed, "Freddy! We went south of town! Into an old building with a stage on it!" But her words died out as though she were screaming through soundproof glass. It was hopeless. He wouldn't get the message.

Freddy's face flooded with despair as he yelled, "NO! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME, I'M TELLING THE TRUTH! I KNOW I AM! WE NEED THE POLICE, WE NEED—"

He was interrupted by the person on the other line, his face drooping with even more sadness. Suddenly, he froze as he slowly lowered the phone. Tears flowing freely down his face, he barreled into his pillow and surrounded his head with the fluffy cloud, soaking it with his tears. He stayed that way for a while as Chica watched, horrified.

After around five minutes, he suddenly rose from the pillow, his expression completely changed. "If they won't help my friends . . . I guess I will."

Chica watched as Freddy walked through his room, putting on a jacket and fetching his top hat from his desk. He put on some shoes and a helmet as he walked out of the room. Chica wanted to sprint over to him, tell him to stop, but she couldn't interfere with what was happening. Soon blackness edged in on her vision and her real eyes opened. She jolted in the chair, breathing heavily.

Jonathan was on the other side of the room, looking at her with a smile.

He knew that Freddy was coming. And when Freddy did come, he would most likely be dead before he could even set a foot through the doors of this horrible trap.