[ Flipside - A DSaF Fanfic ]

[ Chapter 6 | Colored Cadavers Contend ]

    Jack flipped the keys in his hands, jingling loudly. He locked the door, tossed the spare to Scott's general area, and leaped through the already broken window. This time, instead of smashing his face into the concrete, he landed on his feet but then fell down due to lack of balance. He got up though. He held the keys like claws, a key between each finger. He needed to be prepared, because he was ninety-five percent sure it was Non-flipside Dave that had spooked Scott. 

      God, I really should get a better name for Non-flipside Dave...something shorter.

      Jack stumbled to his car, looking around him. He had forgotten to put the Freddy he salvaged He swore he could feel eyes on him as he got to his car. He heard a rustle, making him swing around. He expected a purple mangled corpse in a rotting rabbit suit, but all he saw was a mouse scampering across a chip bag. He sighed; he was just being paranoid. The image of the mutilated body in the dumpster was still burnt into his head, making him feel nauseous. He wondered if Dave were to get a hold of him, if he'd do the same thing to him. 

      No, He reasoned with himself he wouldn't. He probably hates me too much to give me the sweet release of death. 

      Jack drove for a while, looking at the stars in the dark sky. They seemed to follow him like eyes. 

      He had driven for a few hours now, the stars in the sky still watching him. He made a very short turn and drove into a parking lot. There was a building, boarded up and forgotten. But he hadn't forgot it. He'd never forget it. It was an old pizzeria, the one he found Peter and the one where he had to seal Dave in. The place looked as if no one wanted to be anywhere near it, tattered and spray painted. There was a For Sale sign in front, but who would want to buy this hellhole? He grabbed a crowbar he put in the trunk of his car and headed towards the building. He smashed the wood keeping the door shut with his crowbar, and then pried the door open.  The door screeched as it gave way, and finally, he could see what was inside.  

     The interior was oddly nostalgic for Jack, the place seeming to the same place he once knew. But the nostalgia was distorted and torn, like the walls of the place. He walked inside with his flashlight and crowbar, instead of just standing outside. All the doors inside were boarded up, the stage broken into splinters, and the merchandise shredded. Jack saw some wrappers on the floor, making him wonder if something, or someone, was living here. The old gift box that held the Mr. Tickles puppet was sealed up with chains, a lock on it as well. He walked farther into the pizzeria, towards the stage. The place got suddenly dimmer. Animatronics dragged themselves on the floor, their claws raking the floor as they crawled. Some animatronic didn't have legs, and others didn't have heads. Jack flinched, moving away from the metal freaks on the floor. They seemed to have been taken apart. 

      He picked up a foxy, who had its legs ripped off, and began to walk towards the exit. But something was wrong. The door was shut.

      Maybe it just shut on its own. Some kinds of doors do that. He reasoned with himself; he was trying to calm down. But then, when he went to try and open the door, it was locked. 

      He panicked, his heart racing. He put the fox down to the side. He tried again, and again, and again to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The door rattled but wouldn't even open an inch. He swung his crowbar at it a few times, out of frustration. He hissed out a swear, slamming his fist into the door, and then pulling his fist back. He had forgotten the door was made out of metal, which hurt to punch.

      "Heya, sportsy..." 

      He heard a familiar voice behind him, the voice causing a shiver to go down his spine. He spun around, holding his crowbar like a sword. In front of him was a decaying, purple corpse in a corroded rabbit springlock suit. Maggots squirmed through the purple man's eyes, weaving through them. The color of the suit was no longer the golden yellow it once was, but rather a mossy green. The suit also had splatters of crimson on it near the hands, blood. His skin was dotted with stitches, barely visible under the suit. The stitches were falling apart and torn, revealing the gray, rotting insides of the deranged man. The purple corpse grinned, an unnatural and twisted grin. The parts inside of the suit clank and clanged as he moved closer to Jack.