Fazbear Frights #2: Fetch

Lonely Freddy

Alec launches a master plot to expose his golden sister for the spoiled brat he knows she is

Bad," Alec had always argued, was such a subjective word. With its very definition, it was determined by someone else's baseline. It was a word that served one purpose: to judge. And Alec had been judged his entire life.

His first memory was a decidedly terrible one. He was in preschool and bigger than the other kids. Recognizing this advantage at an early age, he found he could move to the front of any line with surprising ease. The other kids were glad to play the games he dictated, and he never had to look for a seat at the lunch table. It was only when his preschool teacher pulled him to the side on that first memorable day that Alec was made to understand that he was "bad."

"You're a bully," the teacher had said to him, a word he assumed was positive and smiled when she offered it. Instead of patting him on the shoulder like his mom would do when he ate his whole meal, the teacher shrank away from him in horror. In fact, it was that precise expression on his preschool teacher's face that Alec remembered most of all. More than the way the blue plastic chairs in the classroom would stick to the backs of his legs in summertime. More than the way a fresh box of unused crayons smelled under his nose. More than the way the canned peaches they served as snacks slid around on his tongue amid the sticky syrup and metallic aftertaste.

Alec didn't even remember his preschool teacher's name. He simply remembered her look of horror when he didn't understand that he was "bad."

As he grew older, Alec came to realize that "bad" was defined by comparison. And that was mostly a workable construct for Alec.

Until Hazel came along.

Hazel, who was named after a beloved grandmother Alec had never met.

Hazel, whose fine blonde ringlets were twisted up in stiff bows. Hazel, who slept through the entire night with nary a fuss.

Alec was named after no one. It was a compromise between the "Alexander"

his mom had wanted and the "Eric" his dad had lobbied for. Alec's curls were unruly, tamed with water from the tap and a wooden-backed brush. Alec's nights were cleaved by nightmares and bouts of loud wakefulness.

For the first five years of his life, Alec's behavior was more or less in constant search of the walls separating good from bad. After Hazel was born, Alec jumped the wall and landed in uncharted lands. He was not as easily tracked in this new space. He was "bad" sometimes, yes, but more often than not, he was boundless. He went undiscovered. It was in that space that "good"

and "bad" didn't exist. If there was no one guiding him to the boundaries—if there was no one watching—behavior, if anything, was an afterthought.

"Maybe don't single him out as often, Meg," Alec's aunt Gigi would say.

"Kids respond so much better to positive reinforcement."

Aunt Gigi had also suggested to Alec's mom in that same conversation that she switch to organic milk; the added hormones in regular dairy increased aggression in kids, according to some studies. Aunt Gigi had no children and no desire for any. Alec's mom was often in the mood for advice, and her older sister was always happy to give it.

"Gigi, it's not the milk," Alec's mom had argued. "They drink the same milk.

And he's not aggressive. He's just ... I don't know ... he's in his own world. It's like the rules don't apply to him."

"Well, then you know he'll be a leader when he's older. That's great!" Aunt Gigi had posited.

"Yeah," Alec's mom had said. "Maybe. I don't know. He doesn't seem to like other people much."