A Change in Fate

Chapter Three: The Stranger

     What's going on? Gregory could hardly think. These words felt clogged, barely there. Pain. That's all he felt. With a long groan, he moved around. Something shifted, an object covering him. A blanket? Opening his eyes, he blinked several times. It took him over a full minute to properly adjust his vision and grasp what happened. A new chill ran through his form at the memory of Funtime Freddy and Ballora. Now where was he? A bed, it seemed. He sat up, putting a hand against his throbbing head, where the sensation of a bandage met his fingertips. Gulping, he shifted his eyes around the room, examining everything he beheld. He sat in a normal-sized bed, tucked in the corner of what appeared to be a simple bedroom, with a dresser, closet, mirror, nightstand, desk, curtained windows, a few trinkets, some framed photos, and a post-it board loaded with papers and pictures, of which he couldn't make out in the shadows...alright, so perhaps not completely normal.

    "I'm...I'm in a house," he said, speaking quietly, for fear someone—or something—lurked nearby. After an animatronic's insides and a terrifying, pitch-black building he didn't even understand, this was surprisingly comforting. However, the sense of relief vanished quickly. He was in a stranger's house. He'd been caught. Sure, that was better than killed, but what could he do now? "Someone saved me," he said. "Did they take me to their house? That's kinda weird, I thought they would take me to a hospital or some sort of childcare thing to take me away." He gripped the blankets covering him. "No way. I'm not going back. I...I have to find a way out of here!"

    After letting himself properly recover for a minute or two, he threw the black blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. An overwhelming pang came from his left leg. He winced and cringed at the burn. "Oh, right," he said, voice strained. "I got hurt." He truly hoped it wasn't a bad injury. There was only one way to find out, though. Lifting his legs back to the mattress, he examined the bandages wrapped around the wound. They didn't go as far up or down his leg as he thought. Though in the midst of the petrifying moments of Ballora's attack, he thought her nails had dug through his flesh, all the way down from his knee to his ankle, it appeared it was only a small scratch in the middle of his back lower leg. That didn't mean he felt no pain though. In fact, it stung considerably. Biting down on his lip, he heaved himself to the floor. He pitched forward as he did and latched onto the nightstand, nearly tipping over the lamp. A few objects slid off it to the floor—some loose change, a pack of gum, and two worn-down pencils. He considered swiping the money, but remembering this person saved his life, he decided against the idea.

    Blowing his breath out through his nose, he forced himself away from the support. Though his leg throbbed, he could stand just fine. Relieved, he crept across the room to the far door. Be cautious, he thought. Just like when you're sneaking through a restaurant or shop. You got this. He gave a firm nod as he opened the door a crack and peeked out. That's right. I got this! He narrowed his eyes, flicking them around the area outside. A short hall stretched past him, and a few paces away, he spotted a large opening into what, from this length, looked like a living room. He spotted a television, anyway.

    Keeping low to the floor, Gregory snuck into the hall, and from there the living room. He stopped here and examined the area. Yes, definitely a living room. He saw a couch, the back of which faced him, several small tables, a sun-shaped clock, more framed photos, and a dining table, in the room directly connected to this living space. When he peeked around a nearby corner, he saw a kitchen. Nothing about this area screamed suspicious.

    With a hum of interest, he treaded over to three pictures hanging near the television. One looked like a family portrait, containing an adult, two children, and one teen. The girl beamed at the camera, holding both the boys' hands. The younger of the two smiled a bit, but his eyes lingered off to the side and held a forlorn look in them. The teenager also smiled at the camera, but not as enthusiastically as the shortest of the three, the girl. A man stood with them, one hand resting on the teen's shoulder. Gregory cocked his head, finding it odd and unnerving that this person's face was blotted out by what looked like someone's vigorous scribbling. Below it, hung two more photos—one a blurry picture of the same, two younger children having a water balloon fight, and the other of the teenager, with an incredibly grouchy expression, giving the young boy a piggyback ride as the girl clung to one of his legs and grinned from ear-to-ear.