The Springtrap Saga Book Four: Darkness in the Stars

Chapter Six

Summary if You Did Not Read Chapter Five: Springtrap had a nightmare where the kids didn't love him anymore, and he was in a mental health hospital. The doctors at the end ended up being his abusive parents, even though they weren't doctors in real life.

The agonizing throbbing of the electric bolts impaling his brain ejects him from the nightmare. The world swarms in a clouded daze before his eyes. His hand immediately flies up to his head- intact. Nothing happened. He is safe.

     Well, safe as he can be, considering members of his family are mysteriously vanishing in the night.

     Night. It is only then he realizes shafts of watery sunlight are strewn across the room. The golden haze of the morning dusts the yard outside the window. He's so relieved, he could cry. The darkness has retreated behind the horizon. He can wake the kids and allow the decaying remains of his nightmare to evaporate.

     His face contorts into a wince at the sight of the jagged writing branded on the walls. Shame creeps into his heart. A sigh, leaden with weariness, pools from his voice box.

     Exhaustion drags at his legs as he forces them to guide him to one of the drawers situated in the desk. His fingers curl around the knob and tug the drawer from its nest. He lifts a paper off the stack and lays it to rest against the wood above. Then, his fingers pinch a Sharpie- the very same Sharpie that trembled in his hands last night- and slides it along the paper to form a string of dejected words:

Do Not Enter.

     Hesitation flutters at the edges of his thoughts. The edges of his mouth twist into a frown laced with doubt. The phrase seems hostile, as though trying to angrily dispel the people he loves most.

     The tip of the Sharpie roves over the sheet, and more letters curve over the flat expanse, garnishing the phrase with politeness.

Please Do Not Enter.

     His head droops into a nod, heavy with a concoction of satisfaction and desolation. He unwinds some tape from the cylindrical plastic embedded in its container and severs some bits from its translucent sheet. His hand molds around the handle that grooves out from the door. He presses down just enough to dislodge the mechanism and allow the wood to float inward. He slips into the hall and plasters the tape and paper to the door. His hands glide over the material to fortify the bond. Another sigh depletes him into a slumping husk.

     His eyes streak toward the kids' room. A smile, bogged down by a night strung with sadness, creases his mouth. A wisp of perkiness drifts back into his posture. Fondness glows in his chest and softens the tightness framing it. His long legs devour the ground in a short stride, and he is aligned with the frame carved into the wall.

     He drags his ears upright to hide any signs of sadness. He mustn't cause the children any more distress than they've already endured. He's the dad here, whether they see him as such or not. He has to be there to reassure them. And if that means putting his own wellbeing aside, that's the price he has to pay.

     His hand presses against the handle traced in silver. The door crawls past the carpet, being pushed out at a slow, cautious pace. He must be sure his entrance is gradual so he doesn't frighten anyone.

     The kids are submerged in slumber, the edges of their faces softened with bliss. He promptly pushes away a prickle of envy. He can't even remember the last time he had good dreams. Ever since he committed the atrocities in the pizzeria, he's been lost in a haze of nightmares every time he dips into sleep.

     Summer's eyelid cracks open. The blankets sag away and emit a muted rustle as she sits up. The sound rustles the other kids' ears and spurs them to rise as well. As soon as her gaze lands on him, delight splits her face into a smile. Her legs bundle into a run, and a quiet patter bounces from her bare feet as they brush the carpet. Her arms encircle him in a hug, and relief washes over him and sweeps away some of his anguish.