My Protector

Answers

Ken woke up on the ground. "Uh, what happened..." he muttered. Last he remembered, he had been in the gym for attendance. He checked his watch. Ten minutes had gone by since then. Ken shrugged it off, and clambered to his feet. Something caught his eye. Something in his hand. A sock puppet. Ken didn't know where it came from, and had never seen it before, but it seemed important somehow. Ken shoved it in his backpack, promising himself he'd look at it a little closer later. But for now, it was off to the library.

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"Andy Kleatus, 17, has gone missing. This young man was last seen at Bridgewood high this morning. If you have any information about the whereabouts of this or any missing person, call the number shown on your screen," the TV said. Ken watched, astonished. 'Didn't I see him after I left gym? I can't remember. But, if I did, then why was I passed out? It seems like thing just getting stranger and stranger.' Ken climbed the stairs and entered his room. He pulled the puppet out of his bag. It was weird. It's face was posed in a perpetual smile, but the blue streaks under its eyes looked like tears. Almost as if he was upset, but acting happy. It was creepy. For some reason, the dead gaze of the doll held Ken's. He couldn't bring himself to look away. Ken though he could hear voices. 'Save him'. 'Save them'. 'Help them'. Something snapped, and Ken threw the doll across the room. 'You can't' rung out, then it was quiet. Ken didn't move for a minute, breathing heavily. 'What is happening to me?' Ken asked himself, 'Why me?' But there was no obvious answer. 'Maybe if I find out who that man was, this will all start to make a little more sense.' Ken climbed in his car and began the drive to the police station. He mentally pictured the man's face. Short black hair and an unshaven face came to mind, along with the scar from eye to chin running diagonally down his face. Suddenly, an image of that man standing over four children, with another standing behind him, flashed in front of Ken's face. Ken swerved, startled. He pulled into the police station, heart racing. He took a minute to calm himself, then stepped into the blue building. "Hello how can I help you?" A hardworking, uninterested intern asked.
"I'm looking for any records on a man with black hair, scar across here, involved in an incident with four or five children?" Ken asked. The intern typed something into her computer.
"November 18th, 1987, at a place called... Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. That the one?"
Ken was a little stunned. This had happened at a Freddy's location before? Now that he thought about it, the kids in his vision where the right genders and wearing the right colors, even the boy behind him was wearing a golden shirt. "Yeah," Ken said dryly, "That's it."
"Twenty five dollars please."
Ken reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills and gave it to the woman.
"Thank you. It should print over there," she said, gesturing. Ken wordlessly walked over and picked up the paper.
"There's another one here, actually. Same guy, a few years before, at a 'Fredbear's Family Diner'. One child was stabbed to death."
Ken put another twenty five dollars on the counter and took both police reports out to his car. He drove home quickly and ran across the house locking himself in the bathroom and pouring over the pages he was clutching.