“I read the rules,” he said, voice shaking. “I know you’re not supposed to look away.”
Leo exhaled—a broken, grateful sound—and laughed shakily. “See? Told you. Just books.”
Scrape.
Leo glanced at his closet. Door slightly ajar. He was sure he’d closed it.
From the dark corner of his room, a low, humming voice whispered: fnaf books read
And the soft, wet shuffle of something learning to read along.
He pulled the door open.
But fiction had teeth tonight. He could still see Charlie’s final moments in his mind—the rain, the rusty animatronic, the smile that wasn’t a smile. He could hear the faint echo of a music box that didn’t exist outside his memory of page 287.