Uhmmmm just so y'all know I'm not lying, since this was seen last time.. here's the doc. I've spent 3+ years on it. Still unfinished. (Full link juuuust in case y'all are still skeptical đĽ˛)
So, SCP-055. Nobody can remember it when they leave, and can only describe it immediately after by the fact that it's "Not A Sphere." But.. I think there may a possible way to circumvent that.
There is, in the file, a record of a minimum of one staff member capable of remembering the existence of 55. Quote; "Recommendations: It may be worthwhile to post at least one staff member capable of remembering the existence of SCP-055 to each critical site."
Therefore, there is at least one staff member able to remember it exists, likely ~20 in total (given how many sites there are is unaccountable, it changes frequently but I can verify at least 20 active Sites.) So.. this thing isn't able to wipe everything about it.
Its files still exist, this we know. We just.. don't remember they exist. But what staff that leaves DOES remember is that, 1; it's not a sphere, 2; it's a self-keeping secret, and 3; that it's an anti-meme.
The evidence of its existence and form remains intact and quite easily accessible. Quote; "Individuals tasked with describing SCP-055 afterwards find their minds wandering and lose interest in the task; individuals tasked with sketching a copy of a photograph of SCP-055 are unable to remember what the photograph looks like, as are researchers overseeing these tests. Security personnel who have observed SCP-055 via closed-circuit television cameras emerge after a full shift exhausted and effectively amnesiac about the events of the previous hours."
So, what's the point? What can I possibly study and remember to understand what it is? Well, we already have quite a bit to go off of here. Get a staff member that remembers and have them go over the information we have in its files, I'm sure they'll come to the same conclusion I have---though, granted, my 'amnestic' isn't an amnestic at all, but rather solely my ADHD that will, inevitably, cause me to forget about this whole thing until I stumble upon my own post once again.
Well. We know it's an "Anti-Meme" and a "Self-keeping Secret," but.. what the hell does that even mean? Well, it means it's likely not a 'physical' object in the way we understand them. There are photographs, drawings and video feed, so it IS to an extent. There's a theory that it could be a remotely-controlled agent to infiltrate the foundation, but the reaction of study participants subsequent to leaving leaves no doubt that it's an anomalous object as well (unless it IS a remote-controlled agent that also subtly leaks or discreetly injects amnestics that can be triggered by the memory of it. Have we ever sent anyone in with a full-coverage impenetrable suit and/or a gas mask? One without prior contact with 55? Could be a number of things; maybe worth a try, bring up to âââââââââââ.)
We know it's self-classifying. Could it be a pattern that induces the amnestic-like symptoms? Because let's not misunderstand this; you CAN remember it. Vaguely. If someone brings up the fact it's definitely not a sphere, you'll remember it for a short time (SEE: Dr. Hughes personnel debrief in the SCP-055 original file) before you forget again.
Fuck. I can't remember what I was trying to get at. I genuinely can't. I had a point, I know I did, but I can't remember what it was. Man.. this sucks. Maybe I'll come back to this sometime in the future. Oh well.
Y'all I try really hard with the shit I write but I can never tell if it's any good; if you stumble across my stuff, all I want is your opinion. I seriously can't tell if anyone actually looks at my shit. This was so much easier on my last account, suddenly I have to work to be on y'all's feed. (â âĽâ ďšâ âĽâ )
Every Fae has something niche they collect. Old records, forgotten books or even lost toys. Your collection? Well⌠you definitely donât have to worry about someone wanting your thingsâŚ
"Unwanted." Such a relative perception of something's worth. It's completely unreliable, as the saying goes, "one man's trash is another man's treasure."
While the absence of the core item of my collection is unnoticeable to the vast majority of the human folk, I find so much value in it. They're very easy for me to find, as the Clumsy---as my people call them---have a tendency to just discard what they no longer want, or not notice the disappearance of that which they do not care about.
But that's fine by me. My collection consists of a small variety of stuff. Much like a raven, we Fey collect things we, individually, find pretty and profound. A bottle cap or the tab of a can; a very smooth, shiny rock next to a stream or a construction site.. we collect these things along with the niche of our main collection.
My friend Kofi, for instance, collects all manner of literature. From the most harrowing 'fantasy', to the bone-chilling horror, spicy romance, and everything in between. Gods only know if he actually reads any of them, but he has them just to have.
Another friend, Lilly, collects crystals. Amethyst, sunstone, opalite, Sun catchers.. if it's a pretty, clear or shiny colorful rock, Lilly has it. I must admit, it's very beautiful when they catch the light of the sun.
My collection, on the other hand, isn't exactly like their collections. It's not something the Clumsy also adore, or miss, or search for unless they absolutely need it. But to me, I can find no greater treasure.
I can use it to create whole worlds. Maps and stories, my own literature, or capture the likeness of my friends, or beings I've never seen before other than in my own head. Scenery and words. I go through them rather quickly, as I cannot find the source of their use, but I cherish every single one that passes through my grip, and don't even 'toss' them when they run empty. They have a special place in my keep.
My collection consists of that which there is not enough paper in the universe on which I could fully portray my love for, in imagery or linguistics; 'mechanical pencils.'
Grab your marshmallows or your hot dogs, or just sit.
Regardless, it's time to gather around.
Step into my domain, where the shadows writhe and few, if any, make it out alive. Now, enjoy your Night In The Woods.
They were called the Tall Manâs Woods, presumably because they were full of a good mix of taller treesânamely; Hemlock, Aspen, Ceder, as well as others such as Birch and Cottonwood. That, and thereâs an urban legend about a tall, faceless man that roams the woods, hunting anyone that trespasses. Of course, that was nonsense. Things like that donât exist in the real world. Plus, Peter has camped here dozens of times and nothingâs ever happened.
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The woods in Maxport, Wisconsin are always peaceful, in spite of being the center of numerous ghost stories and tall tales, giant creatures and disappearances and whatnot. Peter never bothered to verify any of this, but he didnât care much. Itâs home to his favorite camping spot, and they were just stories, anyway.
Peter is brought back to the present by a sudden pain in his foot. He yelps, jumping back. Cass, one of his friends, cackles. âThatâs what happens when you zone out, you dope!â She manages, picking up the cooler she had purposely dropped on his foot.
âIâve been trying to get your attention for a while!â She continues, nodding for him to follow her to their campsite. He frowns, rubbing over his shoe before standing up from where heâd crouched down. âYou didnât have to be so mean about that.â He grumbles as he follows her.
âYeah, but if I hadnât been, you wouldnât have come back to earth.â She dismisses, setting the cooler down between the tent Brett is setting up and the grill Leahâs lighting. Peter sighs begrudgingly. âYeah, whatever.â
Peter gets to work helping Brett set up as the sun dips over the horizon.
âThank goodness we got a spot before night.â Leah notes cheerfully, helping Cass pull the trout out of the cooler and set it on the grill.
âTell me about it!â Brett laughs lightheartedly. âWhoâda thought Cassâ car would just break down like that? Weâre lucky Pete was driving separately.â
Cass groans as she sits cross-legged in the grass. âI told you guys that my car probably wouldnât get us here!â She exclaims exasperatedly.
âUghâguys, Iâll be back in a minute, I gotta take a wizz.â Brett announces. Peter laughs and Leah scrunches up her face. âJust go!â She snarks as Brett laughs and turns to head into the trees, leaving Peter to set up the tent.
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The three of them sit just outside their newly constructed tent, chatting away and eating their fish. Outside, the moon is way up, the sky inky and black, but decorated with a beautiful spatter of stars. The June night is warm, with a very slight breeze, the clearing they sat in illuminated by the electric lantern theyâd brought.
After a while, a bout of silence falls over the trio. Which is when Peter realizes... where is Brett? Itâs been well over an hour by now, and he said he was just going to the bathroom.
Peter locks eyes with Leah, and her expression tells him sheâs having much the same thought. Cass looks between the two, one eyebrow lifting with confusion. âWhat? What is it?â
Glancing over at her, Peter frowns. âItâs... Brett.â He says. Cass doesnât look any less confused. â...What about him?â She inquires.
Leah sighs at her daftness. âHe left an hour ago to pee, and heâs not back yet.â She explains.
Cass looks surprised, and glances around the clearing like she hadnât noticed. Oblivious, Peter thinks to himself exasperatedly.
The three stand, picking the lantern up and approaching the treeline.
âBrett?!â Leah calls out, cupping her mouth to project her voice into the silent trees.
Thereâs no response.
âCome on.â Cass says, lifting the lantern and stepping forwards into the trees. The other two follow close behind.
Calling out periodically for their friend, the three walk further and further, until their camp fades from sight.
Realizing that they still havenât seen or heard anything since they left camp, they pause and listen for any indication of Brett. Cass holds the lantern out in every direction.
As theyâre staring through the darkness that surrounds them, everyones worst fear suddenly strikes; the light begins to flicker.. And then goes out leaving them in total darkness.
âNo... no, no no no...â Leah gasps while Cass desperately smacks her palm against the battery compartment.
It flickers dimly to life one final time before plunging the trio into darkness once more.
Groaning, Peter looks over to where the two were. âLeah... you had the spares, right?â He asks. Silence meets him, and his heart sinks. â...Leah...?â He prompts again.
He hears the grass shift with weight, and a small voice replies. â...No...â Leah whispers. âWhat do you mean âNOâ?!â Cass almost shrieks frantically.
âWe left in such a hurry, I didnât even think⌠I mean, I didnât realize⌠I didnât know weâd need them!â Leah exclaims defensively.
âThis isnât worth fighting over, you two.â Peter sighs, scanning the darkness. âWhatâs done is done..â
âBesides, we have bigger problems now.â he continues, turning to glance behind him, âSo unless one of you knows how to get back to the campsite from here, weâre kind of stuck where we are until we figure something out or dawn comes.â
Cass gives him a look out of the corner of her eyes. âWhat do you mean?â She asks, âwe canât have gone more than ten feet away from camp.â
âNo weâre way further than that!â Peter insists. As Cass sighs aggravatedly, the trio turns and realizes..
Theyâre now in the middle of a clearing.
Peter turns his head in every direction in stunned confusion. They had just been surrounded by trees, where the hell are they now?!
Above them the sky has come into view, casting moonlight all around them and illuminating their immediate surroundings.
â..Guys?â Leah pipes up, her voice tiny and scared.
âYeah?â Peter and Cass respond in unison.
â..What.. what animal makes those tracks..?â Leah asks.
âWhat tracks?â Peter inquires, turning quickly to Leah and following her gaze.
In the middle of the clearing is a small patch of dirt. Imprinted in the dirt were large tracks, but neither Peter, nor Cass, recognized them.
The tracks were elongated, like that of a plantigrade. Though, they were too thin to be that of a bear, and too large to be a reptile or amphibian, as well as any other mammals.
The main issue is that they were also too big to be human, and they have sharp indents past the toes, indicating claws of some kind.
âWhat do you think it is?â Cass asks quietly, breaking the silence.
Peter shakes his head. âNo idea.â
âI donât know, either.â Leah squeaks.
Behind the group, the grass rustles and a branch snaps. They turn, but upon seeing nothing in the treeline, they instinctively shift their gazes upwards, and by the illumination of the full moon...
What... what is that?!
Peter could barely even register the sight. Behind him, Cass screams and Leah retches into the grass.
Well... thereâs Brett.
He sits motionless above their heads, body limp. His eyes were wide open, but unseeing and glassy, staring down at the ground. One streak of crimson trails down his chin.
He hangs impaled through the chest on a branch. His stomach is torn open, intestines strung up on the leafy canopy like a grotesque mockery of party bunting.
Brett groans. No... no, no...! Heâs... still alive?!
Peters head swivels at the sudden sound of pounding footsteps, catching just a glimpse of Cass and Leahâs backs as they scramble to get away from the horrific scene.
Moving before he could think, Peter starts running as well. Whether heâs following the others or not, he couldnât tell.
Panic clouds his mind, all logic flying right out the window. His feet hit the ground irregularly, the force sending small shocks up his calves.
Peters lungs burn, arms pumping and reaching to push off of the passing branches and tree trunks.
Looking up, time slows for his eyes. He sees Cass and Leah ahead of him. Something dark leaps down from the branches above, knocking down Cass and pinning her to the overgrown grass.
Leah doesnât stop, or even slowânot as Cass falls, not as the forgotten lantern tumbles to the ground and cracks on a stone, nothing. She barely even looks back.
Cass screams. Peter could only watch as the scream is cut short, a flash of grey clawed hands peek out from black hoodie sleeves as they grab Cass by the jaw and pull.
The sound of the scream dying instantly is minor under the far more prominent and revolting sound of tearing flesh.
Cassâs body immediately goes limp beneath the figureâon which Peter could now see a blue maskâwho now holds the head and still-attached spine of Cass.
Peter turns and runs the opposite direction. His stomach churns, but he doesnât stop. He canât. Or he would be next.
Stumbling suddenly backwards, heâs confused by what heâd just run into. There hadnât been a tree there... Of that heâs certain.
Looking up to see what heâd just run into, he finds himself face-to-face with... what... What even is that thing?!
Whatever it is, itâs almost as tall as the trees. Its form is humanoid, but stretched high and itâs wearing a dark suit and tie. And, worst of all, looming over his minutely quaking form at probably fourteen feet tall, is...
Itâs... certainly a head... but, itâs empty and paper-white, completely devoid of both color and facial features. Black tendrils of writhing shadow extend from the things back.
The monstrous thing extends a pale, bony hand towards him. But, Peter doesnât stay still long enough to find out what itâs doing.
Peter stumbles backwards, his brain screaming at him to get away from that thing, and yet he couldnât tear his eyes away from the faceless entity.
He watchesâeven as his body tries desperately to get awayâas the thing begins to lower its jaw, colorless skin tearing where the mouth should have been, revealing a void within. A symbolâa circle with an X through itâglows white in the darkness.
A scream builds in Peters throat, but refuses to escape his lips as he stares.
Somewhere in the distance, Leah screams, though the sound also cuts off sharply. Still, he stares. Why canât he move?
As the things hand nears Peters face, his mind races. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the thing vanishes, and he abruptly finds himself in control of his body once again.
Peter, slightly dazed from the intense whirl of emotions of the evening, continues to stare at the now-empty space. Finally, he starts to turn in a slow circle, scanning the trees to make sure the thing is truly gone.
He doesnât see it anywhere, thank god. However, as he turns to observe the space behind him, Peter finds himself gazing up at an old log cabin. One window is shattered, and everything is worn down and overgrown.
A thin layer of grey dust coats the floor of the porch. It seems that itâs entirely uninhabited, and has been for quite a while.
Behind him, the bushes rustle, reminding Peter of the danger heâs in. Barely even giving it a thought, he tiptoes into the cabin.
Inside is surprisingly well-kept and clearly lived-in, except for the layer of undisturbed dust on the floor without so much as a shoeprint. Whatâs most baffling, though; the shattered window isnât broken in the least bit from the inside.
Peter casts his gaze around the cabins sitting room. Itâs weirdly pristine, with a kept dark green corduroy couch and a low, black coffee table littered with dirty ashtrays and empty whiskey bottles.
Peters confusion is instantly shot down at the wave of fear that washes over him as he hears three sets of heavy boots step up onto the front porch. âGuys. We have an uninvited guest.â A gruff, low voice observes just outside. Shoot!!
Peterâs gaze snaps frantically around and spots the backdoor just by the small open-concept kitchen. But, unfortunately, he could instantly tell that that optionâs a no-go, given the fact that it was completely boarded up.
Upon further observation, he sees that every single window in the place is also being kept shut via crooked nails that have been hammered into the boards.
Seeing that he also couldnât leave the way he came in on account of whoever was outside, the only other way he can go is further into the house.
As he creeps down the branching hall, he takes stock of how many rooms are in here. Five. Hearing the cabins front door creak open behind him, he ducks inro a random door, crossing his fingers that it isnât a bathroom.
Closing the door quietly behind himself, Peterâs relieved to find himself in a bedroom. There are two twin-sized beds with simple blankets and wooden frames in the corners diagonal to each other.
Against the far wall, between two windows, sits a bookshelf with an assortment of books and other knicknacks. At the foot of one bed was a table covered in eight-millemeter cassette tapes, more whiskey bottles, another ashtray, and a number of bottles for prescription pills.
At the foot of the other bed sits a wooden desk, riddled with papers, most with crazed scribbles, as well as holding a laptop that was partially closed and a camcorder that sits next to the wall. The spare space in the room is filled with a haphazardly placed wardrobe.
Peter hears the three sets of boots step slowly down the hallway. One was humming. Periodically, another would give a sharp whistle or a loud click. The third was completely silent as they near.
His gaze snaps to the windows. One was lifted a crack, letting in the cool midnight breeze. A surge of hope fills his chest, and he hurries over to it.
Pushing it up the rest of the way, Peter shifts onto his tippie toes and tries to push himself up onto the ledge. Now with his chest pressed to the sill, he realizes that getting out this way would take far too long.
The doorknob starts to turn, and he lurches away from the open window. Without pausing to thinkâbecause the door is starting to openâhe ducks into the first spot he sees; under the nearest bed.
The door finally opens as he presses himself as close to the walls as he can get. His vision is restricted as he presses a hand tight over his nose and mouth to quiet his ragged breathing.
From the gap beneath the bed frame, Peter sees the boots of the three men walk into the room. They linger in the open door, before sauntering in with casual strides.
One steps over to the wardrobe, and Peter hears it open. That man grunts upon seeing nobody. The other goes to the window, letting out a sharp whistle as he observes the outside, proceeding to give a cheery âN-nope!â
The one still lingering in the door doesnât move as far as Peter can see. They donât say anything, either.
Before he could process anything, Peter spots one of the boot pairs standing right next to the bed he was under. Wordlessly, the person drops to their stomach, and Peter finds himself face-to-masked-face with an external mouthguard, orange goggles, and fluffy but wild chestnut brown hair.
The man makes eye contact with him, and giggles as he shoots out a gloved hand, grabbing Peter by the bicep and pulling him out from under the bed, forcing him to his feet.
The other two in the room are also men, one with a yellow hoodie and black mask with a painted red frown. The other, a man wearing a beige jacket with short brown hair, the bangs of which barely fall over the white mask with black detailed lips, eyebrows and eyehole rims that he had adorned over his face.
âLookie what I found under olâ Maskyâs bed!â Sing-songs the man holding Peter in place. Peter notices the two hatchets hanging from holsters on his beltâone is nearly pristine, the other old and chipped.
The one in the hoodie remains silent, while the white masked one grunts noncommittally. âWhatever,â he says, âjust kill him in not our bedroom, Tobe.â
The one holding Peterâpresumably âTobyââgasps eagerly. His head snaps off to the side abruptly, cracking his neck before it returns to face the other men.
âReally?â He eagerly asks. The white masked one just grunts again, and they turn to leave. Toby quickly drags Peter out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.
He takes him behind the cabin as Peter trembles, Toby ticcing every-so often. Finally, Toby pushes Peter onto the ground and sits casually on his chest, humming.
âHey,â Toby chirps, âI really like your eyes. Can I keep them after?â He asks it so innocently, but Peter can barely hear him over his own racing heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Above him, Toby just shrugs, puling his sharp hatchet from its holster. Without even a moments hesitation, he lifts it, and swings down.
Peter manages to swing a hand up, just in time, but the blade severs it clean and quick, sending a flash of white-hot pain shooting up his arm. The hand falls to the grass beside his head, and he screams as crimson spurts from the wound.
Toby sighs, as though annoyed by the mishap. He grabs the stump and holds it down off to the side. âNo, no, that wonât do.â Toby tuts. âYou gotta stay still so I can properly cut off your head!â He continues chidingly, like he were speaking to a misbehaving child and not a grown man that was writhing in pain underneath him.
Helpless, tears fill Peters eyes. He can only watch in detached horror as Toby lines the blade up with his jugular, once again lifting it above his head, and bringing it down.
Soooo I WANTED to draw yaoi, but ended up drawing Hobie Brown instead.. but, it actually came out REALLY well, I think. I'm proud of it. ââ (â ´â ăźâ ď˝â )â â
Dude I'm bored and no one's really seen or seems interested in my other posts so far, so enjoy my art bc I'm a multi-medium storyteller and like doodling my characters && personas or whatever I'm currently thinking about.
The following documents regarding Case N༰ 1079 were retrieved from the lead staff at Silver Birch Psychiatric Care Facility. They are currently in possession of the Lyceum Detective Agency of Arcfast, Texas. These files are confidential, belonging to and accessed strictly by the agency; viewing of these files outside of the organization is prohibited.
PATIENT STATEMENT REPORT
Patient #: 1070
Case file #: 4195
Date: 5/12/2020 13:45 (1:45 MST)
Location: Silver Lake Psychiatric Hospital, Silver Lake, Idaho, USA (82516)
Leading faculty: Dr. Marleen Garrard
Statement Given by: Sebastian Moran
Information received from Patient? Yes No
STATEMENT START
Two years ago, or somewhere thereabout, Karl Pattington (Patient 1070) had a friend named Timothy Ward, more commonly known as âMothâ by his peers.
IâNurse Sebastian Moranâ have asked Karl to tell me what he remembers about the events leading up to his family perishing in a house fire that he is under suspicion of causing.
On the day of December 6th, 2019, Moth failed to show up to school. Karl presumed he was sick, and hoped he would get better soon so they might hangout again. Karl adamantly states that they had been best friends.
Moth didnât return to school for the next 2 weeks.
Karl, reportedly having been concerned for his âbest friendâ at the time, claims to have visited his house âto check up on himâ.
Patient Claims;
âI walked up to the house, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance, both of their cars were even there. So, I just walked up to the front door and knocked. I didnât get a response, so I tried the knob, but it was locked. So I walked around to try the back door, but then remembered that I knew where their spare key was, so I just walked the rest of the way around the house until I was back in front of the front door. A full circle. (Laugh)
âSo, I moved the pot beside the door and picked up the key, unlocked and opened the door. The hinges creaked, and I remember thinking âMan, they should use WD-40 on these things.â But when I walked into the living room, nothing was different, it was the exact same as it had been the last time I had been over two weeks beforehand, even our half-eaten sandwiches were still sitting out on the coffee table, though they were rotten by then.
I thought it was weird, but just kinda brushed it off. I figured they may have gone on a spontaneous vacation, but that didnât sit right with me. Moth would have told me, even if it WAS spontaneous.
âAnyway, so I walked through the living room to the kitchen, but no one was there, either. So I walked back and went upstairs to the upper hallway. All of the doors were open.
So, I walked down the hallway, looking inside all of the doors. They werenât empty, per say, but there wasnât anything in them that shouldnât have been there, yâknow?
âI was looking inside the last room when I got scared by a loud sound behind me. I remember spinning around really fastâfaster than I think Iâve ever spun before.
But it was just their calico cat, Honey. I remember it looking up at me with its big, green eyes, then meowing and trotting off. It almost gave me a f[Censored] heart attack.
âAnyway, I walked back down the hall and checked the bathroom, which was, unsurprisingly, empty. So, I walked back down to the living room, then down to the lower level.
I wouldnât really call it a basement, yâknow how some fancier houses nowadays have a lower level with more bedrooms ânâ stuff? Yeah, it was one of those.
âSo I entered the lower level, into theâwhat, it was kind of like a second living room, I guess? Yeah. So, I entered the second living room kinda thing. It was ALSO empty. There was another hallway, so I decided to look in it. All the doors, this time, were closed. Really creeped me the f[Censored] out, yâknow?
So, I walk down the hall, opening all the doors and looking into the rooms. These ones were ACTUALLY empty, no furniture or anything. So I walked back and realized I had absolutely bypassed the broom closet, âcause, yâknow, itâs a broom closet, why would an entire family hide in there?
âI tried the knob, but it was locked from the inside. I figured that MIGHT have been where their pet Gerbilânamed âDustyâ, funnily enoughâhad disappeared to.
So I went back to the stairs. You know how, when you start climbing a staircase, you kinda look down at your feet to make sure you donât fall flat on your face and break your nose? Yeah, so I was looking down for the first step.
âWhen I finally looked back up, I THOUGHT I saw movement. I just blamed it on the cat, the one I had seen earlier. Seemed the most logical to me, at the time, at least.
So, standing in the main living room, I cupped my mouth and called out; âMOTH! MRS. WARD! MR. WARD? ARE YOU GUYS REALLY NOT HERE?â
âI didnât get a response, so I figured, âYeah, they really arenât here.â So, I went back to the front door and walked out onto the step, locking and closing the door behind me. I replaced the key under the potted plant and turned, jogging back to the sidewalk.
But, when I got there, I looked back at the house. I canât exactly remember WHY, itâs just kinda one of those things you do when youâre worried, I guess. So I looked back at the house, but.. It was gone.
âAnd not like, disappeared, like, it wasnât even a house anymore, it was a mass of burnt wreckage. It even still smelled like smoke. So I just kind of stared, âcause, yâknow, I was JUST inside that building.
No, no, Nurse Moran, donât give me that look! Câmon, just let me finish, and THEN you can judge me all ya want, okay?
Okay.
âSo, I stared at the burnt remains of the house, and that was when I saw it. Up at the top of the dead Western redcedarâNo, I DO know for a fact it was a Western Redcedar, I was studying Botany outside of school, plus, Mothâs Dad had been super excited about itâso, anyway, Up at the top of the tree was a vague shape.
But... It looked like it had something feathery, or fluffy, coming out of the top of its head, and large wing-like shapes behind it. And I could DEFINITELY see its eyes. Couldnât miss âem. They were big and white.. And seemed to glow. The rest of the thing, though, was just a silhouette.
âI remember it VIVIDLY. I saw it, and then, like, a half second later, it was just gone. I s[Censored] you not, it was. just. GONE. And not like the house was, oh, no no no no, the tree didnât spontaneously burn down, I just blinked in surprise, and the thing wasnât there anymore.
So, like, obviously I freaked out, but then I tried to convince myself that it was just shock. I wish I had been right. Anyway, after it disappeared, I just kinda turned and walked down the sidewalk, back home.
âNothing else happened until the next day. Yeah, Friday the Twenty-first. I remember having asked my teacherâSawyer Winkowski, the Astronomy teacher. Though, for me and Moth, he was our shared Homeroom teacher. Cool dude.
Anyway, I remember going up to him and asking, âHey, hey, uh, did you- do you know what happened to Mothâs house?â And he just kinda looked at me, and thatâf[Censored], that face.. It was the face people give you when you said something absurd and they feel bad for you, kinda the sad, squinty eyes and the frown, yâknow?
âSo, I asked him if he knew what had happened, and he just gave me that look, but he DID end up responding. He said, âYou didnât hear? His house burnt down with him and his family inside it two weeks ago.â..
And I just.. I just kinda stood there, dumbfounded. Like, I just found out my BEST FRIEND had died in a fire, and I didnât know. How could I not know?!
âBest friends for EIGHT. F[Censored] YEARS, weâre practically close enough for telepathy, and I DIDNâT EVEN KNOW WHEN HE GOT INTO A F[Censored] HOUSE FIRE!! HOW COULD I NOT F[Censored] KNOW?!
NOT A FEELING, NO NEWS OUTLETS, NOTHING! GODF[Censored]D[Censored]!! WHAT KIND OF FAILURE OF A F[Censored] FRIEND AM I?!
âSorry. Side rant. Any- I know, I know you said itâs healthy to be frustrated, but I still.. Yeah. Nevermind. Let me continue, please.
So, school went by really fast that dayâI donât even remember anything else. I guess only the really.. UNNATURAL things stayed in my mind, but I think thatâs only because it was really scary to me.
âAnyway, the next part happened after I got home. I had gotten to my house and, after saying hi to my family, who were all in the living room doing whatever, I went to my bedroom and set my backpack down. I wasnât in the mood to do homeworkâer, to do ANYTHING, really, I was probably going to take a nap, I canât really remember.
So, I had set my backpack down. I turned to sit on my bed, and I freaked out, because, like, there was a note on my bedside table! So I went over and picked it up, and I was like, âwhat the hell?â So I opened it, and read it, because, like, what else was I supposed to do?
âThe note raised the hair on the back of my neck AND my arms! It only had four words, but it scared the s[Censored] outta me. All it said was âDo you feel guilty?â And I was like, âGuilty? Why the hell would I feel guilty? For what?â And then, I s[Censored] you not, something tapped on my window.
My bedroom was on the SECOND floor, so I was rightfully freaked out. I had gone over and drawn the curtains away from the windowâonly SLIGHTLY, though, I may be stupid, but Iâm not an idiotâand there was NOTHING there.
âWhen I turned around again, there was ANOTHER note on my bedside table. I freaked outâagainâbut opened it. It was more cryptic s[Censored]. âWe trusted you. Why did you do it?â I think that was when I started to get super jumpy.
I had felt something brush against my back, and I remember my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth, and I whirled around. IT WAS THE F[Censored] CALICO.
âWhat really got me, though, was not only that it was the f[Censored] cat, but that it was gone the next second! Full-on GONE, vanished into thin air, abracadabraâd out of existence.
And, WOULDNâT YOU KNOW IT, riiiiight behind me, on my f[Censored] bedside table, WAS ANOTHER. F[Censored]. NOTE. I WAS ABO- F[Censored], s[Censored], crap, sorry, sorry, I shouldnât shout, I know, I know, Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to get so worked up. Iâll get back on track.
âAnyway, as I was saying, there was another note. I opened up the new note, and it was also four words. âYou forgot, didnât you?â And I got more panicked, and really confused. What had I forgotten?
I couldnât take it anymore, so I had taken all three notes. I was a f[Censored] kid. I needed my familyâs help. I took the notes and ran downstairs to get my Mom, or my Dad. But..
âBut.. when I got downstairs.. To the living room.. They were all.. g-.. dead.. and.. and all that remained were their burnt corpses, remnants of their clothes and bits of hair, their jaws gaping open. It was too much. Way too much.
I ran to the kitchen, I knew I needed to call emergency services. So I had picked up the phone and dialed 911. It rung twice, and then picked up. The conversation went a bit like this;
ââHello??ââ
ââ(Heavy breathing)ââ
ââH-hello?! Is this 911?!ââ
ââ(Heavy breathing) ...Why did you do it?ââ
ââDoâd-do what? What did I do?!ââ
ââYou donât remember? You did it to me. To my family.ââ
ââI didnât do anything!ââ
ââ(Heavy breathing)ââ
âAfter that, I hung up the phone and ran out onto the sidewalk in a panic. When I looked back at my house...the whole thing was on fire. I stood there and stared. I didnât even notice the sirens coming from down the street.
And in one of the windows, I swear, I saw those same big, glowing white eyes.â
The medical report from the physical and mental evaluation following Karls immediate incarceration state that he is predominantly sound of mind and body, though he did seem moderately paranoid and on-edge.
Though, I, Nurse Sebastian Moran, think that it is intriguing to note some reports of those occupying the rooms surrounding his compartment. Ever since Patient 1070âs arrival, others around him have noted the distinct smell of smoke that appears to âfollow him around,â and the same people have also commented on a âshadow, bigger than Karlâs, with something seeming to feather from the top of the head, and large wing-like shapes behind the silhouette that drag the ground, along with big, seemingly glowing white eyesâ.
Whether these reports are factual, or part of a mass-hysteria induced group schizophrenic episode stemming from Karl sharing his story, is currently unknown. We at Silver Lake Psychiatric Hospital intend on discovering the answer.
Soooo.. I wrote this as an explanation for how I think the FNAF game timeline started for William.. and my hands just wouldn't stop moving. So. Uh. I guess this is part 1, because I haven't finished it.. so.. Enjoy.. my accidental fanfiction.
The year is 1983. Itâs the day of Williamâs youngest childs birthday party. CC had always been a sensitive child, and was increasingly frightened leading up to this day, but William worked hard to make it good. He worked so hard, in fact, that he had to stay home to sleep because of late-nights. Either that, or he was still really busy working.
Either which way, he couldnât be present at the party. So, while he was away, he leaves Michael in charge because he was the older brother. But, Michael and his friends play a mean-spirited prank on the birthday boy, accidentally fatally wounding him in the process.
William only found out when he got the call from the hospital. He rushed over. His son was still aliveâbarely, but thank godâbut unconscious. He wouldnât be able to continue on like this, of that William was certain.
So, he makes a vow, soft-spoken and alone in the room with his son who he couldnât even be certain would open his eyes ever again. âI will put you back together.â And he meant it. By any means necessary.
Williamâthough still sort of blaming Michael for itâmainly blames Henry for CCs death, because it was a lack of safety features on HIS animatronic that ultimately killed him AND closed his dream business.
So, he goes to the solution when everything goes down the drain; he turns to alchohol. One day, after drinking way too much again, he gets kicked from the barâa regular occurrence for him at JRsâand drives himself home, drunk, and tries to go to his recently go-to emotional punching bag; Michael.
Michael has fled his bedroom through the window, however, so Williamâstill drunk and furiousâdrives over to where he suspects he ran off to; he and Henryâs second try at a pizzeria.
Parked outside the back entrance, however, he finds something else there. Charlotte, and her friend Cassidy. So, drunk and furious and still hating Henry, he decides that this was the perfect revenge. An eye for an eye, after all. So.. he kills them both. Then and there. He sobers up upon seeing the blood on his hands, though. He picks up Cassidy first, given she was closest to him, and turns to go through a side employee-access only door into the back room.
Nobody could know what he had done. But where would he hide the body? As he scurries into the parts and service room, his eyes fall to the solution. The unused Fredbear suit. The one that had killed his son.
His stomach churns slightly, but regardless, he sets the body down and opens the chest cavity, carefully winding the springlocks back before placing Cassidyâs corpse into it.
He seals it back up, stands, and turns to go get Charlotte. When he gets back to the rainy alley, however.. Charlieâs body was gone. There was no evidence of her anywhere, the rain having washed blood into the sewer grate. But there was no body, either.
Things went downhill from there. He lost that restaurant, but.. he had to persevere. He had made a promise to his deceased son, after all. He would put him back together. So, he had been doing some research. Found some guy named Phineas Taggart, who was a scientist studying Parapsychology, more specifically what 'haunts' things, or causes them to be possessed.
This is it, he thinks, this is the answer. This will bring my son back to me. At the time, Phineas specialized in a very specific area; something called Remnant. It required a consciousness from the dead to take up residence inside inanimate metal.
Remnant, as explained to William, was like âhaunted metalâ. Mixing the tangible with the intangible, memory with the present. (Stitchwraith StingersâPrankster, Fazbear Frights #11)
In other words.. It was exactly what William needed. So, he learns what he can from Taggart, meanwhile trying to restart his business. He needed it back; after all, remnant from children was the most potent, given their innocence and amount of life they would have ahead of them.
When heâd gotten all he needed from the scientist, he starts to do his own experiments. He takes his iconic suit from out of the safe room, donning it to lure some snot-nosed little kid back with him. It worksâobviously, children are naiveâand he stabs it to death. Unfortunatly for the kid, it was excruciatingly slow.
He thought about it before, obviouslyâhow to get the remnant into the metal. He planned ahead. He was a roboticist, after all, it wouldnât be strange for him to have unused mascots in the back. So, he grabs a prototype Toy Bonnieâendoskeleton and allâand places the body inside.
He almost got his hand removed, though. It was still a prototypeâit still used the Springlocks of his businessâ glory days. That would be a problem, given it spilled more blood over the outside of the suit.. He could fix that issue later.
Over the coming nightsâwhen he had the restaurant to himselfâhe especially monitored the prototype. Nothing happened with it on the first night. But then, on the second, dark particles appeared around the costume.
Finally, on the third night, in the shadowy corner of the open-air security office, he saw the shape of the prototype. But the suit was still in the back room. And.. the form was completely void of all light, except for the eyes and teeth, which glowed white. (RWQFSFASXC)
It was just staring at him, he could feel the loathing that exuded from it. A being of pure malice, of hatred, materialized from darkness.
That wasnât supposed to happen. It was nothing like heâd learned from Dr. Taggart. It was supposed to be confined to the metal of the endoskeleton. So, he goes back to the suit and grabs the syringe heâd been given specifically for remnant.
He extracts the remnant as best he could. But it was wrong. It was viscous and black, and wrong. It wasnât supposed to look like that. And it especially wasnât supposed to be darkâit had always been told to him that good, clean, usable remnant was similar to a bubbling, liquid mercury, a light metal.
So, the next day, when the restaurant was packed again, he lures away another kid, a lonlier one that lingered just outside the activities. Perfect. This one was also a slow death, but this time he puts the kid in an especially old prototype Fredbear mascot to saturateâa suit with a missing ear, mostly detached jaw, and bundles of exposed wires.
Not the same Fredbear as the other two bodies, of course. The one that Henry had made afterwards, when theyâd tried to boot up Fredbearâs Family Diner again. It hadnât worked out, unfortunately. But the suit would finally be useful for once.
He waits. Second night, again, there were the dark particles. Orbs, with the blur of a glow but devoid of the light. The next night, he saw the dark rabbit again. The main animatronicsâthe ones displayed on-stageâroamed the halls, wandering in and out of the office.
They were programmed to do thatâto roamâso that their servos didnât lock up during the hours they would usually be inactive. Heâd learned that the hard way.
But, at some time during that night, the animatronics all wandered away. âShadow Bonnieâ, as William had taken to calling the.. Well, the Shadowy Bonnie-shaped spectre, wasnât there either. So, bored, he checks the cameras. Prize Counter first. The Marionetteâor Puppet, as the children called himâhad been acting strangely aggressive towards him, only inactive so long as he had the music box wound up.
Then he switches it to the Parts and Service camera. He pauses. There, in the center of the cameraâs view, was a very familiar form. Freddy-shaped. Shadowyânot completely devoid of light, though. He could see more detail, the character more purple than completely black. But the same white, glowing eyes and teeth. (Shadow Freddy)
He stands up and hurries through the hall, into that room. The âShadow Fredâ wasnât there anymore. So, William turns his attention to the prototype Fredbear suit. It was motionless. He grabs a new syringe, removing a piece of the exoskeleton to get to the metal, and goes through the steps to draw out the Remnant.
The Remnant was dark again. He was getting frustrated, and desperateâhe couldnât keep this up. He didnât mind the method, of courseâoddly enough, he even found himself slightly enjoying it.
But, the fact of the matter was that itâs been two years since his sonâs death. He needed quite a bit of Remnant to get CC back, but he couldnât use this oil-like variant that he seemed to only be able to obtain.
So, he goes back to Dr. Taggart. Asks him what was up with the dark Remnant. Shadowy remnant, as Phineas explains to him, is the result of Agony. A slow death was a painful death, and intense emotions like Agony made Remnant âbadâ, kept the âhauntingâ presence angry and far more aware.
That was an issue. But, at least now he knew what the issue even was. So, armed with this new knowledge, William returns to the pizzeria a while later. He goes through the same, familiar motionsâdon the yellow Bonnie suit, lure a child, trap the child.
But this time, he brings the butt of his knife down on the childâs head, knocking it down and stunning it long enough to cleanly sever both coroted arteries. Heâd done research this time, and memorized the places to hit for the quickest death. This time, before the child could even process anything, it was dead within seconds.
Good. This was good. Now, he just had to put the body in a suit and let it saturate with the metal.. Luckily, he and god-damned Henry had been designing new mascot costumes. They had a business to run, after all, they had to open more locations for optimized revenue.
Perhaps it was the red of the kidâs shirt. Perhaps it was how he looked similar to Michael when he was younger. Whatever it was, he went right to the Foxy costume, opening the exo and putting the corpse inside before closing it back up.
He waits. Two nights. This time, he watches as light particles float lazily about the motionless character. So far, things were looking good. Night three. Movement. The robot looks around. It stands. It stares at its hands. It walks.
It acts alive. Good. This was perfect. Syringe in-hand, he goes back into the room, drawing out the remnant from the metal. This time, it was like was described to him; bubbly and looking like liquid mercury. Perfect.
Now he knew what he was doing, what he had to do to get the right kind of Remnant. So, the next week, he ups his game. He was getting confident, he knew what he was doing after all.
He manages to lure three kids this time. At once. Immediately, he gets to work, slaughtering them and putting them in the remaining suitsâa Freddy, a Bonnie, and a Chica.
Days pass. Like clockwork, light particles appear, and subsequently the characters start to move. Very good. By this point, itâs been weeks, if not a couple months.
He had opened the new restaurant, with the aforementioned suits as the mascots. The press was going heavily into the disappearances, and one day the police were finally called. Apparently, there was security camera footage of the âincidentâ.
As he was taken out to the police car.. He couldnât help but smile. He wasnât worried, after allâhe had all he needed. They could remove the bodies, but they couldnât remove the soul. He would be released, of that he was certain. He was a very.. charismatic man, he could talk himself out of prison easily.
He was only gone for a couple weeks. Paperwork, court trial, what have you. They had no concrete evidence that he had done it, he had thought ahead and cleaned everything up.
So, finally heâs released. He starts to get to work on CC, but he quickly realizes that he still didnât have enough Remnant. So, he makes a risky decision. His house had a second, really big underground second house. So, he renovates it.
It becomes a new facility, or a laboratory of sorts. He sets up an exact replica of specific parts of the above-ground house.
