Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

not as long as she remembered.
She saw his shadow at the end of the hall—if he turned his head, he would see
her. Without thinking, Charlie climbed up onto the platform that she had bumped into
and ducked behind the curtain, tucking herself between the wall and a large, bulky prop,
trying not to breathe.
“Charlie?” He called, still far away. “Charlie!” Charlie felt her heartbeat
quicken. There had been boys she liked, now and then, but this was something different.
She wanted him to find her, but not quite yet. As she waited, her eyes adjusted to the
darkness, and she was able to make out the shape of the curtain, and the edge of the
stage. She looked up at the object in front of her.
No. Her body shuddered, then froze.
It was standing over her. It was the thing from her father’s workshop, the
misshapen thing that hung in the corner, shaken by random convulsions as its eyes
burned silver. Does it hurt? Now it was still, and its eyes were blank and dull. It was
staring straight ahead, insensate, and its arm with its hook hung useless at its side. She
recognized his eyes, but he was somehow worse now, encased in hollow body parts and
matted with red fur, with a stench of oil and glue. He had a name now: they called him
Foxy. But she knew better.
Charlie shrank away, pressing against the wall. Her heart was racing, and her
breath was shallow, too fast. Her arm had been touching its leg, and now she felt a
sudden itchiness from it, as though she had been contaminated. She wiped her hand
violently against her shirt as she began to panic.
Run.
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