Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

steps; it felt like ages, like years might pass before she reached the bottom, and when
she arrived she might be an old woman, her whole life spun out in the descent of
these stairs.
At last Charlie reached the end of the stairs, and she looked down to see that
she had changed: her body was no longer small, nightgown-clad and barefoot, but
her teenage body, tall and strong, and fully clothed. When she straightened from her
fearful crouch she stood taller than the bannister, and she looked around at her
childhood home, startled. This is me, she thought. Yes. This is now.
Something banged in front of her: the front door was wide open and
thudding irregularly against the wall, caught by the wind. The rain was whipping in,
soaking the floor and lashing the coatrack that stood beside it, rocking it back and
forth as if it weighed nothing at all. Leaves and small branches were scattered on the
floor, ripped from the trees and swept in, but Charlie’s eyes went to her old, familiar
shoes, her favorites. They placed neatly beside the mat, black patent leather with
straps, and she could see the rain pooling inside, ruining them. Charlie stood still for
a moment, transfixed, too far for the rain to reach, but close enough for the haze to
slowly wet her face. She ought to go to the door and close it.
Instead, Charlie backed away slowly, not taking her eyes from the border of
the storm. She took a step, then another—and her back hit something solid. She
whirled around, startled, and saw it.
It was the thing from her father’s workshop, the terrible, twitching thing. It
stood on its own, bent and twisted, with a narrow, reddish canine face and an almost
human body. Its clothing was rags, its metal joints and limbs stark and exposed, but
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