Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

Everyone but John startled at the sound.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was the ladder.”
“Charlie, which way?” Marla said.
“Oh.” Charlie closed her eyes again, retraced her steps as she had while they
searched for a way in. “Straight across, I think,” she said. “As long as we get to the far
side, we’ll find it.” Without waiting for responses, she started crawling in the direction
she thought was right. A second later, light appeared ahead of her.
“Thanks,” she called back softly to Lamar, who was steadying the flashlight,
trying to anticipate where Charlie would go.
“I don’t have anything else to do,” he whispered.
The crawlspace was wide; it should have felt spacious, but there were support
beams and pipes strewn at random, intersecting the space or running across the roof
below them so that it was a little like navigating a very cramped forest, ducking vines
and climbing over felled trees. The roof of Freddy’s had a shallow upward slope; they
would have to go down again once they reached the middle. The shingles beneath their
hands and feet were soggy in a deep, swollen way that suggested they had not been truly
dry in years, and a moldy smell rose from them. Every once in a while Charlie wiped
her hands on her pants, knowing they would only be clean for a moment. From time to
time she thought she heard something skitter by, sounds a little too far away to be
coming from their group, but she ignored them. They have more right to be here than
we do, she thought, though she was not certain what species “they” might be.
The roof above them followed a bizarre pattern, sloping up and down without
regard to the roof beneath, so that at one point it opened four feet above their heads, then
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