The Twisted Ones

by Scott Cawthon

Charlie was long accustomed to nightmares, the worst moments of her past forced up like bile, into twisted versions of memories already too terrible to recall. She shoved these dreams into the back of her mind in the morning and sealed them away, knowing they would only breach it when night fell again.

“What about Freddy, and Bonnie, and Chica, and Foxy?” What about the children, the children who were killed and hidden inside each one of them?

It looked like something from a carnival game, its eyes rolling from side to side, clicking each time they moved. A pitch-black top hat was perched on its head, cocked slightly to one side, and the giant cheeks and button nose gave him away immediately. Freddy.