“Bonnie is not your friend! He’s the one that hurt you, don’t you remember?” Carlton cried with mounting frustration. He grabbed the final drawing from the wall, the one with the five children standing with the yellow rabbit, and laid it flat on the floor, then took up a red crayon. He bent over the drawing and began to make thick marks on it, pressing the crayon deep into the paper. The children strained closer to see what he was drawing.

“Here we go,” William Afton said from the shadows. Carlton glanced up to see the little boy squirming on top of the mass of metal, where William was holding him in place. The table was heating up, the orange glow beginning to flare from within it. “I’m running out of ideas,” William said, failing to hide his anxiety. “But if I’m not going to survive this, then you certainly aren’t, either.” William pressed down on the boy’s chest, and the boy struggled to free himself.

“Ouch!” the boy cried as his elbow touched the table below, where the orange glow was spreading. He jerked his arm up and cradled it, sobbing, then shrieked as his foot pressed onto the table and began to hiss. He yanked it back, howling.

“We will see where this takes us,” William said.

“Look!” Carlton yelled, tapping the drawing hard with his crayon. The children huddled close. The yellow rabbit’s eyes were now dark red, and blood dripped from its mouth. The children looked confusedly at Carlton, but there was a spark of recognition in their faces. “I’m sorry,” Carlton said desperately. “This—is the bad man. This. This is the bad man.” Carlton pointed from the drawing to William Afton and back again. “He is the bad man who hurt you, and right now he’s about to hurt someone else,” Carlton pleaded.

*  *  *

A hand gripped William’s pant leg, and he shook it off. “Get away from me,” he growled, but the hand persisted. The tangle of parts connected to the purple Freddy head was gathering around William’s ankles, pieces plucking at him. “I said get off me!” he said again. His legs shook beneath him, and he let go of the boy, teetering as he struggled to regain his balance. He grasped for something steady, and his hands instinctively found the table. He recoiled, gasping in pain, and fell backward onto the floor, watching helplessly as the little blond boy rolled off the table and ran to the back wall.