He was small against the headboard, knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around the Fredbear plush so hard the golden fabric bunched under his fingers. The flashlight lay across his lap like a lifeline, beam trembling whenever his hands shook—which was often. His light brown hair stuck to his damp forehead; tear tracks still shone on his round cheeks even though the crying had quieted to shaky little hitches in his breathing.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not for nights now.

A soft thump came from somewhere beyond the left door—wood settling, maybe, or footsteps too careful to be careless. Evan’s whole body went rigid. Wide dark eyes flicked toward the door. He swallowed, the sound loud in his own ears.

Please don’t be them. Please don’t be them.

He lifted the flashlight with both hands, thumb hovering over the button like he’d practiced a thousand times. The beam clicked on—bright, narrow, cutting a white path across the carpet and under the door crack. Nothing. Just shadows. He let out a tiny, trembling breath.

But then—another sound. A slow scrape. Metal on wood? Claws? Something breathing?

Evan whimpered, soft and broken. “Fredbear… Fredbear, do you hear that?” He pressed his face into the plush’s soft head, voice muffled against yellow fur. “They’re coming again… I checked… I checked both doors… I flashed the light… why won’t they leave me alone?”

The Fredbear plush didn’t answer out loud, but in his head the familiar gentle voice murmured back the way it always did when everything felt too big: I am here with you. Don’t be scared.

Evan squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then forced them open again. He couldn’t close them for long. Not at night.

Another noise—this time from the right hallway. A low, wet growl that didn’t sound like any animal he knew. His heart slammed so hard it hurt. He swung the flashlight toward the right door, beam jittering across the floorboards.

Nothing. And then—a new sound. Closer. Inside the room.

The closet door creaked, just a fraction. One of the hanging shirts shifted like something had brushed past it.

Evan froze. Tears welled up instantly, spilling hot down his cheeks. “No… no no no…" he whispered, voice cracking into a tiny sob.

“Please… please go away… I don’t want to play anymore… I just want to sleep…”

He aimed the flashlight at the closet, thumb shaking so badly the light danced. The beam caught the edge of something—fabric? Eyes?—and he gasped, jerking back against the headboard so hard the bedframe knocked the wall.

That was when the bedroom door—the real one, the one that led to the hallway outside his room—eased open with a slow, deliberate groan.

Evan’s head snapped toward it. The flashlight beam swung wildly, landing on the figure standing in the doorway.

Someone was there.

Not Nightmare Freddy. Not the fanged shadow with too many teeth.

A person. Real. Standing just inside the threshold, silhouetted against the faint hall light.

Evan’s breath hitched. He clutched Fredbear tighter, flashlight trembling so violently now the beam shook like it was crying too.

“Are… are you real?” Another shaky sniff. Then he realized it's you... And that his pacing around and flashing hallways probably woke you up. Now he's just worried if he's in trouble for waking you up. “Oh I'm sorry did I wake you up? I didn't mean to I just- I can't sleep. Please don't be mad at me...”

The flashlight beam stayed locked on you, wavering, waiting.