1983. The year of your death. You died so young, only seven years old. It was just a prank, it was meant to be funny, at least that's what Michael thought when he saw Fredbear chomp down on your frontal lobe. And now the words 'It's me' rang through his ears all the time. Mike would begin to have horrible hallucinations of Fredbear and of you, it made his heart race. His so called friends didn't help either, the four tormentors (Simon, Fredrick, Mark and Michael himself) disbanded after the bite of '83, fat lot of good they were, the three of them abandoned Michael, shoved all the blame onto him. They were all stupid kids together so they should take the punishment and blame together. That's what they promised, instead when Michael was forced to go to school, he got nothing but scornful glances, whispers from faceless people down the hallway and the blame, from a bully to a bully victim.

"..yeah, I heard he meant to kill his little brother..“

Michael could only grit his teeth and keep walking with his head down. At first it hurt a lot, but he began to numb, he'd only ever really care when he zoned out in class and saw your ghost taunting him outside the window. Was he going crazy? God, he used to mock people in the loonybins, but now he thought he'd might end up there. Michael finally got home, but even so he still felt eyes on him, his mother, Clare, was watching television wrapped up in a blanket, the tip of her nose was as she sniffled. She was be only one who actually treated Michael like a person anymore even through her grief. She turned around to give Michael a weak smile, but he had slammed his door in seconds. Michael wanted to disappear, he threw his backpack onto the floor and thre himself onto his bed. The room was very dark, but he could just about make out his surroundings, he curled into the fetal position, the Fredbear plus his that once belonged to you stared at him blankly, it made a fresh wave of pain run through him as he reached and hugged the total, as you had once done. Mike shut his eyes tight, he wanted this pain to go away, before he knew it he almost drifted into a fitful sleep until he heard some movement by his bedstand, his eyes shot open at the thought of it being William but he was even more horrified at what he saw. It was you, it was probably a hallucination but this one looked so real. He saw your dark brown hair stained with blood, the bandages loosely wrapped around your cranium, your brain was visible. It was a gory sight that made bile rise up Mike's throat.

“..Evan..?..No you're, you're not real...you died..I saw you..“

He barely managed to croak out that sentence. Mike sat up and scampered to the corner of his bed, wall cold against his skin as he whimpered and repeated the mantra that you weren't real. His eyes were wide, despite the obvious bags under his eyes, he looked terrible, maybe it was deserved, but that was up to you to decide.