Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2017-06-07 05:42 pm
cottoncandypink) wrote2017-06-07 05:42 pm
We didn’t just break this thing wide open. We fucking solved it
Nothing. Wilford waited for something familiar to turn up, but it was like everything had suddenly stopped. And worse, the bar hadn’t shown up in weeks. It had maybe even been a couple of months. So Wilford was stuck waiting for something to happen, getting by on a shoestring budget, since all his money was stashed away in a place he couldn’t seem to get to. He had to avoid the fights, because he needed to be able to get in front of a camera at a moment’s notice. He still couldn’t convince himself to put on a nice shirt and a pair of tight jeans to go find someone else willing to throw a little money at him, so it was back to barely surviving between paycheques. He just had to get through this story. Then the next one. And then the next one. Eventually, things would change, and he’d be better off. But that was later. This was now, and he was starting to get desperate.
And then it happened; three kids in less than a week, vanished from thin air. This time, Wilford knew what he was looking for, and he was able to move before it became four, or five, or six.
-
Somehow, Wilford got the feeling Billy was hiding from him. It was a subtle feeling, but one that was hard to ignore when he found Billy eating his lunch in the men’s room.
“That’s fucking gross,” Wilford said when he finally found him.
Billy moved to guard his sandwich, and then changed his mind with a sigh and offered the other half to Wilford. Wilford took it and pulled the slice of cheese out, dropping it onto Billy’s paper towel on the counter.
“There’s this old school out in Temple Hills I want to go check out,” he said.
“What, tonight?” Billy asked.
“No, like,” he looked down at his watch, “now. I think I’m onto something.”
“Can I finish my lunch?” Billy asked.
“Can’t drive with one hand?” Wilford asked him.
Billy rolled his eyes and sighed again. It was a wonder he didn’t run out of breath. “All right.” He quickly wrapped everything up in a suitable to-go package and began the trudge out to the garage.
“Should we take anyone else?” Billy asked.
Wilford followed after him, having to work to keep up with Billy’s comically long gait. “They’d just get in the way,” he said around a mouthful of turkey and lettuce. “Probably get us killed.”
Billy seemed to accept this at least, and got out his keys to let Wilford into the van.
The school was as Wilford remembered it – or at least, how he thought he remembered it. It was definitely abandoned, but unlike most abandoned buildings, nobody else had moved in and tagged up all the walls or smashed the windows. There weren’t even any creatures living inside it. The whole building seemed dead. But it wasn’t. It was very much alive, though not with anything physical. Something had moved in, and they could feel it the second they stepped onto the property.
“This hunch of yours didn’t happen to say what we’d find here, did it?” Billy asked, grabbing his camera out of the back of the van.
“Keep your gun ready,” Wilford answered.
“How do you know I have a gun?”
“Because you’re not completely stupid.” Wilford ignored Billy’s impressive eye-roll, and unravelled a mic cord. It took him seconds to hook the pack up to his belt and run the cord under his shirt. Billy flashed him a thumbs up while he closed up the van, and followed Wilford into the school.
It was an awful place; dark even in the middle of the day, and unreasonably cold. Billy slowed to film something written in blood on one of the walls, but didn’t stop, lingering just long enough to get the point across. There were teddy bears in random places, impaled on hooks on the wall, or sitting ominously on old desks, as if they were watching what went on in their room. Wilford wanted to grab them; to reach out and pick up every one of the bears and take them all with him.
“Don’t touch them,” he said when he noticed Billy gravitating toward one. “I think they want to be picked up.”
Billy quickly moved away, giving Wilford an uneasy look. But before he could say anything, something crashed to the floor in another room, followed by frantic hissing. Billy and Wilford both looked around frantically, hoping to find a place to hide. At the sound of frantic footsteps coming their way, Wilford pulled his Magnum out of his inventory and was ready to fire, until he saw a slim man with a mohawk stumble through the door with one of the teddy bears in his hands. He didn’t notice anyone else in the room until he almost ran into them, and then he took a dramatic step back.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same question,” Billy said.
Wilford recognised him immediately. He was snooping around Freddy Fazbear’s 12 years in the future. And here he was now, snooping around an abandoned school.
“Put that fucking thing down,” he said, slapping the bear out of his hand.
“Oh. Yeah, there are loads of them here. Weird, huh?”
He was going to get them killed. Wilford wasn’t sure why, but that seemed normal. Last time, Wilford hadn’t had his precognitive lead that led him here at this time. Last time, it was just him and Billy, desperate to figure this story out before the disappearance count reached double digits.
“You shouldn’t fucking be here,” he said, pushing past the other guy to peer into the hallway. “How many of those bears have you touched?”
“There’s nothing here. I’ve looked all over this place,” the other guy said.
“How many?”
He looked back to see the other guy shrug indifferently. “Like, four?”
Wilford had to resist aiming his gun at the moron they stumbled across. “Jesus, we’re already dead.”
“What?”
Wilford could hear the other two mumbling something at one another, but he ignored it. The heavy, oppressive air around the building made sense now, because this asshole had actually summoned Slenderman. Fucking amateur. If Wilford hadn’t already known the answer, he’d be wondering how he survived long enough to be snooping around Fazbear’s more than a decade later. Somehow, Wilford had just caught him on the first run.
Or he’d changed too much by coming here early.
“We need to get the hell out of here,” he declared.
He’d come here with the intent of summoning Slenderman, but on his own terms. Showing up with him already crawling around was not what he wanted. He stepped out into the hallway, trying to peer through air that was entirely too dark. The windows opening out to the playground didn’t let any light in, making the end of the hall look like an inky, black abyss.
“Come on.”
He looked back, but the other two were gone, like they’d never been in the room to begin with. Wilford immediately turned back to see if they’d found another way out, but the room only had one door, and he’d been blocking it.
“No! No, no, no!” he hissed, turning back to the hall. This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it. He needed Billy for more than he cared to admit, and the moron with the mohawk was the entire reason he’d come all the way back this far. Even if he got out of this alive, without those two, he was on a completely different trajectory. Everything was lost, because he turned away for two goddamn seconds.
Wilford ran down the hall, keeping his fingers on the wall to maintain constant contact so he didn’t get turned around even more than he already was. He strained to listen to every little sound, but the only things he could hear were his own footsteps on rotting tile, and his pulse pounding in his ears. Something like the static between radio stations seemed to seep out of the very walls, so Wilford quickly turned, touching the wall with his other hand as he broke into a full run. Bursts of static filled the air, so loud he thought his eardrums would burst. As he tried to turn what he thought was a corner, he found himself in a wide room. There was more light in here than out in the corridor, letting him see the writing on the walls, and a collage of mangled and burned photographs nailed up. The static was so loud, Wilford had to cover his ears.
The sound was going to be utter garbage.
Wilford quickly turned, hoping to get out of the room, but his way was blocked by a figure eight feet tall, with long, black tentacles spreading out like spider legs from his back. Wilford tried to turn and run, but his feet tangled on something laying in a heap on the floor, and he fell down with it. The monster loomed over him, screeching its static roar so loudly, it felt like the entire building was shaking. With nothing left but reflex, Wilford shouted back and lashed out with his fist. He felt something connect, and the static noise stopped as Slenderman reeled backwards. Wilford had just enough time to marvel that it had worked before he felt hands on his shoulders, reaching around him and grabbing him. He tried to throw another punch, this time missing as he was hauled to his feet. He was surprised to see the tall figure behind him wasn’t another monster, but Billy. He quickly bent down to pick his camera back up, and started running toward the opposite side of the room, where Wilford could now see another door. He followed after Billy out of the room and back to the corridor, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket so they didn’t lose one another again as they ran. It was sheer luck and nothing else that let them find the door back out to the parking lot. They slowed abruptly as they both looked up at the sky, now completely dark with stars shining overhead. At once, they both reached for their phones and scrolled through their messages.
“Six missed calls,” Wilford said.
“Ten,” Billy said.
The van was parked a few feet away, and the two of them gave one another confused looks as they quickly made their way to it.
“Oh, you guys made it.”
Wilford swung his gun around and almost shot, until he saw Mr Markiplier standing in the parking lot with a stupid grin on his face.
“How the fuck did you get out?” Billy demanded.
Wilford lowered his gun, only because he wanted to know the answer to that question as well.
“Climbed out a window,” he said, pointing back toward the school.
If Wilford didn’t need him alive, he would have shot him anyway. Instead, he put his gun away and shook his head. He felt like he’d been running for hours - and had been, apparently. With a huff of laughter, he leaned against the van and slid down to sit on the pavement, resting his back against the wheel. They all got out. Somehow, stupidly, they all got out, and he laughed.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Mr Markiplier asked.
Billy looked down at him, and shook his head.
“We know where the fucker lives,” Wilford said, looking down at his phone and scrolling through his messages. He hit the call button on one of them and held the phone up to his ear. “We didn’t just break this thing wide open. We fucking solved it.”
As soon as their boss answered the phone, Wilford passed it up to Billy, so he could do the irritating work getting a proper crew and police backup to their location.
And then it happened; three kids in less than a week, vanished from thin air. This time, Wilford knew what he was looking for, and he was able to move before it became four, or five, or six.
-
Somehow, Wilford got the feeling Billy was hiding from him. It was a subtle feeling, but one that was hard to ignore when he found Billy eating his lunch in the men’s room.
“That’s fucking gross,” Wilford said when he finally found him.
Billy moved to guard his sandwich, and then changed his mind with a sigh and offered the other half to Wilford. Wilford took it and pulled the slice of cheese out, dropping it onto Billy’s paper towel on the counter.
“There’s this old school out in Temple Hills I want to go check out,” he said.
“What, tonight?” Billy asked.
“No, like,” he looked down at his watch, “now. I think I’m onto something.”
“Can I finish my lunch?” Billy asked.
“Can’t drive with one hand?” Wilford asked him.
Billy rolled his eyes and sighed again. It was a wonder he didn’t run out of breath. “All right.” He quickly wrapped everything up in a suitable to-go package and began the trudge out to the garage.
“Should we take anyone else?” Billy asked.
Wilford followed after him, having to work to keep up with Billy’s comically long gait. “They’d just get in the way,” he said around a mouthful of turkey and lettuce. “Probably get us killed.”
Billy seemed to accept this at least, and got out his keys to let Wilford into the van.
The school was as Wilford remembered it – or at least, how he thought he remembered it. It was definitely abandoned, but unlike most abandoned buildings, nobody else had moved in and tagged up all the walls or smashed the windows. There weren’t even any creatures living inside it. The whole building seemed dead. But it wasn’t. It was very much alive, though not with anything physical. Something had moved in, and they could feel it the second they stepped onto the property.
“This hunch of yours didn’t happen to say what we’d find here, did it?” Billy asked, grabbing his camera out of the back of the van.
“Keep your gun ready,” Wilford answered.
“How do you know I have a gun?”
“Because you’re not completely stupid.” Wilford ignored Billy’s impressive eye-roll, and unravelled a mic cord. It took him seconds to hook the pack up to his belt and run the cord under his shirt. Billy flashed him a thumbs up while he closed up the van, and followed Wilford into the school.
It was an awful place; dark even in the middle of the day, and unreasonably cold. Billy slowed to film something written in blood on one of the walls, but didn’t stop, lingering just long enough to get the point across. There were teddy bears in random places, impaled on hooks on the wall, or sitting ominously on old desks, as if they were watching what went on in their room. Wilford wanted to grab them; to reach out and pick up every one of the bears and take them all with him.
“Don’t touch them,” he said when he noticed Billy gravitating toward one. “I think they want to be picked up.”
Billy quickly moved away, giving Wilford an uneasy look. But before he could say anything, something crashed to the floor in another room, followed by frantic hissing. Billy and Wilford both looked around frantically, hoping to find a place to hide. At the sound of frantic footsteps coming their way, Wilford pulled his Magnum out of his inventory and was ready to fire, until he saw a slim man with a mohawk stumble through the door with one of the teddy bears in his hands. He didn’t notice anyone else in the room until he almost ran into them, and then he took a dramatic step back.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same question,” Billy said.
Wilford recognised him immediately. He was snooping around Freddy Fazbear’s 12 years in the future. And here he was now, snooping around an abandoned school.
“Put that fucking thing down,” he said, slapping the bear out of his hand.
“Oh. Yeah, there are loads of them here. Weird, huh?”
He was going to get them killed. Wilford wasn’t sure why, but that seemed normal. Last time, Wilford hadn’t had his precognitive lead that led him here at this time. Last time, it was just him and Billy, desperate to figure this story out before the disappearance count reached double digits.
“You shouldn’t fucking be here,” he said, pushing past the other guy to peer into the hallway. “How many of those bears have you touched?”
“There’s nothing here. I’ve looked all over this place,” the other guy said.
“How many?”
He looked back to see the other guy shrug indifferently. “Like, four?”
Wilford had to resist aiming his gun at the moron they stumbled across. “Jesus, we’re already dead.”
“What?”
Wilford could hear the other two mumbling something at one another, but he ignored it. The heavy, oppressive air around the building made sense now, because this asshole had actually summoned Slenderman. Fucking amateur. If Wilford hadn’t already known the answer, he’d be wondering how he survived long enough to be snooping around Fazbear’s more than a decade later. Somehow, Wilford had just caught him on the first run.
Or he’d changed too much by coming here early.
“We need to get the hell out of here,” he declared.
He’d come here with the intent of summoning Slenderman, but on his own terms. Showing up with him already crawling around was not what he wanted. He stepped out into the hallway, trying to peer through air that was entirely too dark. The windows opening out to the playground didn’t let any light in, making the end of the hall look like an inky, black abyss.
“Come on.”
He looked back, but the other two were gone, like they’d never been in the room to begin with. Wilford immediately turned back to see if they’d found another way out, but the room only had one door, and he’d been blocking it.
“No! No, no, no!” he hissed, turning back to the hall. This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it. He needed Billy for more than he cared to admit, and the moron with the mohawk was the entire reason he’d come all the way back this far. Even if he got out of this alive, without those two, he was on a completely different trajectory. Everything was lost, because he turned away for two goddamn seconds.
Wilford ran down the hall, keeping his fingers on the wall to maintain constant contact so he didn’t get turned around even more than he already was. He strained to listen to every little sound, but the only things he could hear were his own footsteps on rotting tile, and his pulse pounding in his ears. Something like the static between radio stations seemed to seep out of the very walls, so Wilford quickly turned, touching the wall with his other hand as he broke into a full run. Bursts of static filled the air, so loud he thought his eardrums would burst. As he tried to turn what he thought was a corner, he found himself in a wide room. There was more light in here than out in the corridor, letting him see the writing on the walls, and a collage of mangled and burned photographs nailed up. The static was so loud, Wilford had to cover his ears.
The sound was going to be utter garbage.
Wilford quickly turned, hoping to get out of the room, but his way was blocked by a figure eight feet tall, with long, black tentacles spreading out like spider legs from his back. Wilford tried to turn and run, but his feet tangled on something laying in a heap on the floor, and he fell down with it. The monster loomed over him, screeching its static roar so loudly, it felt like the entire building was shaking. With nothing left but reflex, Wilford shouted back and lashed out with his fist. He felt something connect, and the static noise stopped as Slenderman reeled backwards. Wilford had just enough time to marvel that it had worked before he felt hands on his shoulders, reaching around him and grabbing him. He tried to throw another punch, this time missing as he was hauled to his feet. He was surprised to see the tall figure behind him wasn’t another monster, but Billy. He quickly bent down to pick his camera back up, and started running toward the opposite side of the room, where Wilford could now see another door. He followed after Billy out of the room and back to the corridor, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket so they didn’t lose one another again as they ran. It was sheer luck and nothing else that let them find the door back out to the parking lot. They slowed abruptly as they both looked up at the sky, now completely dark with stars shining overhead. At once, they both reached for their phones and scrolled through their messages.
“Six missed calls,” Wilford said.
“Ten,” Billy said.
The van was parked a few feet away, and the two of them gave one another confused looks as they quickly made their way to it.
“Oh, you guys made it.”
Wilford swung his gun around and almost shot, until he saw Mr Markiplier standing in the parking lot with a stupid grin on his face.
“How the fuck did you get out?” Billy demanded.
Wilford lowered his gun, only because he wanted to know the answer to that question as well.
“Climbed out a window,” he said, pointing back toward the school.
If Wilford didn’t need him alive, he would have shot him anyway. Instead, he put his gun away and shook his head. He felt like he’d been running for hours - and had been, apparently. With a huff of laughter, he leaned against the van and slid down to sit on the pavement, resting his back against the wheel. They all got out. Somehow, stupidly, they all got out, and he laughed.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Mr Markiplier asked.
Billy looked down at him, and shook his head.
“We know where the fucker lives,” Wilford said, looking down at his phone and scrolling through his messages. He hit the call button on one of them and held the phone up to his ear. “We didn’t just break this thing wide open. We fucking solved it.”
As soon as their boss answered the phone, Wilford passed it up to Billy, so he could do the irritating work getting a proper crew and police backup to their location.