The Fourth Closet

by Scott Cawthon

  “That’s it?” John’s eyes widened.

  “What do you want me to say?” she cried.

  “I mean, you can’t tell me anything about it?”

  “The others all had that inscription: Afton Robotics. This one doesn’t. But I’d bet you noticed that.”

  “Actually, I didn’t.” John looked at her thoughtfully, then back down at the disc. He flipped the switch, and Marla yelped in surprise. “Sorry! It’s a bit jarring if you aren’t expecting it,” he said, turning back to Charlie with a grin. She smiled, and as he met her eyes, his smile faltered, something troubling passing over his face. Before she could speak, it was gone. He grinned widely and winked at her, then flipped the switch—Marla cried out again, and Carlton laughed.

  “Stop doing that!” Marla shouted from several feet away.

  John ignored her, and leaned in closer to Charlie, hesitantly, like he thought she might run away. She turned to face him, a wave of nervousness washing over her. She ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her face, and he reached out and touched it gently, brushing a strand out of her eyes. He gave her a small smile and flipped the switch once, then again.

  “That’s enough,” Marla called. “This is too weird for me.”

  John didn’t seem to hear her; he was looking at Charlie with a new troubled expression.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  “Nothing,” he said. He touched her hair again, this time brushing it back from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “Hey,” he said abruptly, changing his tone. “Do you remember your experiment from last year?” She nodded eagerly, then stopped, freshly aware of how long she had been away.

  “My faces. But they must be gone, everything must be gone.” She looked at John with anxious eyes, but he smiled.

  “Nothing’s gone,” he said, and her heart lifted; she felt as if he had just given her a gift. “Jessica packed up all your stuff; she’s got it in her apartment.”

  “Oh,” Charlie said, darting her eyes around the room. “Jessica? Where is she?”

  “Charlie,” John said patiently, and she tried to focus on him; she could feel her attention waning, as if her mind were spreading thin, floating out like clouds. “The faces,” John went on. “There was an earpiece so they could recognize you, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Could you make it work the other way?”

  Charlie thought for a moment then met his eyes again. “You mean, make it so that the animatronics can’t see you?” She frowned, her focus returning as she concentrated on the problem. “The earpieces emit a frequency that alerts the animatronics to you, it makes you visible. If you inverted that frequency …” She paused again. “I don’t know if it would work, John. It might.”

  “It could make us invisible to them?”

  “Maybe, but that’s a big leap.”

  “How would I do it? Invert the frequency?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Just switch the wires, and …”

  “Charlie, what part of ‘stay in bed’ wasn’t clear?” Marla asked good-naturedly, coming over to them. John stood, his mouth hanging open as though Marla had interrupted Charlie’s answer, but she didn’t seem poised to add more.

  “Sorry,” he said hastily.

  “Be careful,” Charlie said. She was beginning to feel light-headed again, and when Marla reached out to help her back to the bedroom, she did not protest.

  * * *

  John paused in the door, watching as Charlie curled up on her side, her eyes already closed. Marla raised her eyebrows, and he left, shutting the door halfway. In the living room, Carlton was kneeling beside Ella—now in doll form again—and looking intently into her ear.

  “Uh, Carlton?” John said dubiously, and Carlton sat back on his heels.

  “Amazing,” he said. “She looked human, like actually, for real, a human child.”

  “Yeah, I think that was the idea. Can we talk outside?” John asked brusquely, and Carlton looked at him in surprise.

  “Sure,” Carlton said with some concern in his voice.

  “Come on.” John headed for the door, and Carlton hurried after him. Once they were outside, John looked at Carlton for a moment, thinking.

  “What’s the idea?” Carlton asked with a hint of suspicion.

  “Let me try to get this straight in my own head first,” John said. “Last year, when she was still in school, Charlie had this experiment she was doing, something about teaching robots language.”

  “Oh yeah!” Carlton nodded enthusiastically. “She told me about it. Natural language programming. They listen to people talking around them, and to them, and they learn to talk, too. Didn’t sound like it worked very well, though.”

  “Well, whatever. She had these earpieces—like, the robots would only talk to each other—they only recognized each other. You with me so far?”

  “Um, I think?”

  “Well, if you, Carlton, wanted to be in on the conversation, you would need to wear a special earpiece. The earpieces would make them recognize you. Otherwise, you were just part of the background, like they couldn’t see you.”

  “Okay?” Carlton gave him a puzzled look, and John rolled his eyes.

  “Wearing the earpieces included you in their conversation. It made you one of them, from their perspective.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but the big ones already see us … at least I’m pretty sure they do. See this scar?”

  “Will you shut up for a second?” John said. “I asked Charlie, and she said we might be able to reverse engineer it. We can switch the wires, and instead of the earpieces including us, it would deliberately exclude us.”

  Carlton furrowed his brow.

  “It could effectively make us invisible …” John prompted.

  “Switch the wires,” Carlton repeated. “It would mask us, and make us not a part of the world they can perceive.”

  “Right.” John nodded.

  Carlton waited for John to go on, then added, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go to Jessica’s house. She’s got all of Charlie’s old stuff boxed up in a closet. If she’s not there, she leaves her spare key under the welcome mat.”

  Carlton raised his eyebrows. “Under the welcome mat? That’s a horrible place to leave a key!”

  “It’s a good neighborhood,” John said defensively.

  Carlton raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, it’s a good neighborhood, John. Nothing bad ever happens here.” Carlton slapped John on the shoulder as he headed for his car. “I’m on it!” he called.

  John let out a sigh, then went back inside. Marla was sitting on the couch, staring at the television, which was not turned on.

  “How is she?” John asked, sitting down beside her, and she shrugged.

  “Okay, considering the circumstances.” She turned away from the blank screen, looking distressed. “She was locked in a box! That’s insane, she was locked in a box! Who knows for how long—days, months? She must have been fed, given water, or she’d have starved, but she has no memory of it, she just remembers drifting in and out of sleep. She seems healthy. I don’t know what to say.”

  Impulsively, John hugged her, and she sighed, hugging him back tightly. She released him abruptly, looking away as she brushed at her eyes. John pretended not to see.

  “Can I go sit with her for a minute?” he said when she straightened. “I won’t bother her, I just want to sit with her and know she’s there.”

  Marla nodded, her eyes brightening with tears again. “Don’t wake her up,” she admonished as he went to the door. He nodded, and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  Carlton pulled into the lot outside Jessica’s apartment building, glancing around for her car. It didn’t seem to be there.

  “Guess I’ll be breaking and entering; sorry, Jess,” he said cheerfully as he pulled into a spot, but a sense of dread had already set in. He wanted company, even on this small errand. “Let’s see what skel
etons Jessica has hiding in her closet.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, tamping down his nerves, and got out of the car.

  Jessica lived on the third floor. Carlton had only been to her place once, but he found it again easily. In front of her door was a welcome mat: it was dark green, the word WELCOME written out in black script. Carlton lifted the mat, but there was nothing under it.

  For a moment he stared, at a loss for what to do next, then he flipped the mat all the way over: taped to the center was a key. “Thought you could outsmart me?” he murmured, peeling off the clear tape.

  “Can I help you?” someone asked sternly from behind him. Carlton froze. The voice said nothing else, and so with deliberate movements he finished removing the key, set the mat back on the ground, and smoothed it back into place, trying to seem unconcerned. He put a pleasant expression on his face, stood, and turned to face an elderly man scowling at him from across the hall. He was wearing a faded button-up shirt and holding a hefty book, his finger marking his place.

  “Do I know you?” the man demanded. Carlton forced a grin and waved the key in the air.

  “Just visiting,” he said. “I’m a friend of Jessica’s.” The old man peered at him suspiciously.

  “She makes too much noise,” he said, and shut his door. Carlton heard three locks snap into place, then silence. He waited a moment, then turned and hurriedly entered Jessica’s apartment.

  He shut the door carefully behind him and glanced around. The apartment was no bigger—or nicer—than John’s, although it was definitely cleaner. Most of the furniture had probably come with the place, but Jessica had determinedly made it her own. The scuffed floor was as spotless as it could be made without an industrial sander, and Carlton looked guiltily down at his sneakers, thinking maybe he should have taken them off outside. Jessica had covered the worn-out couch in fluffy blankets and throw pillows; her textbooks were lined up neatly on a wide bookshelf made out of brightly painted wood planks, and above the shelf was a large corkboard full of photographs, cards, and ticket stubs. Carlton made his way over to it, curious. “Let’s see what Jessica’s been up to,” he said, talking to himself just to fill the silence.

  The corkboard was full of smiling pictures of Jessica with her friends; a graduation photo with her parents; ticket stubs from concerts and movies; two birthday cards, and a few postcards with enthusiastically—and illegibly—scribbled notes. Carlton let out a low whistle. “Somebody’s popular,” he muttered, then something else caught his eye: a child’s drawing, pinned to the lower corner of the board. He bent down to look, and his throat caught: it was a crayon drawing of five children, smiling happily as they posed with a big yellow rabbit. In the bottom left corner, the artist had signed his name, and Carlton reached out to touch it lightly. “Michael,” he whispered. He stared into the bright eyes of the yellow rabbit behind the children and his mouth went dry. If only I could have warned you, somehow.

  He swallowed and straightened up, turning his attention deliberately back to the photos.

  “She sure gets out a lot,” he remarked, opening one of the cards to distract himself. HAPPY 15TH BIRTHDAY, JESSICA! it read, and he stepped back, feeling slightly ashamed as suddenly he understood. He glanced at the ticket stubs: they were all from shows in New York; the pictures with friends were all a few years old. Jessica’s new life, here, didn’t give her much in the way of mementos. Carlton turned away from the corkboard, wishing he had not intruded.

  “The closet,” he said loudly. “I have to find the closet with the stuff.” There was a kitchenette, and past that a hallway, presumably leading to the bedroom. He found a light switch and flipped it on, and the closet appeared, halfway down the hall. He opened it, half expecting the contents to come tumbling down on him, but though these were Charlie’s possessions, it was Jessica who had done the packing. Stacks of cardboard boxes filled the closet completely, each one labeled clearly: CHARLIE—SHIRTS AND SOCKS, CHARLIE—BOOKS, etc. At the very top of the stack was a long, flat box labeled, CHARLIE—WEIRD EXPERIMENT.

  “Weird experiment; feels like the story of my life these days,” Carlton whispered. He reached for it carefully, and had almost gotten it down when he knocked the corner against the box underneath it, sending, CHARLIE—MISCELLANEOUS to the ground. The box split open, spewing out computer parts and random bolts and scraps of metal, fur, and two unattached paws. Three plastic eyes bounced as they hit the floor, then rolled across the carpet, clacking against each other merrily.

  “This is life or death; someone else can clean it up,” Carlton decided. He stepped carefully over the rest of the mess, and carried the box into Jessica’s bedroom. He set it down on her bed, careful of the pale blue spread, and dragged the spare key across the packing tape to cut it. He opened the box.

  “Yikes.” He startled. Two identical faces stood upright in the box, staring at each other with blank eyes. They were like unfinished statues: they had features, but they were not refined, and seemed incapable of expression. He started to lift them out of the box, then realized that they were attached to something. With care, he managed to extract the entire structure: a large, black box with knobs and buttons, and the faces on their stand, wired to it. It all seemed to be intact. Carlton eyed the wall socket by Jessica’s bed for a moment, then grabbed the cord, and plugged the whole thing in. An array of lights came on, red and green, flashing on and off seemingly at random, then stabilizing: some off, some on. Several fans started to whir. Carlton looked at the faces: they were stretching, almost mimicking human movement. “Creepy,” he whispered.

  “You, me,” said the first, and he jumped back, disconcerted.

  “We, she,” said the second. He stared, waiting for more, but they were apparently finished for the moment, motionless and silent. Carlton shook his head, trying to make himself focus, though all he really wanted to do was sit here and watch the two faces, and see what else they might have to say. Or talk to them. He went back to the box: the earpieces John had described were wrapped up in a thin layer of bubble wrap. They looked like hearing aids, small clear pieces of plastic, full of wiring, with a tiny switch on one side. Carlton flipped the switch on one, and put it in his ear. Instantly, the faces turned to him, tilting up like they were looking straight at him. Can they see me?

  “Hi?” Carlton said reluctantly.

  “Who?” one asked.

  “Carlton,” he answered nervously.

  “You,” the other said.

  “Me,” said the first.

  “You guys really love pronouns, huh?” Carlton said. There was no answer from the faces. He took out the earpiece and flipped the switch off, and simultaneously the faces turned back to each other. Makes you visible. Right, he thought with a shiver. He turned back to the earpiece itself, sliding his thumbnail into the thin seam that ran around the edge of the casing. It popped open easily, revealing a mess of wires and a tiny computer chip. “Just switch the wires, it’s that easy,” he muttered to himself. There was a lamp on a nightstand beside Jessica’s bed, and he turned it on, holding the earpiece under the light. He stared at it, looking for a clue as to what John had been suggesting, angling the tiny object from side to side. At last he spotted it: a single, empty round input, outlined in red. “And why is nothing plugged in to you?” Carlton said triumphantly. He sorted through the other wires until he found one that matched it, the outline green. He quickly switched the wire to the red-lined plug and snapped the case back together, then switched it on and stuck it back in his ear. The faces did not move.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t want to talk to me anymore?” he said loudly. There was no response. “Excellent,” he said, satisfied. He took out the earpiece and put it in his pocket, then grabbed the other one as well. He unplugged the experiment and was about to pack it back into the box, when he felt a sudden prickling between his shoulders, as if someone was standing directly behind him. He could almost feel breath on his neck. Carlton held very still, scarcely breathing, then he spun around,
his hands raised to defend himself.

  The room was empty. He flicked his eyes from side to side, unconvinced that he was alone, but there was nothing there. “Just pack up and get out,” he said weakly, but his heart was still pounding in his chest like he was fighting for his life. He took a deep breath, and went back to the experiment. Before he could touch it, the room dipped under him like a ship bobbing in the ocean, and he fell to his knees, clutching the bed frame to steady himself. His vision blurred: nothing was fixed in place anymore, everything in the room seemed like it was moving at various speeds and different directions. Carlton let go of the bed frame and sank to the floor as a piercing whine arose, quickly ascending to a pitch too high to perceive. He covered his ears, but it did nothing to ease the nausea. The room kept spinning, and his stomach lurched; he groaned, holding his head and closing his eyes, but the movement continued. He clenched his teeth, grimly determined not to vomit. What is happening?

  Carlton … Carlton … Someone called his name sweetly, and he looked. One thing in the room was still: an enormous pair of eyes, staring at him as the room rocked sickeningly. He tried to stand, but as soon as he moved, dizziness and nausea overwhelmed him. He pressed his cheek to the cool floor, desperate for relief, but it only made the room spin faster.

  “Carlton?”

  The room snapped back into focus; everything stopped moving. Carlton didn’t move, afraid of setting it all off again. “Carlton, are you okay?” said a familiar voice, and he looked up to see Charlie, bent over him anxiously.

  “Charlie?” he said weakly. “What are you doing here?”

  “John sent me to help. What were you doing with all this stuff?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t break anything,” he said, sitting up carefully. The nausea still lingered, but it was easing as he began to trust that the room had steadied itself. He glanced at Charlie, his vision still a little fuzzy.

  “I don’t mind, it’s all junk anyway. But the way you were rolling around on the floor, you must have activated something, or electrocuted yourself, one or the other. Are you okay?”