Bunny Call

by Scott Cawthon

  Matt was too stressed out about the strange state of the game to be in the mood for a date, but Jason had been insistent. The girl Jason was dating had promised him that her roommate would be perfect for Matt. The four of them were supposed to have dinner together at the Neapolitan, Hannah and Matt’s old go-to Italian restaurant. This was another reason Matt didn’t want to go—too many memories, both good and bad. But the main reason was that he thought the likelihood of this girl being perfect for him was equivalent to the likelihood of a snowstorm in August.

  When the doorbell rang, Matt answered to find two young women, one of them blonde and athletically pretty with a sun-kissed complexion. Maybe this evening would be better than he predicted.

  “Well, hello,” Matt said to her, turning on his most charming smile. “This is a pleasant surprise. Usually, I think Jason’s kind of an idiot, but when he said we’d be perfect for each other, he definitely knew what he was talking about.” He held out his hand.

  The pretty blonde didn’t take his proffered hand and only gave him a small smile back. “I’m Meghan, Jason’s date. This is your date, Eva.” She gestured toward the brown-haired young woman Matt hadn’t even noticed standing beside her.

  “Hi,” Eva said, smiling shyly. She was dressed in a striped button-down blouse and khakis, like she was going to work instead of on a date.

  “Hi,” Matt said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. Eva wasn’t ugly, exactly. It was just that, standing beside a specimen as fine as Meghan, she looked like a sparrow next to a bird of paradise. Matt also noticed that Eva’s smile had not benefited from orthodontia. Her parents must have been too poor to pay for braces, he figured. Matt always found that the state of a person’s teeth was an accurate indicator of social class. So were shoes. He glanced down at Eva’s footwear. Cheap flats.

  “So are we allowed to come in?” Meghan asked.

  “Of course,” Matt said, stepping aside. “Hey, Jason!” he called. “The ladies are here.”

  Jason stumbled into the living room, his hair still wet from the shower. He came up to Meghan and kissed her cheek, then said, “Hey, Eva, have you met Matt?”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” she said. Matt couldn’t figure out why she didn’t sound more enthusiastic. She was lucky to be going on this date. A guy like him would usually be way out of her league. And speaking of being out of one’s league, how did a schlubby guy like Jason get a shot with a gorgeous girl like Meghan?

  “Hey,” Jason said, “I thought we could take separate cars to the restaurant. That way if we want to do anything separately after dinner, we’re all set.”

  “Fine with me,” Matt said. Taking his own car would give him the ability to cut the evening short if it proved too unbearable.

  Matt saw Jason open his car door for Meghan, so he bit the bullet and did the same for Eva. Of course, Jason’s car was the same one he’d been driving since college, and Matt’s was a new sports car. He was surprised that Eva didn’t compliment him on it.

  On the way to the restaurant, Eva said, “So Jason tells me you’re a video game developer. That’s really cool.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, trying to not think about the disappeared code that was endangering his high-profile project. “It is really cool. Right now I’m working on the newest Five Nights at Freddy’s game, the VR one. It’s going great,” he said, trying to convince himself at least as much as he was trying to convince her.

  “My little brother is dying to get that game as soon as it comes out,” Eva said. “It’s practically all he talks about. He won’t believe that I know the developer.”

  Well, now she was showing some enthusiasm at least. Matt decided to lob the ball into her court. “So what is it that you do?” He wasn’t particularly interested, but he told himself to try to listen to her answer.

  “I’m in the IT department at the recreational outfitting company where Meghan works,” she said. “That’s one of the reasons Jason thought you and I might get along, because we’re both into tech stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, the last thing I want to talk about once I get home from work is ‘tech stuff,’ ” Matt said.

  Eva’s smile looked forced. “Yeah, me too.”

  They didn’t talk about anything else for the rest of the drive to the restaurant.

  Matt hadn’t been to the Neapolitan since the divorce. It was the same as it had always been, dimly lit and romantic with violin music playing softly in the background. The elderly maître d’ looked at him with a glow of recognition. “Oh, I remember you!” he said. “You used to come here all the time with your lovely wife.”

  “Well, she’s not my lovely wife anymore,” Matt grumbled. Why couldn’t people mind their own business?

  The maître d’ blanched but quickly regained his composure. “Oh, I see. Table for four, then?”

  Matt ordered the osso bucco, his favorite. Meghan ordered the same, which Matt felt indicated discerning taste. Both Jason and Eva ordered the spaghetti with meat sauce. Matt was appalled by their lack of sophistication. They might as well have ordered from the children’s menu.

  It was then that an idea began to form in Matt’s mind. Weren’t he and Meghan much more compatible than Jason and Meghan? After all, Matt and Meghan were both attractive, sophisticated people. Jason and Eva, though … they were both nice for what that was worth, but they lacked looks, drive, and sophistication. They were spaghetti with meat sauce to Matt and Meghan’s osso bucco.

  What if Matt could use this date as an opportunity to charm Meghan away from Jason? Meghan was clearly more compatible with Matt, and maybe there would be no hard feelings since Jason could have Eva as a consolation prize. Plus, maybe getting his love life in order might give Matt the peace he needed to figure out whatever the problem in the game was and fix it once and for all.

  When the waiter came with their salads, Matt said, “I think we’d like to get a bottle of pinot grigio for the table.”

  “Very good, sir,” the waiter said.

  “Thanks, man,” Jason said. “Big spender.”

  Matt shrugged. “You can’t be stingy if you’re going to have a good time. It takes money to have good food, good wine, good friends.”

  “It doesn’t take money to have good friends,” Eva said.

  So what—she was going to pick an argument with him? “Well, it takes money to have a good time with your friends. How about that?” Matt said.

  “Not really,” Eva said, pushing her salad around her plate. “Some of the best times I’ve ever had with my friends have been just hanging out and talking.”

  “Yes, but good food and good wine certainly enhance conversation,” Matt said. “What do you think, Meghan?”

  “Well, they can,” Meghan said. “But I agree with Eva. Sometimes the best times are just hanging out in your pajamas talking all night and eating peanut butter out of the jar.”

  Matt figured Meghan didn’t want to make her friend feel bad.

  When the wine arrived, Matt offered to pour some for Eva, but she put her hand over the glass and said, “No thank you. I don’t drink.”

  Well, she’s no fun, Matt thought. He poured wine for Jason and then poured Meghan’s glass extra full. The more she drank, the more charming she would find him.

  Over dinner, Matt told interesting stories about his life and accomplishments. Sure, he may have felt a little guilty that he didn’t let Jason get a word in edgewise, but it was important that Meghan get to know the kind of guy he was.

  Between the entrées and the tiramisu, Jason and Eva both excused themselves to go to the restroom, leaving Matt at the table alone with Meghan. The opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect.

  “So, I know you’ve got this thing going with Jason now because … well, opposites attract, I guess,” Matt said, smiling at her. The candlelight shined on her golden hair. She really was lovely. “But I just want to say that I find you devastatingly attractive, and I’d like to give you my number. Just in case you’d like it for, yo
u know, future reference.”

  Meghan’s blue eyes flashed. “I thought you and Jason were best friends.”

  Matt was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. “Well, we are, but you know what they say, ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ ”

  “Just because ‘they’ say it doesn’t mean it’s true,” Meghan said. “All evening you’ve talked about nothing but yourself and how great you supposedly are. Maybe Jason isn’t as well dressed as you and doesn’t have as impressive a job as you, but he’s great because he’s a nice, caring guy.”

  Matt wasn’t going to sit there and take this abuse from yet another delusional woman. “Well, I hope you enjoy your life of poverty with your nice, caring guy,” he said, getting up from the table. He was so angry he felt smoke might come out of his ears, as though he were a character in an old cartoon. “This evening has been an utter disaster. I trust that you and Jason will be nice enough to give my alleged ‘date,’ what’s-her-name, a ride.” He grabbed the wine bottle and marched out of the restaurant.

  It was only when he was in the car that he realized he had left without paying his part of the bill. Good, he thought. Let them take care of it. It served them right for not appreciating him.

  He drove home too fast, thinking of what a wretched day it had been. It felt like the problems with the game had infected his whole life. But that was going to change.

  Matt woke up feeling strangely queasy. Usually morning tummy trouble was a symptom of his having drunk too much the night before. He had polished off that bottle of wine last night, but still, it hadn’t added up to more than three glasses’ worth. He shouldn’t be hung over.

  Coffee, he decided, was the solution, as it was to many of life’s problems. He dragged himself into the kitchen and put on a pot to brew. Though the thought of eating was unpleasant, he dropped a slice of whole wheat bread into the toaster in case his stomach’s emptiness was the cause of its unrest.

  Once the brewing and toasting were complete, he sat down at the kitchen table. One sip of coffee and one bite of toast later, his stomach roiled violently. Without even having made a conscious decision to move, he found himself leaning over the kitchen sink, retching up not only the toast and coffee but seemingly everything else he had consumed over the past few days.

  He rinsed out the sink, wet a paper towel, and used it to dab his sweaty forehead. His body couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get sick. He couldn’t miss work. He had to fix the game.

  He would fix it by lunchtime, he decided. Then he could take the rest of the day off to rest and recover.

  It was almost noon, and Matt’s stomach was still roiling like a storm at sea. He had moved the wastebasket next to his desk so he could hurl into it as needed. Eating lunch was unimaginable.

  He had been working nonstop to repair the game with no success. He had consulted every manual he owned. He had read extensively from a variety of specialized sites on the internet. He had even put in a phone call to one of his old professors from grad school, but it was all to no avail.

  Matt wasn’t used to feeling stupid or like a failure, but now he was experiencing both of these unpleasant, unaccustomed feelings. It was like Springtrap, his own creation, had bested him.

  There was a knock on his office door. “Come in,” Matt said. He hoped it was either someone to save him or someone to put him out of his misery.

  “Hiya, Matt.” It was neither. It was Gary, the head of his department, who was guaranteed in any given situation to (a) be of no help whatsoever, and (b) deepen his misery. Matt gritted his teeth.

  “Hey, Gary.” Matt hoped the signs of his distress weren’t visible, but he was pretty sure they were. He was breathing heavily and sweating like he’d just run a marathon. The intensity of his nausea made it difficult to speak. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, something other than words would come out.

  Gary sat down in the chair across from Matt’s desk. He was, as always, impeccably groomed—his hair in a perfect, Ken-doll part, his expensive suit wrinkle free. “Have you been on social media the past couple of days?” He grinned, flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Kids are going nuts over this game—some adults, too. It’s gonna be huge, Matt. Huge.”

  “Huge,” Matt echoed, trying to smile but failing. His mouth refused to go up at the corners.

  “So how’s it going?” Gary asked, leaning forward in his chair. “Is everything moving forward like it needs to? Because I tell you, that deadline is looming.”

  Matt didn’t need to be told that the deadline was looming. “It’s going great,” he said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt.

  “Good to hear,” Gary said, like he was trying to decide whether he believed him. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “No, it’s going great,” Matt repeated, his voice getting a little high-pitched and whiny the way it did when he was nervous.

  “Excellent!” Gary said, getting up from the chair. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve put together. You’ll be ready to present it on Friday, right?”

  “Friday. You bet,” Matt said, gulping.

  Gary left, closing the door behind him. Matt put his head down on his desk in despair. He had started the morning feeling confident in his ability to solve the problem, but the skies had darkened.

  Matt took his lunch break, not to eat, but just to get out of the office and try to clear his head. He walked the half block to Gus’s, a dimly lit dive bar that reminded him of the cheap places he used to frequent in college. Maybe he could just sip on a soda to settle his stomach. Also, Gus’s wouldn’t be crowded at lunchtime, and maybe the combination of a soda and the dark and the quiet would help him think.

  Matt placed his order, and Gus filled it. Matt wished that all relationships could be that simple. He sipped his cola and thought. Okay, so there was no time for a major redesign, but was there anything else he could do that might save the game and save his job?

  Matt looked around the room. In the corner were a couple of old video game cabinets that had probably been there since the games were new in the eighties. He stared at the demo screen of an old maze game, watching a weird yellow ball guy being pursued by candy-colored ghosts. Then the thought hit him.

  I can just program in a new Springtrap, one that follows the path it’s supposed to. The old program is so messed up it won’t have any impact on the game anyway. No one will even know it’s there.

  Why hadn’t he thought of this before? The problem was as good as solved. He ate a handful of bar peanuts and finished his soda. Something about the combination of saltiness and fizziness soothed his stomach. Then he went back to the office to build a new Springtrap, one that followed the path it was supposed to follow.

  And this time, Matt wouldn’t antagonize the rabbit. He had learned his lesson.

  It hadn’t been easy hacking into the company’s computer, but Gene had done it. Maybe it was a sign that things were looking up. Life hadn’t been going great for him lately. He had gotten fired from his job on the Nerd Team at Good Deal electronics store and had had to move back in with his parents until he could find something else, which hadn’t happened yet. It was depressing being a grown man living in your childhood bedroom, looking at all those old trophies from Scholar’s Bowl and math team and realizing how little they meant.

  That was why he’d been packing on the weight. Depression and Mom’s home cooking were a dangerous combination.

  But now he at least had one thing going for him. He had his own early copy of Springtrap’s Revenge. Because of his superior hacking skills, he was going to be one of the first people—if not the very first person—to play the game. And with his superior gaming skills, he might very well become the very first person to beat the game, too. And that would be an accomplishment.

  He put on the VR headset. He was ready to play.

  Gene created an avatar that looked like his ideal self, like he would look again once he got back on his feet. Getting into the computer syste
m and getting this game was a good sign, Gene thought. A success that would be the first in a series of successes.

  Once his avatar was created, Gene found himself standing at the end of a dark hallway. He walked to the opposite end. There was a door on the left and a door on the right. Randomly, he chose the one on the right. He found himself in a room with four doors. Clearly, he had to choose one, and from his past experiences with FNAF games, he knew that the wrong choice would result in a jump scare and a GAME OVER screen.

  He chose the door on the left. He took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pulled. It was clear. He breathed a sigh of relief, took a few steps forward, and found himself in another dark hallway. He walked forward until he slammed into a wall. He had to say, the VR features were impressive. When his avatar hit the wall, he could feel the bump.

  He felt his way to the right, where there was a passage forward, and continued feeling his way along the wall. Between the limited perspective offered by the VR and the lack of light, this maze was obviously no joke. But if there was one area in his life where Gene had full confidence in himself, it was gaming. He was going to find his way out.

  It was strange. It seemed like part of the fun of negotiating the maze should be avoiding creepy characters who lurked around corners and jumped out when least expected. But so far, there were no creepy characters in sight, not even the title character. The game was called Springtrap’s Revenge. So where was Springtrap?

  “Gene Junior! Dinner’s ready!” a voice called from the kitchen, breaking Gene’s immersion in the game. “Stuffed peppers and macaroni and cheese!”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Ma!” Gene yelled back. But he knew it would be longer than a minute. He wasn’t leaving the game until he found Springtrap.

  Besides, if there was one thing he knew about Ma, it was that she wasn’t going to let him go hungry. If he took too long to come to the table, she’d make him a plate and bring it to his room, so he could shovel in his dinner while he played.