Finally, the man had set the axe down, and rested for a moment. He had destroyed all four of the machines. Now all that was left was to claim his prize. He gazed upon the old suit, the once brilliant golden coat now a sickly greenish-yellow, the fabric torn and tattered revealing the mechanisms within. The eyes stared lifelessly, the plastic warped and cracked. Despite the decay, he still felt the connection.
There was a chill that filled the room, as if from a breeze, although there were no windows. The light flickered, and the man stopped for a moment, turning around. Before him stood the children, the same five children that he had murdered so long ago. Their faces were gnarled and twisted into horrified expressions, streams of darkness flowed from their eyes. Their entire bodies were grey, and black, and white, as though all of the color had been sucked out from them. The man in the purple shirt froze, his eyes widened with confusion and, not long after, terror. Fearfully, he yelled out,
"Go away from me, spirits!"
But the spirits did not listen. Instead, they moved forward, closing in like a pack of angry wolves. The lone ceiling lamp flickered intensely, thunder cracking and roaring outside.
Then, the man had an idea. He cracked a twisted grin, his eyes showing deep malice. He shifted his attention to the moth-eaten suit on the ground and, after a moment, donned the costume once more. The children stopped their approach at the sight of that yellow rabbit, they remembered what it had done. Suddenly, the sound of crying filled the room, and the children slowly backed away, shrinking into themselves as the sobbing continued. The man saw this, saw what he was doing to them, and began to laugh, laughing at their fear, their sorrow. He laughed a terrible, grating laugh, cackling and taunting the wailing spirits.
"What's wrong?"
He jeered,
"Don't be scared, it's only me! The yellow rabbit would never hurt you!"
The ghostly figures were shaking now, cowering as the horrible rabbit continued mocking. But then, suddenly, he stopped. There had been a small, clicking noise, like a gear turning, coming from within the suit. The children ceased their cries, and looked at the rabbit. The man turned his head to look at his arm. There, he saw a small, wet spot near the elbow joint, where water had dripped down from the ceiling onto the suit. There was a moment where all was still, until, without warning--
SNAP!
A dry, springloaded crack, followed by a wet, dripping noise. The man's eyes were wide, and he took long, quivering breaths, keeping as still as possible as blood began to stain the fabric of the suit. Slowly, he began to maneuver his arms behind his back, attempting to take off the costume. Then--
SNAP!
Another lock failed, blood stained the thigh this time, the man began to shake slightly, his breath growing quicker and more panicked. Then again--
SNAP! SNAP!
Faster now, the man fell to his knees, metal driving into flesh, splitting sinew and muscle, splintering bones. The man screamed, and as he did--
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
Blood pooled on the floor as the man put his back against the wall. Every lock in the suit was failing, crossbeams drove into his ribs, his lungs, his hands. His face was being mangled, eyes and mouth torn open. It was like his whole body was on fire, he tried screaming,
"HELP ME, PLEASE!"
he cried,
"SOMEBODY GET IT OFF!"
But there was no sound, no sound other than the terrible sounds of gurgling and cracking; his throat had already been torn to shreds. The entire suit was spasming wildly like a dying animal, each sudden movement setting off more of the locks, further destroying the body of the man inside.
The children stood, watching the convulsing thing on the ground in front of them. They had already dried their tears, and met with the sight before them, began to laugh. And as they did, they disappeared, one by one, until there was no more laughing. The light in the room went out, and then there was just the man in the rabbit suit, dying alone, in the dark.
Some say he's still there, to this day, just waiting, patiently, for someone to find him.
...
Hmmm...
Maybe some things are best left forgotten, forever.