He slid out of bed, bare feet cold on the floor, and walked toward the closet. Not brave. Just certain that running wouldn’t help. The books had taught him that. In every story, the ones who ran only woke up somewhere worse.
His hand moved on its own, reaching for the stack of books. Fazbear Frights #4: Step Closer. He’d read it last night. The story about the boy who didn’t believe the warnings. The one who laughed at the curse until the curse laughed back.
And the soft, wet shuffle of something learning to read along.
“Stop it,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just fiction.”
