Michael had told me I didn't have to speak at the funeral if I didn't want to, but I did deeply consider it. The truth was, I didn't know what I was going to say. I couldn't go up there and talk about the awful memories I had with her, and I knew if I tried to lie I'd break down. I'd probably break down regardless of what I said.

That didn't mean I didn't want to talk. I had a lot of thoughts, but they all felt too mean to share publicly.

The days leading up to the funeral were fuzzy. It was like I'd just space out for hours and forget what happened. I'd be transported from place to place, hearing new things or talking about something. My memories became disjointed. I couldn't remember things in order. Michael noticed, but he pretended that it didn't worry him. I started apologizing to myself when everything became confusing. I didn't have to, it just made me feel slightly better.

My prosthetic wasn't ready yet. Michael started assembling one for me. I think he felt guilty about it and thought if he built it himself he would feel less shame. He had thought about getting me a wheelchair, but he thought it'd be difficult to take it in and out of the car when he felt I didn't necessarily need it. So, to move around, I was given crutches. They had a circular band around the top that I could put my arms through, so when I let go of the bar that my hands held on to, I didn't have to worry about it falling. They were black, too, and a lot more futuristic and stylish compared to the crutches when someone broke a leg. They fit perfectly with my outfit for the funeral.

Michael bought me new clothes for it. All my formal clothes didn't fit me anymore. He got me a black blazer, white shirt, and black pants. I wore thin gloves too, but not necessarily for the funeral. I just found my burn scars on my hands embarrassing. Michael got me a tie, too, and he helped put it on. His outfit was pretty similar to mine, but I supposed that made sense. There's not much variety when it comes to funeral clothes.

The ride there was quiet. I knew the animatronics couldn't come, but I wanted to bring Bowtie along. Michael said I shouldn't, it'd be too much of a distraction, not relying on it to be silent during the ceremony. I knew he was right, but I still just wanted to bring something to hold on to so that I wasn't just fidgeting in place. So, he told me to hold onto the Fredbear toy we found in Evan's room.

I didn't like it at first. It felt like it was watching too intently, and it just reminded me of the horrible nightmare I had where I lived through Evan's eyes. Then, Michael explained to me that Evan's spirit was watching over me. I knew it was just some childish tale to make me feel better, but... I did like holding it. Bowtie was still better, of course, but Fredbear was a good substitute. I liked thinking I was showing Evan the modern world through the eyes of the doll. Michael would hold onto it for me while I was moving around in the crutches, but when I was sitting and my hands were free, he'd give it to me.

I met a lot of my mother's friends. Some of them I already knew, but some I had no idea about. Michael even recognized a few of them, but most of them seemed displeased. I couldn't blame them. They knew Michael had abandoned us and were probably both surprised and disappointed to see him here. He basically had to beg to be allowed in. He wanted to be part of the planners as well, but he was already pushing his luck with just trying to be invited.

One of them yelled at Michael outside of the church. She called him some... not so nice words, but he seemed unfazed by it. He let her scream out her frustrations until she calmed down.

Another one of her friends asked me if I was alright, and I told her I was fine. She kept talking, and soon enough I realized she was specifically worried about how Michael was treating me. I told her that he was nice. She asked if I ever felt unsafe around him. I said no. She told me her door was always open if I needed a place to stay. I said thanks.

We were still in the process of selling my old house. It was especially hard since a person had been murdered inside recently. I didn't want to stay there while we were trying to move, but Michael couldn't afford paying for a motel or hotel room for an indefinite amount of time. I understood that, but it was still painful to be in that house. He's been busy looking for a new home for us that's not too far away. I had no idea what he was going to do about the place he had in Maine.

We did start packing. It might be a while before we actually move, but we're hoping to move sooner or later. We went through Evan's room together. It was odd; I'd never gone through Evan's stuff before. I'd look in every once in a while, but I didn't dare touch anything. I always felt like Mom would notice if something was different.

Michael wanted me to be present while we looked through his stuff. He'd let me choose clothes that I liked, or old items that I may want, but I didn't want anything. His room was so different from mine. Michael would make comments about the old things, and I think he flinched every time I said I didn't want whatever item he was asking about, because then it meant he had to throw it out. I guess that's how my mom's hoarding habit began. At least Michael was willing to try.

Hidden deep in his closet was the Fredbear toy. It was about the same size as the puppet plushie, but it was a yellow bear with a purple hat and bowtie. Michael said it was my uncle's before he died, and he gave it to Evan when he was young. He didn't like it that much, so he thoughtlessly threw it in and never took it out.

Oh. No, this already happened, I already had the Fredbear plushie in hand. I was in the church, sitting in a pew. Someone was talking. It was one of my mom's friends from Alcoholics Anonymous, and I knew her somewhat well. She was so insistent on trying to keep my mom sober. It'd work for a while, until withdrawal started, and she'd go back. I was so lost in thought I had begun to confuse myself, thinking I was living through that memory now , but I couldn't handle being here. I let my mind wander back.

Fredbear was the one thing I kept. But I didn't keep it for Evan or me. I kept it for Michael. I think that's the one thing he couldn't handle throwing out and never seeing again. After going through everything Evan owned and having to get rid of it, I figured he should at least have something. Besides, it was also his brother's.

I slept in the living room. My room was too close to my mom's. I hated even looking down the hallway. I'd feel too depressed to leave the house in the mornings, but Michael believed that wallowing in sorrow in the house wasn't good for me, so we'd go to places around town. He'd take me to the movies, restaurants, and parks, but I think my favorite was the bookstore.

I wasn't much of a reader, especially before all this, but reading with Bowtie in the hospital was surprisingly fun. I wanted to find another book like the one I had read there, but better. Something scary but optimistic. Something that felt like what I had been through, but with a happy ending.

Michael took me to the warehouse most of the time. It had essentially become his workstation, and he felt as if he couldn't leave me alone in the house. I didn't mind. I loved being around everyone. Just existing in the same room cheered my mood. Chica was insistent on keeping her arm upgrade, but Michael still had to find some way to cover up the elastic around it so that her endoskeleton wasn't exposed. Monty was still waiting for his one leg casing to be replaced, but Michael was too busy to respond to Monty's pestering. I offered to replace it for him. I knew how to do it; I've done it before. It took a bit of convincing, but he eventually agreed.

Freddy was the least damaged of them all, but he was ecstatic to see me. He lifted me up and carried me around so that I didn't have to use my crutches. He was like my personal walking throne.

I met Foxy for the first time. He and Roxy became instant best friends. Thank goodness, too, because I would have expected Foxy to be upset about her being his replacement. He taught her pirate mannerisms, letting her try on his eye-patch, and she taught him how to rock. They'd laugh and bicker, acting like siblings.

Bowtie basically lived on me. I took it everywhere. It'd sling its small body over my shoulder and dig its feet into my back trying to keep balance. I liked knowing it was near at all times. I started carrying around an extra pair of batteries in case it ran out of power. It'd only last about a day or two before it ran out of power. I thought it might be because it would be on for long periods of time compared to in the bowling alley. I wanted Michael to find a way to change its power source, but he was already stressed with the funeral and changing homes and my prosthetic... I decided I'd wait until he had more free time.

I really wished they could come along. I was so scared about how the funeral would go down, and I'd just feel so much better if they were there.

No, no, I thought to myself. I wish they were here now. The funeral is already happening. I'm here. I needed to ground myself back to reality. I can't keep letting myself forget what was happening now, despite how much I just wanted to dissociate. Tears were falling down my face, but I had no idea why I was crying. I glanced around.

The police were at the funeral. Not to pay their respects, but because of the ongoing investigation. Apparently, it's common for killers to go to their victim's funerals. Michael and I already knew who my mother's murderer was, but we couldn't say that. He didn't seem all that thrilled to have the police around. I don't think he liked them very much. He told them some intricate lie about what happened, and he tried to ensure that I wasn't interrogated by them. I think he said something like the two of us were kidnapped while we were outside of the hotel, and that a group of people held us hostage inside the pizzaplex. They tried to talk to me about it, and all I said was that Michael was telling the truth.

I met with Julie again, against my will. I requested Michael to be present. I stayed silent until they let Michael in the room, and once he was inside, I let him talk. She'd ask me questions, some that weren't even necessarily connected to the case, and I'd whisper the answer to Michael, and he'd say it out loud. Julie didn't seem very pleased about my new attachment to him, but it wasn't that I relied on him. I just didn't want them to find out Michael and I were lying, so I let him do all the talking.

I don't know for sure if they ever knew about what happened to Joel, but the mood in the station was always stiff and uneasy. I think they suspected something. I felt so guilty being inside. I couldn't tell them he died and it was my fault.

I'm at the funeral! I yelled at myself in my head. I kept letting my thoughts run so I wouldn't have to be present at this moment, burying my mother's empty casket. It's empty. There's nothing in it.

Everything's still so distorted. I wasn't making any sense, not even in my own head. I'm sorry , I thought to myself. I let out a deep sigh and took a quick look around me.

We were outside now, already lowering her into the ground. In her will, my mom stated she wished to be buried, but with the endoskeleton mangling her... Investigators wanted to take a deep look into it, and when they realized they were unable to remove it, they had to resort to cremating and hope the metal would survive. So, we buried an empty coffin. It was the closest we could get to fulfilling her wish.

I can see why she wanted to be buried. A headstone with her name carved into it memorialized her to not only her friends and family, but to the other people coming to mourn. People could see her site and recognize it as a person who was born, has lived, and has passed. A person who laughed and cried, who was somebody's child, who was a member in society. If their death was recent, maybe you even saw them around and never knew it. At least, that's how I felt in the graveyard.

The graveyard was behind the church. We lowered her casket into the ground with a bouquet of colorful flowers. The ceremony ended with us all surrounding her grave. She was given a simple plaque. Her inscription said, "The world fell alongside you." The adults talked amongst themselves, but I just stared at it. When it ended and people began to trickle away, Michael tried to lead me out, but I couldn't stop looking at it.

"Gregory, we should go," Michael said, but I shook my head. I wasn't ready to leave. I already felt like a poltergeist throughout the whole ceremony. I didn't want to forget this part.

I stared into the exposed coffin, knowing full well once I left, they'd fill it in with dirt, and it'd never be seen again. I held onto Michael's arm to balance myself as I sat on the ground, removing my arms from the crutches' bands so that I wouldn't have to keep them on. I sat right next to the open grave, just staring below into the hole.

I shakily pulled out a piece of paper from my blazer's pocket. It was all crumpled, but I slowly opened it up so that I could read it.

"What is that?" Michael asked, leaning over my shoulder to see.

"Just... things I would've said," I replied. I had started writing it while I was still in the hospital, when I was considering speaking during the ceremony, but I just couldn't bring myself to finish it.

"Do you wanna tell her now?" Michael said. I did. That's why I brought it.

"I want to be alone," I told him. I was going to speak to her, but I didn't want Michael to hear it. It was going to be between me and her.

Michael nodded in understanding. "I'll be by the gate. Take your time," he said, giving me a quick pat on my shoulder before turning. He took Fredbear with him. I heard him hesitate, but eventually his footsteps became silent. I turned around to make sure he wasn't here, and I was completely alone.

I blinked a couple times, adjusting to being alone after having people around for what felt like days. I listened to the sounds around me, focusing on the rustling of leaves and tree branches. It was still winter, so most trees were missing their leaves, but there were a few still somehow hanging on.

"Hi, Mom," I awkwardly greeted. It was weird to say that to a headstone. I tried not to let the discomfort make me feel too queasy and anxious to talk.

"I-I had some last words I wanted to say, but... I didn't want your memory tainted because of me," I admitted. These things I wanted to say were nice and mean, but Mom's friends didn't need to hear about it. Our life was so different from the one she portrayed to them.

I glanced down at the paper in my hands. It was too glorified of a eulogy. When I was writing it, I was thinking about how I'd talk to a big group of people, but now I didn't have to worry about anyone listening in. I was just going to use it as a small guide.

"I-I really miss you," I told her. "You were my family, my only family, for as long as I can remember. It was always you and I against everyone else."

We were the only people in our Afton family. At least, that's what I believed. My brother was dead and my father was gone. She was the only person I could remember living with.

"Michael came back. He's a lot nicer than you said he'd be," I said. She always made my father seem like some kind of villain, and because I didn't know any better, I believed her. "I think you'd like the new Michael. He, uhm, sorta saved my life, so... Well, he also got my leg amputated, so it could go either way." I nervously chuckled to myself a bit. I didn't know why I was so apprehensive.

I didn't understand how Michael could like her. She was probably different before I was born and before Evan died, but she was just horrendous. My life surrounded her, not because she was good, but because she was my only parent. The only person who could pick me up from school, or take me to the doctors, or teach me as I got older, and she didn't do any of those often.

"You were always so obsessed with how people remembered you," I said. "It felt like you just did unbelievable things so that I'd remember you, but I'm your son! I-I'll always remember you, so why couldn't you just be nice to me?"

That's all I wanted, and she couldn't give me that.

"All I ever wanted was for you to like me. And you treated me like dirt! Why don't you like me?" I wailed, and I ended up getting closer to the headstone and balancing myself with my hand on the stone. I felt my tear ducts begin to swell, and I held back my cries.

It wasn't long before I couldn't hold them back any longer and my cheeks became wet. I rubbed them with my sleeves, letting go of her stone tablet to clean my face. I was alone, but I was still so sheepish. I took another glance around, just to assure myself once again that I was unattended and no one was watching me.

I saw Vanny. She was walking up the path. The sun was behind her, keeping her face unlit, but I could tell it was her. The shock from seeing her made me lose my stability, and I fell backwards into the exposed grave.

My back hit the coffin, sending a shockwave of pain through my spine. The sound it made resembled hollow wood. I was breathing quickly, and I frantically tried to get myself up. I dug my hands into the dirt next to me. It was all that surrounded me, except for the timber casket beneath me. Soil fell into the site like a waterfall, burying me along with my mother's coffin.

There was no shovel that I could see dropping the dirt in. It was just thrown in carelessly, hastily trying to submerge me. It was moving unnaturally fast, filling up like sand, spilling into the hole. It had already reached my chest by the time I sat up and reached for the top, my fingers barely touching the grass. I pulled myself up, feeling the mud and grime fall of my clothes. I was surprised by how little I weighed without my leg, and I grunted as I hoisted myself up, until my waist was far out of the grave.

When I made it out, I quickly got away from the grave as fast as possible, gazing back to it once I felt safe. I was alone again. There was no sign of Vanny, or Vanessa, or anyone.

I glanced back into the grave. There was no dirt on top of the coffin, as if it hadn't begun the filling process.

Had I imagined the whole thing? I should've seen Vanny around if it was true. I looked down at my clothes. There was no filth on it, no sign of someone attempting to suffocate me by burying me.

I could deal with forgetting things, feeling fuzzy, and being unable to remember things in order, but hallucinating ? Had I officially gone crazy?

I wasn't quite done talking with my mom, but I had to cut this conversation short. I couldn't risk breaking my mind any more than I already had. I stuck my arms through the crutches' circlets and raised up.

I used my crutches to move down the path. It was a bit difficult with the rocky road, but the gate wasn't too far. I could see Michael from a distance, and when he saw me, he stepped back into the graveyard and walked beside me. I would've preferred it if he just waited a bit longer instead of joining me, but it was hard to say that to him.

He helped me into the passenger seat of his car, and he put my crutches in the back seat. I waited for him to sit in the chair beside me. When his door opened, he got in and sat with a deep sigh.