Finding The Five || FNAF Movie

5 || Bonnie's Warning

(Unedited, 3784 words)
Trigger Warnings: Indirect description of death

"So you don't know what their names are?" I ask, and Michael shakes his head.

"They wouldn't tell Abby before the pizzeria incident, they wouldn't tell me when I asked them, and they haven't said anything in the nightmares," Michael replies, his head leaned back against the wall. We're sitting on the same side now, my backpack in between us, with our legs stretched out and our flashlights in front of the bag. His is on, pointed slightly more towards me than being straight. Mine is off, laying parallel with the wall.

"Odd," I comment, quickly adding, "and I haven't gotten any names either."

"What does that mean?" he questions, turning his head to look at me. I think for a moment, looking across our setup to stare at a spot on the floor just beyond his legs. It's not that I don't know how to respond, I do. I just don't know if I want to explain my answer or if I should leave it hanging without context.

"Usually, it's one of the first things a spirit will tell me," I reply, letting my head lull back until it rests on the wall. "One of the biggest issues for spirits is identity, especially if they're beginning to lose it."

"Is that something that happens?" he asks, surprised.

"Yeah, that's why there's so many ghosts instead of spirits. When a spirit is in the in-between-- I think that's what Annabeth called the spiritual afterlife--when they're in it for too long, they lose their sense of self. And when they do that, they lose their goal, and as such they become ghosts," I explain, looking up at him. He nods in understanding.

"I need to start writing this stuff down," he laughs, prompting he to smile and shake my head.

"You could fill a library of notebooks trying to become a medium," I admit, taking a minute to think of just a few of the things I know. "Maybe two libraries, if you write big."

"That's crazy to me," he comments, and I can't help but laugh. "You know so much about this thing people don't even think exists."

"Yeah," I chuckle, shaking my head as I look back down at the ground. "It's uh... sometimes it's cool, sometimes I feel crazy, and other times I get paid so... win-lose-win, you know?"

"Do you ever wish you weren't a medium?" he prompts, reaching for his flashlight and shifting it a bit so it's more pointed towards him. Just a slight offset from front and center.

"Sometimes," I admit, nodding my head side to side. "I mean, some days I don't see or hear a thing from anybody and others I can't tell who's dead and who's not. It's like I'm constantly either overwhelmed or under stimulated when it comes to spiritual interaction, and there's no real middle ground except for in places like this."

"That sounds like a nightmare in itself," he remarks, to which I hum and then sigh.

It's really not. I don't think. I can do something other people spend their entire lives wishing they could, and I can feel people's emotions in a way some people can't even feel their own. Even though sometimes I feel like my life would be significantly easier without these abilities, I can't imagine living without them. I don't think I'd be able to enter a normal conversation without having any idea of the other person's emotions. It would be too anxiety-inducing. And I don't know what I would do if I didn't have to take an extra second to look at someone to make sure they're alive before speaking out loud to them at work. It's habit now.

"It's not nearly as bad as I make it out to be," I admit, running my fingers through my hair. "I just don't have a lot of real practice and teaching. All I know comes from my mom who didn't believe half of it and my friend who believed even the rumors. I'm really kind of teaching myself at this point."