The night pressed against the windows of Noir Orphanage like a suffocating blanket, its darkness broken only by the occasional flicker of failing lights within. The building's imposing facade loomed against the sky, its name emblazoned above in stark lettering that seemed to scream into the void. A shadow darted past one of the windows – a fleeting movement that spoke of urgency and terror.
Inside, a framed photograph perched on a wooden shelf captured happier times: the orphanage staff gathered together, their frozen smiles now bearing witness to the horror unfolding beneath them. The fluorescent lights above sputtered and flashed, casting an intermittent glow across the scene. Bill Thompson, the thirty-four-year-old night guard, crashed into the shelf as he stumbled through the hallway. His leg, bearing a deep and angry gash, gave way beneath him. The photograph clattered to the floor as he collapsed.
Blood bubbled up in his throat, and he coughed, spattering crimson across the worn linoleum. "Gotta get out of this place," he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. His trembling arms pushed against the floor as he struggled to rise, his security uniform dark with sweat and blood.
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Behind him, the flickering lights created a macabre shadow play on the wall – the distinct silhouette of The Rabbit, its elongated ears and distorted form transforming the familiar into something nightmarish.
Bill's desperate flight led him to the stage room, his faltering steps echoing in the cavernous space. His strength finally gave out as he reached the front of the stage, his body crumpling to the floor. His labored breathing filled the silence, until it didn't.
The curtains suddenly burst apart with a violent swoosh, and music blasted through the room's speakers – an upbeat tune that formed a grotesque counterpoint to the scene unfolding below. The empty stage blazed with light, creating a theatrical backdrop for what was to come. Bill's terror-struck eyes reflected the harsh illumination as he attempted to drag himself away.
The Rabbit advanced, its footsteps measured and deliberate, the mallet swinging lazily at its side. With calculated cruelty, it brought a foot down on Bill's outstretched hand. The crack of breaking bones melded with Bill's agonized cry. His eyes traveled up, up, up – just in time to see the mallet's arc begin its deadly descent.
In the instant before impact, time seemed to freeze. Then reality rushed back with brutal force.
The Rabbit stood motionless, gazing down at its handiwork as warm droplets of blood spattered across its face, staining its pristine white fur with crimson roses that bloomed in the harsh stage lights.
