Breathe…just breathe.

Every part of Quinn was shaking from running her knuckles ghost white from gripping the dark black case; Fingernails bleeding from carving please help on the front the combination to the locks on the back. Quinn wiped her brow gently her plush Foxy looked up at her from her pack as the straps sagged to her forearms. Mostly, from neglect of straitening them, Quinn had slight differences in her shoulders and always had to straighten her pack whenever she returned home from a long day of school and work. Foxy was a bit damaged from the mysterious fire. Quinn wanted to laugh she knew better, it was him. Just as her friends told her, he will always come back.

The clash of metal sounded in the nearby cargo hold. All she needed to do was slip it onto the cargo placement arranged, ready with air supplies food and water. The cool metal of the case bit her finger tips her back and legs a flame from running. The cooler metal of the crate rested against her back. The cool night air and the sound of the ocean at the shipyard seemed quite peaceful. Ironic how such a peaceful place could be turned into a violent crime scene.

Quinn shook her head, I'm not dead yet…I have survived this long. The empty vessels of boats asleep, in the witching hour. Or was it past? Whatever the case was, Quinn needed to preserve what was in the case at all costs.

"Come. On. Out. Each word spoken was followed by the bang and crash of metal. Q…qqq…q…uinn. Quinn held her breath the glitches happened every so often, his voice was gurgled metal scraping against his vocal cords. Adding to the eerie tone in his voice of pure pleasure, it was deep and mechanical. After a few hiccups he continued

"I won't. Hhharm. you. I. Know. you. Just. Want. To. hhhhelp. Even. Though. You. Are. Seventeen. You. Are. More. Like. A. child. Tttttttechnically. You. Are. Still. A. c…ccc…cccc…hild. By. Law… He glitches out laughing, that laughter will stop Quinn had enough of this.

Quinn eased her breathing remembering to breathe through her nose and keep it quiet, Quinn looked again at foxy his calm orange eyes giving comfort. Quinn set the case down by her left side. Reaching into her bag pack she removed a taser. Turning it on the hum sounded, adjusting her pack on her shoulders and grabbing the case with her left hand. Quinn leaned out looking to her left, then quickly to her right. It was quiet…too quiet… A loud bang like a car being dropped from a high height sounded right above her.

Quinn ran the taser handy, weaving through cargos and hopping over fences. Thank goodness she took classes, she always felt super human the way she could move. She loved living as a stunt actress, Quinn would pause for a moment to listen for which way he was approaching. Quinn made it to the ocean and hurtled the case as hard as she could. Now the world can know…or someone… Quinn's eyes adjusted to the light. It was about to be dusk, the last rush of adrenaline pulsed through her. A smile spread of triumph, she won once again. Switching off the taser and placing it in her pack. Quinn turned and looked for the labeled cargo hold F87. Careful of her pursuer she had a hand on the place where her taser was just in case. The feeling the taser beneath the rough material helped her remain confident and calm. She opened the door and set her bag inside, turning to close the doors a metal hand closed around her thought and pulled her in like an embrace. The deep voice seemed to rumble inside I heard all the mechanical movements and the small ticks inside. "Your it." He kept twitching gleaming in his eyes was triumphant pleasure. I tried to move the mechanical hand tightened, now Quinn could scarcely breathe. Quinn soon blacked out, and holding his prey he slipped into the shadows. Deposing of the pack, as if she never existed the practice he had mastered to an art.

Sirens sound in your ear, as you run across the beach. You snuck out to a bonfire on the beach celebrating your graduation with your bodies. As you across the beach you trip on something. Staying still the lights and the Sirens leave possibly with some of the idiots who drank. That's why you don't drink at parties, how else would you get away with sneaking out?

Once you are certain they are gone you sit up looking at what seems to be a washed up briefcase. Looking it over you feel some scratches in it, intrigued you decide to take it with you. Sneaking back to the place you just were about what felt like five minutes ago, the heat of the coals still dying down from the great night. You look to the parking lot, seeing that your car wasn't going to be able to go anywhere. You trek the long distance home, keeping to the shadows to make sure no no one sees you.

No one does, since when do they ever? It was your time to leave and you were excited to finally leave the small town behind. Climbing onto the roof and creeping onto the landing leading to your room, which was always unlocked for such occasions. Climbing over the railing you push open the door and directly step onto the carpet, the briefcase on the floor. You room was the spare master, which was fine with you, boxes as the leaning towers cover the room posters are rolled up, your room spotless the first it had been since you lived there.

Heading over to the desk you plug in the light and switch it on. The scratches are covered in sand, looking around you find a spare towel and rag. As you clean off the sand and other unknown gunk on the scratches became the words please help.

You smile to yourself, a prank maybe? I didn't really do my senior prank yet... the thought comes to you. A four digit combination lock claps the two sides of the briefcase shut. You decide to worry about opening it later, and flip it over and clean the other side noticing four numbers. No way! No one is that lucky.. but you decide to try the numbers, with a snap the lock opens. Setting it horizontal you take a breath and open the case. Inside you see a notes journals and files upon files. The note on all of it catches your attention you begin to read it:

Most people think I'm still in shock about what happened that evening. I'm not in shock, seems the only way to tell the story of the dead; is to write it on something dead and lifeless itself. I know what I saw, I know he is back. And he's coming for me, I'm not sure if I can finish the story that needs to be told before I am hunted and struck into silence. Like the others, family and friends as "friendly reminders" whose lives were snuffed out before they could even live them out.

Not only is this a crime this is a tragedy…. That starts before my voice is heard.

I was young at the time, when we first heard about the tragic accident of the murdered child, a victim of happenstance they claimed. How can you trust me? You must. Still have doubts? Read the article yourself.

Attached to the note is a newspaper clipping. It is a bit worn of age but, still perfectly legible.

Utah Times News

NOT THE SAFEST PLACE ON EARTH Fredbear Dinner

A body was recovered at 10:00 am, yesterday.

The child was near the famed restaurant around 4:00 pm.

The family refuses to comment to our reporters at this time.

Tons of protesters of safety for their children.

The protesters have rallied together, most teens camping out around the restaurant.

Although the protesters are being heard, the restaurant revealed today that they will continue to open their doors.

With promises to handle this tragedy by business measures.

Written underneath the article was these words:

Still don't believe me? Let me tell you a family secret. It's me. My family has been involved with Freddie's since before me. And it's their story that will convince you, inside the journals of my family there is my contact information hidden. If you try to get a hold of me and I don't answer for about a week, then what I am saying is true.

Below listed contact information, of someone named Trisha Quinn.