Disclaimer: I do not own "Five Nights at Freddy's" or its characters.

[A/N – Greetings, readers. As announced, here it is, a side project that will shed some light on the background of characters that don't have their own POV arc in the series. Each chapter will be dedicated to one character, this first one being dedicated to the now deceased Jim Taylor.

Hope you like it :3]

"Mom! Mom, please! You can't do this to me!"

The teenager struggled to release himself from the men in white that dragged him towards the ambulance. This couldn't be happening. What had he done wrong?

The woman in front of him wailed as her husband supported her. They did not answer their son's calls, watching as he was being taken away.

"I'm NOT crazy, mom! Please!" he yelled, to no avail. His parents had made up their minds – their son was crazy, and letting him go to an asylum was their only option.

But their son wasn't crazy.

Ever since he was a young child, Jim could see things that no one else could. He talked to invisible people – imaginary friends, his parents assumed – and insisted on saying they were real. His parents thought that, as he grew older, those "presences" would disappear and Jim would be a normal teenager. Unfortunately for them, that was not the case.

As he grew older, Jim kept having conversations with "ghosts", as he claimed, and, if that wasn't bad enough, there were rumors going around that he could do things with his mind. Doors closed on their own, objects levitated… As much as Jim blamed it on the spirits, his parents slowly started to get convinced that their son was not in his right mind. He was pulling stupid pranks on them, behaving oddly, and seeing things that weren't there. Being sent to an asylum was the best thing for him.

When the doors of the ambulance closed, Jim knew things would never be the same.

Life in the asylum was hell. The procedures done on the patients to "calm them down" were barbaric, and only made their condition worse. Jim had to take pills he didn't need, get electric convulsion therapy as "punishment", and being locked in that padded white room would end up making him become what others thought he already was – insane.

But he endured it. He knew that he was on the right. Even at the asylum he could still ghosts. Spirits of previous patients that never made it out of that building, spirits of nurses that were for some reason attached to that place… Most of them were relatively harmless, but some old patients could get quite aggressive. Sometimes, they would hurt the new patients, and the doctors wrongfully thought they had hurt themselves. Whenever he tries to tell them otherwise, he would just go through "treatment" again. So, he decided it was best to keep quiet about what he saw – even if he was right.

He spent years in that place. Eventually, his act paid off and it was declared he was mentally sane again. Once he abandoned that damned white building, he couldn't help a sigh. Now that he was out, he didn't know where to go. Certainly not home – he did not want to see his parents. He understood their position, but he couldn't forgive them. They should have believed him; they should have supported him…

"Hello, Jim Taylor," greeted a voice from behind him. "Leaving us so early?"

Jim looked over his shoulder. A man in an impeccable tuxedo and top hat looked at him with a small smile, holding a cane. He was quite old, and – despite his overly posh attire – could have looked normal if it wasn't for the fact half his face was missing. The first time Jim had seen him outside, he had quite the shock. Now, however, he was used to his appearance.

"Good morning, Sir William. Yeah, they're letting me go… I'm not 'insane' anymore…" he replied, emphasizing the word "insane" by making air quotation marks.

Sir William chuckled. "I see. Off to your parents' house then, I assume?"

Jim frowned. "No. I don't want to go back there."

The old ghost watched him for a while. "Hm… Still holding on to that, are you?" He sighed. "I know this issue does not concern me, Jim Taylor, but are you sure holding on to that will be healthy?"

Jim didn't answer.

Sir William appeared next to him within seconds. "Keeping those feelings of hatred and betrayal locked up is not going to do you any good. You must sort them out and talk it out with your family. Make them understand your point of view, you see?"

The teenager rolled his eyes. "As if they care…"

"You can't expect others to know how you feel if you don't explain it to them, right?" reasoned Sir William. "Give it a try, Jim Taylor. That way, if they don't understand it, it will not be on you."

Jim finally nodded. He knew he should listen to the old ghost – he was way older than him, and wiser.

Sir William smiled. "Excellent. I'd hate to see such a young soul tarnished by a ruined family relationship. Well then…" He took off his top hat and bowed down, revealing a big bloodied hole in his scalp. "It was an honor to make your acquaintance. I hope to see you again soon."

Jim wrinkled his nose at the sight of the bloodied hole but smiled, just as the ghost vanished. "Bye, Sir William."

"Jim, clean up table 5 will you?"

"Yes sir!"

Jim hurried towards table five, retrieving the dirty plates the previous costumers had left behind. Once he was done taking the plates to the kitchen and cleaning up the table, he sighed and took out his apron. Finally, his shift was over.

It had been four years since he had made it out of the asylum. He managed to have a relatively normal life afterwards, asides from not seeing anyone from his family anymore. Despite doing what Sir William had suggested, his parents hadn't been very receptive to what he had to say. They just couldn't believe that he actually saw ghosts, and now thought he was trying to get attention or something. The rather polite and calm conversation turned into a heated argument that almost ended in him punching his father.

So, he had cut ties with his parents and swore to never return until they were ready to accept his "gift". Yes, gift – even though he sometimes wished he never had that ability, he had to admit that if he didn't have it, he would just have a normal boring life. That way, he was unique. Plus, there had to be a reason as to why God had given him such a gift. Maybe he had to help these spirits somehow…?

"Hello, Mr. Taylor!"

Jim looked down and smiled. There was a small figure next to the front door of the café he worked at, waiting for him as usual. It was a little boy, covered in cuts and blood. Another spirit, naturally. He knew him from when he was alive – his name was Timothy, and he had been hit by a car recently.

"Hi, Timmy. How are you today?" he wanted to know.

Timmy showed him a ball. "Okay. Look, I found this! I thought maybe I could play soccer with the other kids…"

Jim frowned. Timmy still hadn't adjusted to the notion of being dead. That could happen sometimes. Usually, the ghosts he saw were aware of no longer being alive, but once in a while out came a ghost that didn't know or didn't want to accept that their life was over. Timmy had to know he couldn't play around with the other kids anymore, but Jim didn't have the heart to tell him that.

"Well, I have to go. They're usually at the park at this hour… Bye, Mr. Taylor!" Timmy waved goodbye and disappeared, the ball dropping from his hands and landing on the sidewalk.

Jim sighed. That also happened sometimes. A ghost would randomly lose the ability to appear solid and would just vanish, having no recollection of what they were doing. That usually happened to those who had not come to term with being dead, according to some of the most "experienced" spirits he had met. He had to admit most of what he knew from the spirit world came from what ghosts had told him in the past, including Sir William. He hadn't seen him since he left the asylum and he couldn't help but wonder where he was. Maybe keeping an eye on the patients of the asylum, probably. It was also thanks to them that he learned that his ability didn't just help him see ghosts. He could also keep them away, if he so desired, and feel their presence even if they made themselves invisible.

"Jim!" someone called.

He looked to his left and smiled. A curvy girl with her auburn hair tied in a ponytail was walking towards him, almost skipping. She waved and showed him a wide grin that sparkled along with her sky-blue eyes.

"Hey there, handsome. I couldn't help but notice that you are not in my bedroom yet, what's up with that?"

He flushed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, chuckling. "Bev, my shift just ended… I was going to call you…"

"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

He held her close and kissed her back. "Beverley White, this is not the way a proper lady should conduct herself…" he said jokingly.

She grinned. "Good thing I wasn't planning on being a 'proper' lady then. Plus, you like it," she retorted, nudging him playfully. "Were you talking to Timmy just now?"

He nodded, now looking serious. "Yeah… He… still doesn't understand that he's dead…"

Her grin disappeared slowly. "... I know it must be hard for you, but I think you should tell him… I mean, I would do it myself, but I can't see him."

Jim nodded again. It never ceased to amaze him how well she had embraced his gift.

At first, Jim thought it was best to not tell her at all that he could see ghosts, but with time it became apparent that he would never be able to hide it from her forever. He ended up telling her everything, expecting her to walk away and never talk to him again, but instead what happened was that she sighed of relief.

"Thank god," she had said. "Whenever you got distracted or I caught you talking with yourself, I was starting to think you were high on drugs or something!"

Not only had she believed him, but she was actually quite interested in his ability and wanted to know all about the ghosts he had seen and what they could do. Never once did she look at him funny or accuse him of being insane; she simply embraced that aspect of him and showed that she was there for him, no matter what. Plus, like she had said: he was a smart guy, surely if he wanted to hide something from her, he would have come up with a better excuse than "I see dead people".

She was amazing. And to think that if he hadn't gone to that one pool party he had been dragged to by his roommate he would have never met her… Who would have thought that the introverted and homebody Jim Taylor would end up with the girl that was beating the guys at the party on an arm wrestling competition…?

As they walked down the street, talking and holding hands, he smiled as he imagined what her reaction would be when he showed her that little black box he had in his pocket. That one little black box that held a diamond ring he had bought with some hard-earned money, fruit of a year of savings. If there was ever something he was sure he wanted to do, was propose to her.

And so, five months later, Beverley White became Beverley Taylor.

"Daddy?"

Jim took a sip of coffee before glancing at the little girl that was standing next to him. She held a stuffed teddy bear in her hand and looked at him with a worried expression.

"Mira, it's late. You should be in bed, sleeping," he said, turning to face her.

"The lady in red is still there… You said they were gone!" his daughter sobbed.

He sighed and picked her up, holding her in his lap. "I'm sorry sweetie… I'll go there and tell her to leave you alone, alright?"

He felt her nod as she held him tight, sobbing lightly. He never expected things to turn out like this…

Fifteen years had passed since he had proposed to Beverley, and she accepted in a rather excited and loud manner. They had a good life, and were happy together. Now their family was bigger – they had three children, two boys and one girl, the girl being the middle child. The eldest, Jeff, was a teenager now and going through the usual rebellious phase that ensued with puberty. The youngest, Joey, was merely a toddler. A chubby and playful toddler. Mira, the one whose sleep had just been disturbed was, however, the one Jim worried about the most. Amongst his children, she was the only one who seemed to be able to see ghosts as well.

He didn't know it would happen. He didn't even think it would happen. But it did. One of his children inherited his gift, but at the moment it was being more of a curse to her. It wasn't the first time her sleep had been cut short due to spirits invading her bedroom. Usually they meant no harm, but there had been a stressful situation in which one ghost seemed to be developing an uncanny obsession with her, to the point of following her to her school. It was seemingly gone now, but Jim still had to check her room every night before she went to sleep, otherwise the little black-haired girl wouldn't even go in. The memory of all her dolls suddenly appearing all around her in the middle of the night with nooses around their necks still haunted her… and her father.

The best he could do right now was comfort her and make sure no other ghost was bothering her. In time, she would grow up, and if her ability to see ghosts persisted, then he would be there to explain it all properly to her. For now, she was too young.

The room was silent.

A fifty-year old Jim sat beside a bed, giving the woman laying there a loving look.

Beverly Taylor was dying. After years of fighting off breast cancer, her time had come. She was still the same sassy and bold woman he had fallen in love with, despite the baldness and the paleness in her skin. She was still beautiful and strong-willed… but the illness had won. She could no longer stand. Her body did not possess the same strength as her soul anymore.

Beverley opened her eyelids and looked at her husband. She smiled. "Hey there handsome…"

He smiled back. "Bev… I love you so much…"

"As if I don't know…" she scoffed. "You have to, if you're still here." She then looked at the young woman standing next to Jim. A twenty-year old black-haired girl, who had one hand on the man's shoulder. "Mira, sweetie…"

The girl blinked. "Hello mother." Her voice sounded like a whisper, but it was possible to capture every word. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

Beverley shook her head. "I don't think so… You already did everything a mother could possibly want… You grew up to be a beautiful young woman, and you treat us so well…"

"I have no reason to not treat you well, mother," Mira replied promptly.

"Ah… How I wish Jeff was here…" the woman said sadly.

Jim looked down. "I am so sorry, Bev… It's my fault…"

"Nonsense," Mira said roughly. "Geoffrey chose to go away and not talk to us anymore. If there is someone to blame, it's him. Father always treated us well and gave us a good life, if he can't handle your ability then it's his fault, not yours."

Her father shook his head. He could not agree with that. Jeff had always been the one to question his ability the most. Even as a child, he did not like it when his father would talk with a spirit and try to help. It got worse when he became a teenager, since his friends would often mock him and say his dad was crazy. Jim did not handle it well at the time. Being called "crazy" affected him, reminding him of the time he spent at the asylum, and he ended up lashing at him. Their relationship became so strained that they couldn't even talk to each other at some point. Finally, when Jeff turned eighteen, he left and never came back. Jim ended up making his son do the exact same he had done to his parents…

Mira had always stood by his side. Maybe because she had the same gift, she never questioned his decisions and defended her father every time he argued with Jeff. Not that she didn't suffer from their abilities either – at school, she had no friends. It seemed she had found a way to prevent it from getting to her though; over the years, Mira had become a stoic and silent girl, who rarely talked unless spoken to. Whether she actually minded being so lonesome or not, it was hard to tell.

His youngest son was, in the end, his biggest regret. Joey was supportive of both his father's and older sister's abilities, and was even jealous that he could not see ghosts like they could. He went into an allegedly haunted building to try and contact the ghosts there when he was eleven, which led to his death. He was found dead inside the building, and it was assumed he had been hit by a piece of the ceiling that fell. Jim suspected, however, that it had been the ghost that inhabited that place, which only made Jeff angrier. If only he had kept his children away from anything involving the spirit world…

Jim sighed in sadness. His family was torn apart, and it was all because of him. Mira was going to suffer just like him, and it was all his fault…

"Father."

He was snapped back to reality by his daughter's call. Beverley was having her last seconds of life. He held her hand quickly, and tried to hold back his tears. Mira's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Jim…" his wife called weakly. "I… love you…"

He smiled, a small tear managing to escape his eyelids.

"I'll… wait for you…"

The light in Beverley's eyes disappeared. She closed her eyelids and exhaled for the last time.

"So, Jim Taylor, uh? You sure that you're willing to take on the task of cleaning this place?"

Jim nodded in response. "Indeed I am, Mr. Richards."

The man in front of him gave him a long look. Jim stared at the man's sharp eyes. It was like staring down an eagle. That was one man that he should not cross if he could avoid it.

The man named Lawrence Richards finally nodded. "Alright then, welcome to the family," he said, showing a hand for him to shake, which he took gladly. "But you know, a man your age should probably be considering retirement…"

Jim chuckled. "I still have some energy in me, Mr. Richards. I assure you, I am here to stay for a good couple of years."

His new boss shrugged. "If you say so…"

Jim suddenly turned his head to his right. Out the corner of his eye, he had seen something… unusual…

He could have sworn he had seen a yellow bear, peeking out the door that led to a corridor. But it was gone now. Jim frowned. How odd. Spirits didn't take on a different appearance unless they were hiding from someone. Hm.

"What are you looking at?" asked Mr. Richards.

Jim looked at him. "Oh, nothing Mr. Richards. Say, does this place have anything… unusual about it? Any odd occurrences in its history?"

Mr. Richards took on a defensive posture. That was not a good sign. "Like what, exactly?" he asked, in a polite voice that most certainly concealed danger.

Jim evaluated the man for a while before shaking his head. "Nothing… never mind. I'll take my leave."

He turned around to leave, but just as he did so, he heard a voice. A tiny chirping voice, so low he could have missed it if his steps were any louder.

"please… help me"

Jim looked over his shoulder. A little girl with black hair was peeking into the dining area at the same spot he had seen the yellow bear. She was somewhat similar to how his daughter Mira looked like as a child, which made him feel the urge to hug the sad-looking child. She had blood all over her shirt, and a bit of blood coming out of her mouth. She was flickering, like the image on a TV with bad reception, and sometimes she became the yellow bear he had seen. A bear with no eyes, and wires falling off its eye sockets and mouth. What could that be…?

He smiled and bowed his head lightly. "Certainly, my dear," he muttered in a whisper.

The little girl smiled and vanished. Jim sighed. Well, another day in the life of a medium. Another ghost needed him. And he would not die until he helped her.

[A/N - And there it is. Some info about Jim's past. And a little sneak peek at how Mira acts too, since she'll be officially meaking her appearance in "The Other Guard".

Jim started to talk a lot like Sir William once he got older xD]