No I don't have any problems with you recording this, because I'm only telling the story once, alright? I don't like to talk about it. I don't even like to think about it. But you're paying, so I'll tell it.

And I'm not giving you anything that could lead someone else to come after me, I'm not doing this again. All you need to know is that I was working as a janitor at the time.

I'd never been to Freddy's before then. My folks didn't have the money to blow on pizza parties. Place was just another restaurant I hadn't eaten at. But like I said, I was working as a janitor at the time, and my cleaning service had a deal with Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I was already doing a couple of places, but some slots opened up, and they asked if I was interested in making a little extra cash. Emphasis on "little."

And I guess the first warning sign should've been the turnover rate for the crews assigned to Freddy's. The oldest guy had worked there for like four years, everyone else tended to go after a month or two.

It was a dump. I guess as a janitor I get to see places at their worst, but Freddy's was a dump among dumps. Just a big eating room with a stage, some bathrooms, kitchen, closets, that's it. I hear other places like it, like… y'know, the one with the rat? They got video games and stuff so the kids have something to do between pizza and puking up pizza. Or at least a ball pit and whack-a-mole.

This place had nothing but the stupid dinner shows. Don't know what the kids ever saw in it. It sure as hell wasn't the pizza! But I guess I never saw the place in operation, so maybe all the kids were bored out of their minds. Like their parents brought them in 'cause they remembered the place when they were kids, when a bunch of singing robots counted as entertainment. Nostalgia, whatever.

Second warning sign was when they had us come in. Most places we go in around closing, take out the trash, wipe off the crappers, get the mess out so they can open in the morning and get started. Other places we come in early and do a quick clean right before the customers or patients come in.

Freddy's wanted us both times. I asked about it, and my supervisor said something about making the health inspectors happy. Didn't think more on it, should've. Also, and this is something I found out later, we weren't the only cleaners. The outfit I joined did weekdays, but another crew came in on weekends. Those guys must've been some hard bastards, 'cause… well, you'll know why in a minute.

So it's my first day, Monday night. Load up in the van with the others, we come in at ten, 'bout an hour after closing. The place is, like I said, a dump. Outside is ratty, signs are all decades old, needs new paint. Inside isn't any better. There's the horrendous pizza stench everywhere – some folks say I got a sensitive nose, but the first time I came in I could barely breathe. Decades of burnt cheese and cheap pepperoni. Knowing what I do now, I think they did it on purpose. Better to smell pizza than the other stuff…

Shit. Gimme another beer.

Alright. So the job looks pretty straightforward, take out the trash, wipe the front windows, table surfaces and chairs, bathrooms – and damn, I'm not working at a place for kids again. I've seen some pretty bad toilets, but one of the little bastards... and someone used a toilet brush for a plunger! How am I supposed to clean with something that's got dried shit all over it?!

Anyway, place should've been simple, 'cept for the animatronics. Freddy Fazbear and his buddies. If you ever doubt that kids are stupid, ask yourself why anyone would want to hang out in a room with those things.

Freddy's the bear, right, and then there's the duck and the rabbit, all standing on stage like a bunch of stuffed animals... not toys, I mean like hunting lodge shit, dead critters stuffed and mounted with glass eyes, that sort of thing. Except they're wrong 'cause they aren't animals, but things shaped like animals. And they're big, bigger than me, and I could've gone professional if I stayed in college. Nothing 'bout 'em looks right, the heads aren't right for the bodies, the arms and legs aren't bent right, they're just… ugh. Wrong. I would've hated them even without the stuff that happened later.

So my first night, I ask my supervisor what we're supposed to do with Freddy and his pals. He says not much. The management says we're janitors, not engineers, so we aren't supposed to touch the animatronics except under special circumstances. Supervisor said it was a legal thing, like they didn't want a bunch of dropouts and illegals breaking their expensive toys. Bullshit.

Anyway, first night wasn't bad, had a full crew, and I could pitch in well enough even though I hadn't been before – a toilet's a toilet, y'know? Got some official Fazbear paperwork I didn't read at first, 'cause it's all legalese garbage. Here, see the highlighted bit. "Not responsible for injury/dismemberment?" I read these things now.

Followed my supervisor around with the trash bag, got the tour. Entrance room and office, two halls connecting to the big pain-in-the-ass dining room, bathroom and kitchens on one side, closets and maintenance room we didn't have to do on the other. Not a long job if you got enough people, and they always tried to get enough people.

Warning sign number three: they were really big on us being done by midnight.

That first night we were done a little after eleven, no sweat. I wasn't part of the crew that came in the next morning, which is a shame, because they usually have the easiest jobs on the first nights of the week. Second night was when I started having second thoughts.

We were wrapping up, not quite eleven yet, and I was putting all those damned chairs back on the floor – in the dining room, we have to put 'em all up so we can mop up all the crap under the tables? I thought we could leave them like that for the morning guys to take down, but management's orders. So one guy's taking the trash to the dumpster, and the other is mopping the east hall, 'cause the broom closet's in the west hall so we do that one last. So it's just me in the dining room, putting down a hundred fucking cheap plastic chairs. Except, it wasn't just me, see?

Look, I don't spook easy – or at least I didn't. I'd done janitor work before. I came in late nights at the industrial park, did an office there, all by myself, and it wasn't bad at all. All dark and quiet, but it's no big deal because you know the place from working there so long. It's just you and the air conditioning and the humming of the fluorescent lights. It's like the quiet of the way early morning, peaceful, not threatening. You're alone but you're alright, it's like you belong. Or this other place, a doctor's office, cleaned that at night too. It had a plastic skeleton in one room, but it didn't bother me any more than the posters of respiratory ailments. It was just a whatsit, prop. Scenery.

Freddy's wasn't like that. I was putting a chair down, and I freeze, 'cause the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up like something's watching me. I turn around, and of course it's just the fucking animatronics up on the stage. They're not even focused on me, just kinda staring at the middle distance or whatever. But it's not right. It's… man, I don't know, some primitive monkey shit. Instincts. The difference between some clothes on a hanger and a guy wearing them. I can't really explain it. But I didn't feel like I was alone in a room with some bad animatronics. I was in a room with Freddy and his pals.

I try to keep doin' what I'm doin', put the rest of the chairs up – down – but the whole time I'm tensed up and listening like I'm expecting them to pounce or something. I didn't have the problem the previous night, but I guess I had someone around me all the time then. This night, it's all I can do not to run to the entrance when I finish.

The only other thing that first week was when I was called in Thursday morning. I'd gone over Wednesday night, so I was kinda pissed from lack of sleep, but that didn't last long. See, I'd done the floors that night previous, mopped the halls and everything. So I was pretty surprised to see a bunch of smudges and scuff marks in the halls seven hours later. I almost didn't say anything, but when we were done with the spot cleaning, and loading up, I mentioned it to a buddy. He said Freddy's hired night security, they probably did it.

That's something I didn't mention, the security office between the two halls, right next to the entrance. Ridiculous – computer screens, some sort of tablet monitoring system, and huge fucking hydraulic doors. It's a crappy restaurant! I've cleaned doctors' offices with lighter security! Warning sign number four, the maximum-security pizza place.

I actually met one of the security guys the next week. We were comin' in early Wednesday morning, I mean stupid early, six in the morning. This guy's leaning against his car, propped up by his hands, head hanging down. I go over to see if he's alright, and he is a fucking mess – greasy gray face, clothes soaked with sweat, and from the smell he may have shat himself. I ask if he's okay, he looks up at me but doesn't really see me, and doesn't say a word. Just gets in his car and tears out of there.

Warning sign number five: none of the other guys on the cleaning crew act like this is unusual.

Backtracking to my first week, that Thursday morning. Learned that the floors always get scuffed before the morning cleaning, and there's always a mess in the kitchen. The restaurant staff does a pretty good job of cleaning up after themselves so all we really have to do is bleach and mop at night, but when we come in the next morning it's a goddamn mess, pots and pans and food all over the place, all the cabinets nearly torn open. The other guys didn't say anything when they helped clean it up. I decided that the security guy must've gorged himself sick on crappy pizza while waiting for his shift to end, but didn't really buy my own story. It sure as hell wasn't rats. Never had any problems with those, or any other pests at Freddy's. Guess they didn't like the pizza smell either.

So after that first week, I'm having trouble relaxing while on the job at Freddy's. Came in three times my second week, that morning I met the security guy and two night shifts. No real issues besides finding excuses not to be alone in the dining hall and breaking out in sweat for no real reason. But that Friday night I remember, the two other guys were real quiet. They'd come in that morning. I decided not to ask.

Week three is when I pissed myself. I'm mopping the dining room Wednesday night, getting to the corner. Now, on the left wall from the entrance there's this closed off, out-of-order little stage with a curtain around it. And I'm all tense and distracted from the fucking bear on the main stage, so I guess I must've snagged my mop or something. Curtain jerks back, I see eyes and a bunch of teeth, scream and fall on my ass. I don't even notice the stain down the front of my trousers until the others come in and it's too late to do anything about it. Bastards didn't tell me about the fourth animatronic, some pirate wolf.

I'm pissed in more ways than one, but they're not laughing or anything, looked just as frightened as I was for a moment. Just tell me to be more careful, draw the curtain back, we finish up. When we're hitting the van I ask why the last one's closed off. They trade this look, and then the older guy tells me about the Bite of '87. I get mad, tell him to stop making shit up, he just shrugs and keeps driving. When I get home I look it up on the 'net, try to prove him wrong. Didn't sleep that night. Almost called in sick the next evening. That's also how I learned about those kids, found the related article. Jesus fucking Christ.

Another beer or I walk, I don't need this shit.

Okay.

By week four, I'm getting into the routine, horrible as it is. First night or two is easy, all I have to deal with is fucking Freddy staring at me when I'm mopping and dirty floors in the morning. But as the week goes on, the morning shifts get messier, and everyone's trying to finish the night shifts faster, get out well before midnight. Nobody says they're doing it, but we're all rushing, cutting corners. Lucky for us, the owners are pretty relaxed about it.

Now that I've been on the beat for a while, the other guys open up a little. This guy – well. Better not say too much. He'd been there a couple months longer than me. His best story was the night they were cleaning during a thunderstorm. They're all in the dining hall getting ready to leave, crack-boom, power goes out. And Freddy turns on. He says the bear's eyes and mouth lit up and he started to play some opera piece. Everyone's frozen for six seconds until suddenly the lights come back on and Freddy turns off. I asked him how that was possible, he shrugged, said it must've been the power surge. I tried to say how that didn't make any sense, if the building was powered off the robots shouldn't have been working, and he started talking about something else.

My supervisor, the grizzled veteran? He doesn't talk much, but he's got a game he plays. If there's any, he'll take a leftover cupcake from the kitchen and hide it somewhere in the building. And when he comes in for the morning shift, he sees where it ended up. 'cause it never stays where he put it. I called bullshit, so he let me watch one Monday night, right before we left. Put it on the sink in the ladies' room. I volunteered for the morning shift Tuesday, was right by his side when we came in, it was sitting on one of the tables in the dining room. I said the security guy must've done it. He shrugged.

But on Friday morning, week four, that's when I'm fully initiated, I guess. See, they never called me in for the morning shifts after Wednesday, but that Friday they were short one – guy quit on us. The guys I'm with, the old guy and another vet, try to joke and stuff, but they're pretty tense. Soon as we're in the parking lot I know something's wrong, because there's the security guy's car there, but no security guy. The other guys trade this look, get an extra tray of cleaning supplies out, tell me to start with the front windows while they go on back. I'm done and started on the halls when they tell me we get to clean the maintenance room floor today.

Christ, gimme a minute.

Right. They'd already gotten started, and one guy's dragging out a trash bag when I come in to get my first look "backstage," and it is fucking creepy. A bunch of shelves and tables all covered in spare parts for those damn mascots. Lots of severed heads staring blindly with idiot smiles, and I don't know what's worse, the metal skeletons that go underneath, or the empty animal skins lying around like something's torn their bones out.

Then I notice the big stain on the floor around a spare Freddy suit. I know what blood smells like, I've... I know, alright? There's some, Jesus, chunks mixed in with it. The other two guys, they're dead silent, all business, they'd already been working on it before I came in. I grab my mop, pitch in too. What else am I gonna do?

This whole time I'm sorta screaming in the back of my mind, thinking I need to call the police, or something. But I don't. Tell myself the other guys aren't scared or worried, and they've worked this job longer than me, so I shouldn't be either. I mean, if it was blood, they'd be just as freaked out, right? So it must be some other mess. Or maybe the suit fell on a rat and crushed it. Or a stray cat.

We leave the place all quiet, but one of the guys calls a tow truck on the way out. I don't have to come in that night, but one of the crew comes by my place with an envelope from Freddy's management. It's got a "bonus" and a reminder about some sort of non-disclosure clause in my contract. I actually called 911 that night but hung up when the operator picked up. They called me back, I said it was a wrong number, they chewed me out. Got really drunk that night.

Shit. No, I ain't thirsty.

So, eventually I've been there for five weeks. By that point I'm having trouble sleeping, my back's constantly knotted up, and even at home I'm jumping at shadows, noises, movement out the window. When I'm at Freddy's I'm just trying to ignore things, clean them without thinking about them. Mess in the kitchen in the morning, normal. Scratches and dents on the outside of the security room doors, normal. Freddy and friends watching me clean, normal.

But one night… shit. I'm the last one out, and hating it. I'm leaving the dining hall, just ignoring the fuckers staring at my back. And I notice the door to the maintenance room is open. I didn't open it. The two other guys didn't open it. It was closed when we came in.

But it's open now, and there's this costume slumped on the floor like it's crouching, a bear like Freddy but discolored yellow. I stare at it for a moment, it stares back, except it's an empty costume so it doesn't have any fucking eyes. But it's still staring. And I run. I drop the mop and just flat out run to the front door. I swear to God, I heard a giggle behind me.

The other guys see me coming and immediately tense up, looking down the hallway past me, but I sure as hell don't look back until I'm out the door. But there's nothing behind me, just the hall to the dinning room.

Shit. Shit. I still have dreams, man, when I wake up, and it's just sitting on the foot of my bed, and then it… shit.

I'm an idiot, I think that's been established. Or maybe there's something about the place that makes you come back even when you have every reason not to. Because that still wasn't the final straw.

I came in Thursday night. One of the managers left a note, wanted us to do a bit of cleaning on Freddy and his pals. The other guys turn white. We drew fucking straws. I lost.

There'd been a complaint, the manager said. Some substance coming out of the animatronics, he said. It was probably some hydraulic fluid leaking, he said. Bullshit. I know blood when I see it.

So I'm up on the stage, trying not to throw up or piss myself, using a rag to clean the gunk oozing out around the monsters' eye sockets. It's the first time I've gotten real close to the things, and I don't smell the pizza anymore. It's like roadkill, blood and shit and rot. Those fur "suits" they're wearing, when you get that close you can see the little discolorations, the way they sag like they don't fit right, or are overstuffed with something. And I'm right up in their faces, mopping up the gunk, trying desperately to tell myself that I can't hear them breathing, it's just me. They're not moving, it's just me cleaning too hard, pushing them too hard. Get my rag, swab at the bloody snot leaking out from around their eyes, bend down to put it in the trash bag, ignore the monsters staring at the back at my head, grab a new rag, straighten up, rinse and repeat.

You know that Freddy has a handprint over his eye? I can tell you this, it's too big for a kid, and us cleaning guys wear gloves.

Years later I finish, and I'm relieved, 'cause there's a part of me that thinks I've done them a favor, so I'm safe for a while. I get off the stage and start walking out. I don't hear anything, but I make the mistake of looking back. The rabbit's looking right at me, head swiveled, aimed down, looking right at me. I freeze. Not that Jurassic Park "he can't see me if I don't move" bullshit, I mean I literally cannot move. I can't even breathe. It's only when another guy comes in that I'm able to take a breath and stagger away. He looks at me, looks up at stage, and starts backing away, keeps pace with me as we hit the hall. Third guy is in the front office, follows us out. We lock up, get to the car, hadn't actually finished. Most we said is that we'd have to do the bathrooms in the morning.

I quit the next morning. I mean, I quit after what happened the next morning. All the shit that's gone on 'til that point, I'm trying to rationalize. Red, chunky hydraulic fluid, or some other shit inside the robots. Security guys making messes at night. And the costume… I must've imagined it. I checked, there's no other bear mascots at Freddy's, and he's brown, not gold. I'd been pretty fucking stressed, missing sleep, mind playing tricks.

That Friday, we come in early, just before six, and the security guy nearly hits us as he jets out of the parking lot. I get my cleaning tray out of the van, unlock the front door, head to the broom closet to get my mop, open the door, the rabbit is standing in it. The fucking rabbit is standing in the closet, staring down at me.

I only see it for a split-second after opening the door, and that time I don't freeze, that time I'm running as fast as I ever have.

The other guys, they hear me screaming, find me banging on the car, hyperventilating, trying to get in and get it started, but I don't have the keys. They tell me to calm down, won't let me leave. The old guy pops inside, checks, says all the fucking animals are on the stage, I must've imagined it. I tried telling myself that later. But then I had this thought - why else would the management have put a security camera in a fucking closet?

But that morning I'm not listening or thinking, just shouting, and when they don't give me the keys, I just start walking. Three blocks later I notice I'm crying. They picked me up after they finished, on the way back to the service. Never said a word.

I went right home after that, locked the doors, didn't sleep for the next week, didn't come in to work neither. Never actually gave them a notice, got fired eventually. Took 'em a while. They were really fuckin' understanding about it, willing to give me a few days to pull myself together. I'd lasted longer than most, you see, and I guess I could be trusted to clean up a mess in the maintenance room. I probably could've demanded a raise, right? Maybe something close to minimum fucking wage?

Christ, how's a guy like me supposed to afford therapy? That's why I think I'm doing this, you know? Get it all off my chest? Out of my head?

I still can't sleep, still have nightmares, and it's not just from bad memories. See, I had time to do a lot of thinking after I quit that cleaning service, and I realized that a security system can keep things out, or it can keep things in.

And that's why I'm not happy now that I hear Freddy's is closing down. 'cause, well, what's gonna happen to Freddy? Where's he and his buddies gonna end up? Just gonna sit in a junkyard? Get bought by some moron who collects those freaks? Some other restaurant gonna snap them up on the cheap for refurbishment, like anything could possibly fix what's wrong with them?

Look, even if the management just abandons the place, leaves Freddy and friends to rot in the dark, I guarantee that when someone else buys the building, or the crews come in to tear it down, Freddy ain't gonna be in there waiting for them.

Author's Note -I don't actually own this game, but got caught up in the whole Five Nights at Freddy's phenomenon. Saw some Let's Plays - the Game Grumps, Rooster Teeth, Jesse Cox - and got obsessed with it for a bit, I guess. Read the game's wiki, worked on its TV Tropes page, and at some point I wondered what it would be like to work at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Not as a security guard, but as someone who only experienced the aftermath of what went on from midnight to dawn. The thought wouldn't go away, so I had to write this story to get it out of my head.

Anyone familiar with my other stories might find this a bit of a tonal shift, so let me offer this assurance - I'm not done with Kotohime. I'm about 90% finished with her next adventure, in fact, and have ideas for at least three more. But like I said, this story idea wouldn't go away, so I had to get it out of my brain so I could get back to work on my main series.

As always, I don't own the characters or premise, all credit to Mr. Cawthon, etc. Lots of this story is my own conjecture about how Freddy's might function and how it might be cleaned, and who knows how much will be invalidated by the sequel. But I mean, the place has to be cleaned twice, right? It looks so neat and tidy on the security cameras, but someone also has to be coming in to clean up all the eyeballs and teeth left for the morning, right?