Despite all that daytime family-friendly atmosphere, Freddy's was pretty damned creepy in the dead of night. The dirty shadows on the walls, plastered with the manic smiles of the animatronics, never failed to set Mike's teeth on edge. With good reason. After the first run-in with Freddy and Co. on his first night on the job, the healthy terror Phone Guy (the lovable, horrible, evasive bastard) neglected to fully impress upon Mike in his little communique finally sank in like a hammer blow to the cranium. Wasn't long before he'd clock in and barricade himself in his sticky office all night, feverishly checking the grainy security cameras for even the slightest flicker of movement.
But not tonight. Slouched in the squeaky chair with the lights on and the fan blasting hot summer air in his face, he'd grabbed the receiver at the third ring, ready for the requisite "Hello, hello?" and cheerleader routine that verged on overcompensation... and gotten an earful of sinister.
There was something really unnerving about subdued panic in a familiar voice. The rhythmic bashing sound overlaid over Phone Guy's hurried stuttering didn't help matters. And the music box... If this was Phone Guy's idea of a practical joke, he was a much bigger asshole than Mike had ever given him credit for.
The recording ended on a screech. Swearing loudly, Mike shoved the entire phone, wires and all, into the desk drawer and checked the cameras. Outside the silent office, the dead-eyed animatronics continued their rounds, same as always, oblivious to everything but whatever they could get in between their big mitts and squeeze. Sweating profusely, Mike took a big swig of coffee, trying and failing to calm his nerves.
By 1 AM, Mike had listened to the message three times altogether, sneaking moments in between inspecting the security feeds and slamming the doors in his visitors' faces. The discomfort had long since worn off but something still didn't sit right with him. The fear sounded a bit too real, the noises too immediate. The request to check the back room stuck with him. After all, what harm could it do to have a peek when he already knew the animatronics' nightly wandering routine like the linty inside of his pocket? As much as the thought of a mangled corpse entangled in a spare suit gave him the creeps, he owed that much to the guy.
A moment's pep talk and a long scan of the cameras later, Mike crept out the door and into the long dark hallway outside. The demonic fuzzy suits were tied up in the disused arcade area, giving him ample time to sneak across the dining area with its eerily vacant stage.
Ducking behind the burgundy curtain, he opened the door leading backstage with a creak. In his short time here as a night guard, he'd only seen this dark space through the safety of the camera lens. Smelling the dusty mildew and seeing the empty eyes of the "spare" heads on macabre display was something else entirely. Frankly, the silence made him nervous. He eyed the camera like a scared rabbit, certain that at any moment Phone Guy would jump out and scare the bejesus out of him or, worse still, he'd hear a low laugh and become the fabled "Bite of '93".
He waited for something horrible to happen, but nothing did. Shining his flashlight around revealed the raggedy spare costumes hung up in the back along the wall. Still moving slowly like a curfew-breaking teen, Mike pushed the door closed and came closer to inspect them, shining the flashlight on the floor. No blood, no guts. He suddenly felt silly. Phone Guy was taking the piss out of him and he had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. Mike Schmidt, you dumb son of a bitch.
Scoffing, he turned around to have a peek at the door before heading back to the security office when one of the suits groaned. Mike nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the flashlight, which clattered to the floor and went out. He smacked right into the door in his panicky flight out of there and fell flat on his ass and scrambled back upright and the suits hanging there in the dark still hadn't lunged at him.
Mike stared. His heart was going nuts in his ribcage but he ignored it along with the pain of slamming his shoulder into the closed door. The suits stared back in the pitch black, their gaping mouths hanging open in a mockery of his own horrified expression. He desperately wanted to run, but he was stuck to the spot like his shoes were filled with cement.
"Hey?" Mike said. He immediately felt stupid, but the feeling evaporated as soon as the Foxy suit groaned groggily in pain, writhing with a squeak of rusty springs. The movement made Mike's skin crawl and every last hair on the back of his neck stood on end. No mistaking it now: there was somebody in that suit, and he had a pretty good idea who that somebody might be.
With that realization, it was like those concrete shoes were suddenly off him. Mike broke from his stupor and sprang into action, giving the door a quick check to make sure the coast remained clear before hurrying to Foxy's side. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness backstage by then, but he could barely see into the eyeholes of the fuzzy mask. The damned thing reeked like a cross between an abattoir and the aftermath of a music festival's worth of port-a-potty visitors at this range, but Mike pressed on valiantly, knowing every moment wasted was a moment closer to their collective death sentences.
He first tried to remove the fox head by lifting it off, but something tugged back and the guy in the suit jerked away with a muffled sound of protest. Mike's stomach turned so violently, he completely failed to apologize for hurting him. Metal crossbeams and animatronics inside the face... He couldn't help but picture those same metal elements Phone Guy had so cheerfully talked about in theory inside his face, ripping him up like something out of a torture porn.
Swallowing back his nausea, he peered through the eyeholes at the scared, very human eyes now trying to focus on his face. For a brief moment, Mike was struck by how absurd this whole situation was: his first glimpse of the elusive Phone Guy, someone he'd thought about and tried to picture at length during his shifts, and it was a narrow view of his eyes and so much blinking it looked like he'd gotten something in his eye and was trying to get it out. Then, the moment passed, and Mike said quietly, "Hey, buddy. Hang tight, I'm gonna get you out of there."
Phone guy didn't respond, but, considering the circumstances, Mike wasn't about to hold the poor guy to any conversational standards. He didn't resort to the brute force method this time, instead carefully sliding his hand through the fox's long muzzle right into the suit to have a feel for the situation. It was surreal. When Phone Guy jumped at the touch of Mike's hand on his sweaty, bloody cheek, Mike had to gentle him through the process with calming words like a scared animal caught in a hunter's trap. There was a tough metal bit, tough like piano wire, hooked right under his chin. Working that out of him without killing him or getting his own hand shredded was like defusing bombs. Every inch of progress had him ridiculously proud of himself.
"I am a fucking rockstar," Mike muttered aloud. Hearing that slip out embarrassed him, but he was past caring about appearances.
At long last, he was able to take the Foxy head off. Cringing inwardly, he lifted the deathtrap, ready to come face to face with a bloody mess and years of reconstructive surgery...
Huh. Not bad, Mike. He had to give himself a pat on the back on a job well done. All blood, sweat and matted hair aside, Phone Guy looked like he might actually make it out of this mess alive. A mess of blood down his neck from the wire and a few gashes left from all the screws and haphazard metal bits, but all in all easy on the eyes, all things considered.
Phone Guy drew a shaking breath, trying hard to focus in on Mike's face. Then, he made an attempt to speak, his voice so weak Mike had to lean closer to make the words out. "Took... you... long..."
Mike shushed him and got to work getting the rest of the suit off him. Bloody as he was, the rest of the suit seemed in good condition, leaving him with no more than a mangled face and severe dehydration. Nowhere near the disaster Mike had expected, but he hadn't forgotten where they were or what time of day it was. If Mike had known earlier, he wouldn't have attempted this rescue at night. Hindsight always was a bastard.
Without the suit to force him to stand, Phone Guy all but collapsed into Mike's arms like a broken puppet. While he was lighter than he looked, Mike hadn't wrangled blackout drunk college friends in years. He struggled to carry the poor bastard to the door. He was sweating heavily, but not from the heat. If the slow way backstage had been excruciatingly tense, getting Phone Guy back to the security office in one piece was going to be mildly challenging, to say the least.
He paused at the door to listen for the sounds of servos and ominous laughter. Leaned against him, Phone Guy mumbled something, but his words got lost against Mike's collar.
"Whatever you say, Ph... big guy," Mike mumbled. He heard thudding footsteps enter the dining area, slow... and stop. He was suddenly aware of Phone Guy's ragged breathing and forced himself to breathe silently, acutely aware of the thin door separating them from the twisted metal abomination whose only ambition was to tear them to little pieces. He could run. Hell, he might even be quick enough to bolt back down the hall to the office and slam the doors, but Phone Guy... For all he spoke of the animatronics like all they craved in life was a little well-deserved respect, he felt like a broken twig. It wouldn't take much to snap him for good.
After what felt like an eternity, the animatronic cackled and ambled on. Feeling a sharp surge of adrenaline, Mike cracked the door open. Coast clear. Getting a solid grip on Phone Guy, he hefted him into his arms, wobbling a bit before regaining his balance. He hesitated just a few seconds longer, all senses sharper after his time in the dark, quiet space, and then made up his mind for good and started back toward the office at a hurried pace.
Author's Note: It begins! Do leave a comment if you like this so far. Questions and suggestions always welcome! :D
