Mike hardly needed to put any energy into his pranks. His younger brother was notoriously easy to frighten. Freddy was the type of kid that couldn't even watch Winnie the Pooh, because he'd cry every time Christopher Robin got lost. He was too upset to watch the entire episode, to find out that Christopher made it back home. To Freddy, it was best that Christopher never enter the forest in the first place.

Freddy even cried when Mom and Dad announced their plans for his birthday party come Saturday. The three of them (and Mike, if he wanted to go) would pile into the car and head downtown for a fun-filled afternoon at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. The animatronics were all the rage amongst Freddy's friends, and they were too cheery and fun to be terrifying. And yet, Freddy burst into tears at the news.

Mom and Dad told Freddy it was too late to change their plans. They'd too grown tired of Freddy's hysteria, which seemed acceptable when he was five and six, but now that seven years of age snuck up on their younger son, it was time for him to start facing his fears instead of running away. Obviously, facilitating that was doing nothing to help Freddy adjust to the world they'd brought him into.

Mike was helping. That was his excuse, anyway. The theory he'd formulated along with Jeremy, Julian, and Mark up in his treehouse was that they'd terrify the living wits out of Freddy, he'd survive his birthday, and then he'd realize just how big of a baby he'd been all this time.

Thus led to this brilliant prank. Jeremy called the house after dinner, asking if Mike could come play in the street until dark. Mom said yes, since Mike had preemptively done enough chores to butter her up toward it, and so after unlocking his bedroom window, Mike made enough of a show in leaving that his family would truly believe him gone. As carefully as he could, after disappearing down the street, Mike snuck back. Jeremy gave him a boost to slip into his window. Although there was a moment where Mike hit the floor too hard and thought his father heard him, he'd succeeded thus far.

Phase two was to collect the Foxy mask from his closet and sneak into his brother's room at an opportune moment. The annoying thing about Freddy was that he spent all evening in there, only ever leaving to use the bathroom before going to sleep. Mike waited with waning patience for this moment, nearly considering giving up a handful of times, before Freddy padded his way down the hallway past Mike. As soon as the toilet flushed, Mike risked his creaking door and made a dash down the hallway. He'd already popped out at Freddy from under the bed, a cheap thrill, but tonight would be much better.

Freddy, like any over-imaginative child, kept his closet door shut at all times. Mike made his way in, then got comfortable on the carpeted floor. He might sit here for up to half an hour, until Freddy was ready to try and go to sleep. Less than three minutes later, Freddy reemerged in his room with Mom in tow.

"Do you want me to read you something, sweetie?" Mom asked.

"Just tell me a happy story."

That was always cue for the most boring things to ever come out of Mom's mouth. That was saying lots, considering she had plenty to tell Mike about things he'd have to worry about as a grown-up, like bills, responsibility, and budgeting. Mom's stories for Freddy lacked in any sort of struggle, so there were no real plots. Tonight's story was a riveting retell of a family of bunnies that lived together under a nice tree, with plenty of food, a warm place to sleep, and everybody got along really well. There were no tales of foxes trying to sneak off with the most vulnerable family members, or even one of the anthropomorphic animals dealing with something like bunny bullies in their stupid little bunny school. Mike rolled his eyes with every sentence Mom uttered, because he knew Freddy lapped it right up.

Whatever peace he gained through this, Mike would soon rob of him. That was at least some consolation.

Soon enough, Freddy ceased to ask what came next in this so-called 'story'. Mom took that as her cue to leave after first turning on Freddy's night light, then shutting off his bedside lamp. Finally, she left. Mike could hear her muffled voice through the walls, where she joined Dad in the living room for some late-night television. His name was mentioned, but not in any serious or worrisome tone. Mike always made it home, so they didn't mind that he stayed out a little later than expected with his friends. It only meant that he was having fun. Maybe he'd leave his little brother alone, if he was distracted.

Mike almost laughed. The fear of giving himself away after so much build-up toward this, though, kept him straight.

Freddy's breathing was growing longer, more relaxed. This was the opportune time. With the fingernails Mike trained himself not to chew all week, he gently scratched the inside of the closet door. Louder, when there was no reaction. Finally, Freddy's breathing abruptly stopped. Mike imagined he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, while immobilized with fear.

Sure enough, Freddy warbled at the house at large: "Mom? Dad?"

More talking in the living room. Mom and Dad debated over who had to come deal with Freddy's nightly fright. Finally, Dad emerged. "What is it, kiddo?"

"I think there's something in the closet."

"It's just your imagination. Go to sleep, Freddy."

"I can't. Something's going to kill me."

"Nothing's going to hurt you. Go to sleep."

It took everything for Dad to leave, without tending to his now-crying son. There were no sobs, but Mike knew Freddy too well to assume otherwise. Sure enough, a sniffle came a moment later. Be a big boy, Freddy. Go to sleep. Ignore the monster in your closet.

Mike sat in utter stillness as Freddy calmed back down. Maybe there wasn't anything in here after all. Maybe Freddy just imagined it. Maybe Mom and Dad were right.

Wrong. As soon as Freddy's breathing evened back out for long enough, Mike ran his nails down the inside of the closet door again. He had to stifle a snicker as Freddy popped up in his bed. He was too scared to run for their parents. That would entail passing too closely to the closet. Big no-no.

Mike actually had to commend what Freddy did next. Rather than break down into his usual tears, he turned on the bedside lamp. When he'd normally call for Mom or Dad again, he slipped out of bed. Every step brought him closer to the closet. Mike almost felt bad to rip away all this progress his little brother made.

Almost.

A tentative hand reached out for the closet handle. As soon as there was enough space in the gap for Mike to fit his fingers, he yanked the door open the rest of the way and launched at Freddy with the scariest growl he could muster, through laughter. It didn't matter what kind of noise Mike made. Freddy was still easily bowled over, stunned stupid. He screamed like he'd never screamed before, once he regained his wits. Mike made him fear for his very life. Even Mom and Dad, who knew there existed no such thing as a monster in the closet, came running. Mike pulled the Foxy mask off in order to avoid a kick in the side from rapid-fire protective parental instincts.

Mom and Dad went from shocked to furious. "Mike! What the hell is the matter with you? Why would you scare your little brother like that?"

Mike couldn't answer. He howled and howled with laughter, while Freddy pathetically crawled over to their parents and wrapped his arms loosely around Mom's legs. He was too exhausted of emotion—and piss, judging by the small wet spot on both the carpet and his pyjamas—to even cry.

Was such an elaborate ploy cruel and unusual? Definitely, but for a fifteen year old with a seven year old brother, the punishment fit the crime of being a ginormous piss-baby. Mike excitedly relayed the tale to his friends, as soon as he could break free of the house the next day. He'd almost been grounded—barred from coming to Freddy Fazbear's on Saturday—but he showed too much faked glee for his parents to stick with that. If he thought he'd have better, fun things to do on his weekend, he'd best think again. It was absolutely required that he come, now. His friends were no longer invited, but that didn't strike their autonomy for showing up on their own outside of the birthday party.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was delightfully creepy come Saturday, in that way that only adults could see. Kids lapped up the upbeat songs that Golden Freddy and Golden Bonnie played, as well as their creepy movements, while those more mature stood to the side and looked in at tacky art imitating life. When their setlist ended, the stage-limited animatronics automatically powered down. The other three main franchise characters, Freddy Fazbear, Chica, and Bonnie, took over full interaction with the kids now.

"Gotta wonder why they'd make their eyes so big and lifeless," Jeremy posed as he, Mike, Julian, and Mark studied the scene from the side. Jeremy sipped his milkshake thoughtfully. "Is it supposed to be like that thing, where big eyes are subconscious markers for someone more open and honest?"

"Nothin' honest about these things," Julian said. "Mike, didja tell Freddy about that kid that went missing at the old diner?"

"You bet." Mike traumatized his brother with it long before this idea for a party even came up. Freddy cautiously endured Freddy Fazbear's in past, until Mike swung by Wise Primary one day on his way home from school to take his little brother. They took a longer route by the old Fredbear Family Diner on Lake Street. Freddy asked once why they went this way rather than their usual trek up Birch, but fell quiet when he was given a vague, half-formulated answer. Ever since then, Freddy couldn't stand to step foot inside the current location. At least knowledge that no one was ever put away for the crime would keep Freddy's eyes open to potential danger. "Look at him. Bet he's thinking about that, right now."

Freddy watched a couple of his friends play in the small game area. While one of them was on a hot streak, the noise attracted Bonnie. The closer it moved, the paler Freddy grew. Once Bonnie was too close in all its creepy cuteness, Freddy streaked off in the opposite direction. Mike laughed along with his friends as Freddy crawled under a table, drew his knees to his chest, and buried his face in his arms.

"Your brother is such a little crybaby," Mark guffawed. "I love it."

So did Mike. There was no better way to kill an afternoon. "Watch this."

Feigning the type of sympathy an older brother should probably be capable of, Mike left his Foxy mask with Jeremy and crawled in under the table to join Freddy. Freddy jumped a little, but calmed as soon as he saw Mike's smiling face. It was amazing, that he could still trust his bigger brother after being tormented so intensely for so long.

"What's wrong?"

Freddy shrugged. "I don't like it here. It's scary."

"I feel ya, pal. Those things are pretty creepy."

"You think so too?"

"Well, yeah. But that's because I ain't a kid anymore. You should enjoy this kind of stuff while you can. It all goes away, once you're old enough."

"I can't wait," Freddy miserably replied.

"Hey." Mike placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder. It wasn't easy, given how much he had to bow his head in order to fit under the table in the first place. "Why don't you come hang out with me and the guys for a while? Maybe you'll feel better."

Utter relief overtook Freddy. Mike almost felt bad to have once again gained his trust, only to commit something underhanded. He, Jeremy, Julian, and Mark certainly hadn't planned for it, but one shared look was enough to transport an idea around the group.

Taking the initiative, Jeremy bent down to Freddy's eye level. "Hey sport, happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"It's almost like this place was meant for you, huh? How's it feel to share a name with the main attraction?"

Freddy shrugged.

"Come on, let's go find him." Jeremy took Freddy's hand. "He should still be on stage, just about ready to sing you Happy Birthday!"

"N-no, I don't. . .Mike?"

Freddy's quiet plea went ignored, as Mike took Freddy's other hand. "Come on, hey? We'll show you, there's nothing scary about the animatronics."

"I really don't want to. . ."

His protests continued to fall on deaf ears, as the four teenaged boys carted Freddy toward the stage area. Food and games still distracted the kids, and supervision of their own kept the adults at bay. Another shared look amongst the older boys launched Freddy from his safe position on the floor before the currently lifeless Golden Freddy. He seemed to run on the same motion-sensor technology as the others. Freddy let out a subdued scream as Golden Freddy's eyes lit up and his head lifted from its rested position against his chest.

"Here." Mike lifted Freddy toward Golden Freddy. "Why don'tcha give him a big kiss?"

Freddy's head bumped against Golden Freddy's jaw, in their excitement. Mike laughed, deaf to Freddy's terrified pleading to be let back down. He repeated his suggestion, and said he wouldn't let Freddy down until he did as he said. The motion-sensor technology that alerted Golden Freddy to his audience triggered him into motion. When 'Happy Birthday' began to play, thanks to Golden Bonnie playing his keyboard behind Golden Freddy, Golden Freddy's jaw moved. A simultaneous shove from Mike, Jeremy, Julian, and Mark put Freddy's head in perfect range of his teeth to do serious damage.

No machine intended to be around children in this manner should have such crushing power, though. Nothing strong enough to crush a skull. Maybe if Mike could understand Freddy's screaming as an actual sign of distress, rather than his usual behaviour, they would have extracted him in time. Instead, they all lessened their grip as the nastiest crack any of them ever heard echoed throughout the stage area.

It was only there for a second, before Golden Freddy's jaws clamped down, but its lifeless eyes ceased to automatically scan its imaginary audience. They landed on Mike, who, before its jaw pulled upward on his little brother's head, seemed to understand their mutual agreement. Golden Freddy would accept his proffered meal, and at the same time make rid of the annoying little runt that lived at Mike's house. While the four of them watched on in horror as Freddy ceased to struggle, slow footsteps approached to their rear. Mike turned, to find Chica with her unassuming, happy grin. The racket had attracted her.

She lifted the tray she carried, half-laden with cupcakes. Offered them all one.

That moment, as well as everything leading up to it, was what Mike thought about for years following, before falling asleep every night. It defined his entire life. Before all this, he could be a carefree albeit stupid kid. It was one hell of a shitty way to wind down 1983. In ways, it had never ended. The near-decade that since passed existed in some form of stasis. On November 3rd, barely within the two week mark of Freddy's ten-year death anniversary, the nightmares had grown even worse. Why? Because of one stupid little ad in the Coalfield Progress.

The Freddy Fazbear franchise had been through nearly as much hell as Mike. They'd started over three times, and Mike had juggled homes just as frequently. Death followed that place around like a curse. Mike had his own share of bad luck. He hadn't spoken to Mom and Dad or their new respective families in years, he'd lost all his friends, and failed to trade off with future prospects. It was, in fact, while searching for a new job after being laid off from the county as a janitor, that he saw the advertisement in the employment section. Not only had he never stepped foot in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria since Freddy's accident, he certainly didn't need a reminder of what happened to Jeremy four years after that. What happened to the most recent security guard, to need a replacement?

One of the main reasons Mike preferred to work nights was that he simply couldn't sleep through them. He did better in the day, when terror wouldn't keep him awake between snatched minutes of rest. It was almost a cruel joke, that the Fazbear security guard job was something along the lines of what he looked for. The hours were perfect, anyway. Midnight to six in the morning, Wednesday through Sunday. Even though it was minimum wage, he'd gotten the same pay for less hours, and still managed to survive. He didn't eat much. Didn't need any special kind of phone service, or a vehicle. The only thing he really needed was his cable connection and the roof over his head.

He rented a room in a house where, for three quarters of the year, university students filled the rest of it. Most of them probably didn't even realize he lived here. Mike only came out of his room at night, except when he had to purchase necessities and pay bills. In this case, it was a job. He'd been out of work long enough for his circadian rhythm to shift. That wasn't a good thing. His body ached to sleep at night, with nothing real to stay up for, and thus the nightmares returned to full force.

Mike returned within them to his childhood home, on Coolridge Road. To his old room, in fact. He wasn't fifteen years old though, but seven. Freddy's age. His room was decorated with the same stupid toys, not his Zeppelin or Beatles posters. And he was very, very afraid.

The neighbour's dog barked incessantly, as if it knew something was wrong about this night. Mike was supposedly alone in the house, and yet, dishes gently clattered in the kitchen. Someone else was here, he knew it. The worst thing was, if he didn't get up to see, to scare it away, it would get him first.

His alarm clock read 4:23 am. There were still hours to go until sunrise. Why hadn't Mike locked his doors, before going to bed? He could've avoided this entire mess. Footsteps in the hallway paced back and forth, down by the living room. Whomever they belonged to obviously waited for some sign as to where Mike was. The animatronics at Freddy Fazbear's were tuned for such a thing. Mike needed to be absolutely silent.

He slipped out of bed, flashlight gripped so tightly his heart beat in his hand. The footsteps migrated toward the right hallway, so that's where Mike went. He couldn't see anything when he peered around the door frame, although he knew something was there. Shaking, Mike took a deep breath and turned on the flashlight.

As expected, Golden Freddy stalked him. Freddy only whet his appetite, and gave the animatronic a taste for human flesh—Schmidts in particular. Before Mike could react, he looked in at three inlaid sets of sharp teeth, ready to tear him to pieces.

It was currently 5:42 am. Mike hadn't bothered with sleep since that recurring nightmare yet again woke him.

He'd left his room, more comfortable sitting in the well-lit kitchen. The Progress issue that anyone neglected to throw out still situated on the table. He ignored it at first, but as the night and his thoughts progressed, he knew what he needed to do. For six years, he'd debated whether or not Jeremy was right. The only person that could fix this, could make the curse end, was Mike.

Freddy Fazbear's opened at 11 am. Mike ended up going back to bed for a while when his housemates stirred, and placed his call at 11:10. "Hi, I'm calling regarding the security position advertised in the newspaper. . .?"