OH MY GOSH, HI.
So, I am SUPER stoked to present this story to y'all, since I am a recently-converted Five Nights at Freddy's FANATIC! Y'know, the sad thing about me is that I usually jump into trends late, and while I may have missed the original hype wagon for FNAF, I'm happy to say that I think I joined this train while the trend was in full swing. I'm excited about that! Hopefully this story will entertain you all. I worked crazy hard on it!
Anyway, while I love the horrifying concept that the brilliant Scott Cawthon invented, I typically hate the horror genre. I don't like being scared, and honestly, if I don't see a legit reason for an undead monster to start attacking people, then I won't take a horror story seriously. Which brings me to why I wrote this story: I don't believe anybody becomes a bloodthirsty demon after they die. It's just not what people do! And five little kids?! No way, Jose!
In light of this point, this story will be a bit on the lighter spectrum of horror. Don't worry, it'll still stare you in quite a few places (it sure scared me), but since it's almost impossible to write a convincing jump scare, the game play aspects you know won't quite be as solid. Instead, I'll start getting in your head with unnerving, psychological horror that'll make you even more afraid of animatronics and child-oriented pizzerias. Buckle up, buttercup. You're in for a ride. :)
No Strings Attached begins in the familiar scene of Five Nights at Freddy's 2, read from the protagonist Jeremy Fitzgerald. He's a lot more fleshed out - all the characters in here are. Hopefully I explained his motives, his in-game reactions and his personality well. I guess you'll be the judge of that, huh? I also tweaked a few lore points so that the slightly-modified story makes sense. You'll see what I mean later.
Before I see you off, I'd like to acknowledge the help of several people who inspired me: MandoPony, NateWantsToBattle, Groundbreaking, GMM, Griffinilla, Sheppard, Rebornica, my lovely sisters NekoKem, AliZoe and DooderButtDJ, the awesome artists who supplied the clips for the cover art, and most of all: SCOTT CAWTHON! All of these characters belong to him, and him alone. He deserves all the credit.
I invite you to read No Strings Attached. Let me know what you think! Forgive me for any errors, as always, thank you.
Hey, there. Nice to meet you. H-how are you doing? Are you new in town?
...Err, I'm Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzgerald. I'm actually really glad to see a new face around, here. We welcome as many as we can get; people like you help give new life to tired, small towns like this. Heaven knows we need some life, especially after what happened at Freddy's. Stale towns with stale people often spawn unbelievable stories and legends, and trust me when I tell you that we're no exception. Uh, I hope I'm not scaring you off...
Hm…
Hey, are you by chance familiar with the company Fazbear Entertainment? Maybe the Freddy Fazbear's Pizza franchise? Well, if you are or not, I really need to get something off of my chest, but nobody else will listen. Harry already knows everything, so he's not a great person to vent to, even if he is my best friend.
Ahh, Harry… he was there with me the whole time, and man, has he seen it all. Sorry, I'm rambling... But you weren't there those nights, were you? Would you mind if I, uh, chewed your ear for a bit? I promise I won't, like, mug you, or anything. I don't have that in me.
...Wait, you'll listen?! Really?! Wow, th-thanks! You're the bomb! What was your name?
Awesome. Again, it's so nice to meet you. Man, I can finally relieve all this pressure. But, uh… where do I start?
Well, I guess I should start with how I got myself into all this. I-I'll admit (and you can probably tell) that I'm kinda nervous to tell you everything, but that's just because of who I am and what I've seen.
I mean, I've always been a nervous kind of guy, but working at Freddy's sort of sent my anxiety through the roof. I had to get some anti-anxiety pills for my recently-diagnosed panic attacks… Kinda sucks, but you know? That's just how life turns out, sometimes. Honestly, though, after you hear what I'm about to tell you, you'll understand that some people have it much worse than I do. I really can't complain about anything.
But first let me get something out of the way before I drag you into this, all right? I never wanted to work at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Like, ever.
Seriously, if I wasn't so desperate to make some money, I never would have dialed their number for an interview, let alone consider the option. The only thing that got me to apply was the fact that if I couldn't pay my rent, I would get kicked out of my apartment and forced onto the unforgiving streets of town. I probably could've starved. I might have even lost my car in the process. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's pretty rough out there.
Crawling back home to my parents wasn't an option, either, considering they were hundreds of miles across the country. And to top off the sundae, they promised me on the day I moved out that their doors were shut tight until I had a decent job, a wife, and at least two kids.
So, there you go. I was nineteen, almost broke, and one-hundred percent on my own. I had no choice, seeing as nobody else was hiring at the time. It was either go to Freddy's, or start begging for change at the mall.
Anyway, apart from the chilling rumors people drew up about the company, I could never get past the eerie aura Freddy's just seemed to give off naturally. Something about the way the building's windows glinted sent my spine rattling whenever I drove past it. The ads with the animatronics printed on them always made me uncomfortable. Since the new place opened a few weeks ago, I shied away from the talk around town of the new-and-improved pizzeria and its new attractions, my mind twisting each story into a mangled mess of paranoia and speculation.
Suffice to say, when I saw that our new local Freddy's was hiring, I initially denied the thought of applying. But with my savings depleting rapidly, I did what I had to do.
Even though I really didn't want to.
Man, it's hard to believe this all started just last week…
After eight consecutive sleepless nights and countless denied job opportunities, I finally had to throw in the towel. At that moment, my options for employment were exhausted. There was nothing more I could do - no more managers to prod to hire me, no more searching, no more waiting. My checkbook was drowning in red ink. I was down to my last bruised apple and a half-carton of warm, sour milk. I lost my electricity two days before. I took cold showers and washed my clothes with dish soap in the tub. Urgghh… Talk about horrid. I hated living like that.
But on that cool, mid-autumn afternoon, I forced myself to pick up the newspaper, dial the number I had circled, and mustered my courage to try and set up an interview.
The phone seemed to ring for centuries before, finally, a woman answered on the other end. I'll, uh, spare you the details of the long, arduous call, since I stumbled hopelessly over everything I said. It was pretty embarrassing. But despite my poor representation, the lady on the phone invited me to come over to see their security manager that night, all with a kind smile in her voice.
From what she was saying, she seemed almost eager to have me come in, which both surprised me and gave me some hope. It was heaven-sent salvation, and boy, did I need that more than anything else. It was rejuvenating. She was sweet and encouraging, happy to take a job offer from a stuttering, desperate teenager. I almost passed out while on the phone, I was so thankful for her. She kinda reminded me of my mom.
Before hanging up, she told me that the security manager, Mr. Cawthon, was only available an hour before they closed - around 9:00 - that night. I accepted with gusto, and told her I'd be there on the dot. Now let's get real, here. I didn't care how late it was. As long as he was willing to give me a chance, I didn't even care if he made me show up at two in the morning.
After bombarding the woman with my thanks, I hung up the phone, an odd mixture of anxiety, excitement, and ambition bubbling in my stomach. Maybe Freddy's wasn't so bad after all? Maybe they would save me from a life of poverty? It was too soon to tell, but I wanted to make sure I had good standing with Mr. Cawthon, just in case I had competition. I had to prepare accordingly.
It was around five o'clock, which meant I had a bit of time to kill before my interview. I used every precious second wisely, spending the remainder of my day scouring my tiny apartment for only the best I had to offer. I picked out my nicest tie, polished my shoes, and unearthed a bottle of cologne my dad had given me before I left. I showered at least three times to get rid of all the sweat and dirt caking my body, brushing my teeth till they gleamed and the sink ran pink. I combed my hair for once, and shaved my stubble. I even put on deodorant - a little extra, too, just to be safe.
Once I got myself gussied up in my nicest Sunday shirt and slacks, I rebooted my résumé with some of my recent activity before I moved out, which took a little over an hour. I had to make myself look good on paper, too, y'know?
After a long half hour of rehearsing, straightening my slouch, practicing my best smile, and trying to iron out my anxious vibrato, I faced my bathroom mirror at the finished product. I didn't look too shabby for someone so poor. My usually-tousled black hair was combed to the side neatly, my sideburns trimmed and my face clean-shaven. A pair of dark circles hung beneath my light brown eyes, making me look more tired than I was, but at the very least, I didn't look like I had been surviving off of noodles and jam for a solid week. Granted, I was a scrawny, malnourished toothpick, but my clothes were baggy enough that you couldn't tell.
When at last darkness deluged my apartment, it came time to leave. Miraculously, around the butterflies fluttering about my insides, I found myself half-dragging, half-springing out the door into the driver's seat of my rusty, dented Bronco in the complex lot. My résumé flopped about in my shaking hands as I set it, its margins now wrinkled from sweat, onto the threadbare passenger seat.
Curling my fingers around the steering wheel, I exhaled deeply, picturing myself as a night guard. If I got the job, this would be my very first graveyard shift, and that, in and of itself was a little unsettling to me. Before I had the time to let my mind wander to its macabre corners, I locked my door, buckled up tight, and peeled out of the lot, headed straight for the new pizzeria in the old heart of town.
Thankfully it wasn't too far, since my Bronco was putting by on fumes. The parking lot was packed when I pulled in, which was pretty unsurprising, since Freddy's advertised their establishment well. The fuzzy faces of the new bear, rabbit and chicken had been strewn across the newspapers diligently for weeks. They even upped the anty further by flashing their happy, singing mugs on TV during nearly all of the commercial breaks. Everyone in town knew their theme song by heart, now. A few days earlier, I even saw some guy in a golden Freddy suit dancing near a stoplight, drawing customers in by tangoing with a big sign in his hands.
Clearly, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was the place to be.
It was a miracle I found an empty space in the congested lot. Pulling forward, I shut off the Bronco, my thoughts swirling in dizzying circles around my fears. I didn't have time to be afraid of this place. I had to get this job. There was no other way I'd make it if I didn't. I didn't care if it was only for a few nights. Anything would help me at this point. With a shaky sigh, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants, gathered up my résumé, and got out of the driver's side.
I took a deep breath, taking in the smell of car exhaust and kitchen grease tinting the Saturday night air. It tickled my nose in a sickly-sweet way. A brush of mid-autumn wind froze the sweat collecting under my temples, rustling my shaggy black hair over my slick forehead. Swiping it aside, I bit my lip and slipped my keys into my pocket, edging around my headlights and towards the building at the crest of the lot.
"Here we go, Jeremy…" I murmured to myself. "You can do it. It's just a pizzeria. This is your only chance."
Hey, I know you're new in town, but have you seen it yet? It's the stout one with the trimmed lawn and cracked pavement by the gas station. Though the new management tried to give the place a facelift with nice coats of lemon-yellow paint, the roof shingles still sagged, browned, from years of beatings in the harsh Texas sunlight. The shadows cast off from the streetlamps surrounding the place highlighted the building's faces, reflecting off the windows brilliantly, but at the same time giving it an eerie appearance, looming in the darkness.
Despite being rather slight in height, the place covered some ground, with the various rooms jutting out into the lawn like the tabs of jigsaw pieces. Gardens full of dry sod and bright flowers bordered the foundation, curling around the property. Vivid red curtains in the windows attracted the eye, with candy-colored streamers dangling behind the hand-painted words 'CELEBRATE!' and 'LET'S PARTY!' smothering the illuminated glass.
And above the doors hung a sign you would have to be blind to miss. Carved into the pizza-stylized backboard were the cheery grins of the new Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie, emblazoned beneath with their logo FREDDY FAZBEAR'S PIZZA, brightly lit from below.
I gave an inevitable gulp as I crossed the parking lot and proceeded up the concrete steps for the door. Even through the heavy glass, I could hear the chaos within - the combinative noise of cheesy music, the babble of conversation, and the oh-so-prevalent thundering of a million screaming children. Peering through the windows at the whirlwind I was about to plunge into, I found myself sighing in relief as I remembered the job ad. If I got hired, I would be watching the place from the peaceful, quiet hours of midnight to six in the morning, completely devoid of other people.
But I didn't realize that the "quiet" I was anticipating was nonexistent after hours, here. You'll see what I mean later.
Grasping the handle, I heaved it open and entered the restaurant. I was blasted back immediately by the sheer might of the wall of sound barreling into me, stumbling slightly. It was stifling. Oh, boy…
Not only were my ears inundated with noise, but my nose was also, only instead with the heavenly scent of gooey, melted cheese. I didn't mind this assault one bit - the smell was almost intoxicating, and it only got better the more it lingered in my sinuses. Beneath the glorious, cheesy perfection danced the zest of spiced tomato sauce, pepperoni, onions, garlic, oregano… The works. The aroma enveloped me, snuggling me into a starving stupor. My empty stomach whined in its depravity of cheap ramen and Cheetos. I clutched my abdomen, moaning inside.
Now, the main hall of the pizzeria, if I could describe it in one word to you, would be grand. It was big. It was vibrant, fun and welcoming. Confetti littered the sea of black and white checkered tile stretching throughout the place. Streamers, birthday banners and sparkling trinkets hung from the ceiling, dangling near the clusters of colorful balloons placed periodically about, all attached to oversized presents. Several children ran to and fro unsupervised, chasing each other from one room to the next in a frenzy. They nearly trampled me, they were everywhere.
Across the floor, a miniature carousel spun, chirping out a cute, nameless tune as it ran. A group of kids were all fighting over a turn to ride the machine, pushing, hitting, pulling hair, and all the while jostling it as they brawled beside the pair of tables their parents were sitting at.
Oblivious to the fighting, their parents conversed with each other, trying to tune out the repetitive offers of an animatronic child handing out balloons nearby. My lip twitched at the sight of it, my skin crawling. I hadn't seen that one in the newspapers. I already knew I was gonna have nightmares about its perpetual smile, and its creepy, wide-eyed stare… Urgh…
Now suddenly uncomfortable, I turned my eyes away quickly, resting them on a quartet of tables to my right, where the majority of the music in the room resonated from. Filled with adults and children alike, they sat in front of a stage, cheering for the chorus of animatronics performing for them. I almost did a double-take after taking in the titular trio on stage.
The very first one I laid eyes on was the rabbit, Bonnie, sporting a bright blue paint job and a bushy white tail. He danced in an astonishingly human-like manner to the music as he strummed a red guitar. His sleek body, cherry-red bow tie and buck teeth shone acutely in the spotlights as he happily jammed out.
Maybe it was my imagination, but the pupils in his lime-green eyes seemed to shrink whenever he looked out into the crowd, growing larger when he turned to his bandmates in an odd cycle. Or… was I just seeing things?
Shaking my head, my gaze immediately flew toward the character at the far end of the stage as she broke into a jaunty soprano solo.
I gaped at the sight of her. They had really changed Chica from her original look I had seen in the old ads. She was much more feminine, now, with a slender, curvy body any girl (robotic or not) would envy. Still, she was recognizable as Chica the Chicken, apart from the pink, bikini-like bottom she wore. Her bright, shimmery yellow coating, orange beak and feet, and her trademark bib, modified with 'LET'S PARTY!' were dead giveaways. Just like Bonnie, she had blushed cheeks, and… eyeshadow, of all things.
And in the middle of the trio stood Freddy Fazbear himself. He was fatter than I remembered him being, but still just as jolly. Holding a microphone to his mouth, he sang the main vocals to the company theme in a goofy, yet deep, voice. Tall, and covered in chocolatey fur, he blinked his sky-blue eyes periodically throughout the final chorus, scanning left and right through the faces of the crowd.
While grinning to both of his rosy cheeks, he wiggled his ears to earn some laughs as he finished the song with a cymbal crash. With a gradual bow, he removed his top hat as the room erupted in applause. I managed to join in, myself.
My heart skipped a beat when he said, "Thank you! Thank you! That was fun, everybody!" His voice, while silly, deep and electronic, bore a distinct metallic ring behind it that made the hair on my neck stand on end. Freddy squinted his eyes happily, glancing to the rabbit and chicken beside him. "I think we have one more song to sing for a special birthday, guys!"
Chica giggled, her voice youthful, girly and sweet. It seemed they all had the same metallic sound backing their tones. Must have been their voice boxes. "Oh, that's right! I forgot, Freddy! Now, who were we celebrating again?" She placed a finger on her chin, peering innocently out into the four tables below her.
Immediately, one of the kids near the carousel shot up like a rocket, waving his hands in the air wildly, shouting, "Me! Me! Me! It's MY birthday, Chica!"
She replied with a beaming smile, giggling some more and batting her long eyelashes, "Hurray!"
Bonnie leaned forward, his ears perking as he cheered in a spunky voice, "What are you waiting for? Get on up here so we can sing to you, squirt!"
With a delighted squeal, the birthday boy sprinted through his friends and for the stage, bouncing at the feet of Freddy's band. He could hardly contain his excitement. From the back he looked around six or seven, and man, was he having the time of his life. I smiled. It was nice to see a kid so happy, y'know?
Perhaps all the rumors about this place were just rumors, after all? Nothing seemed to be amiss, here, as far as I could see.
"All right, everybody!" Freddy announced, smiling down to the boy. "Let's all sing a Faz-tastic Happy Birthday for our special friend! Ready? Happy Birthday..."
The familiar song faded into the back of my mind as I stood, frozen in my astonishment. The new animatronics were extraordinary. They were so… lifelike, and they each had their own distinct personalities. Their movements and speech were smooth and refined, not jerky or awkward like most robots, nowadays - I could hardly tell they were robots at all. I mean, if no one had told me, I would have assumed they were just people in costumes. I guarantee you would, too. Whoever engineered them really outdid themselves, and I saluted them for it.
As I marveled at their handiwork, my unease with this job soothed into something equivalent of intrigue. I started to grow a little thrilled to possibly work nights, here.
But my thrill didn't last long. While I found myself lost in the song, someone tapped my shoulder, ripping me from my trance.
I whirled around to face a tall, thin man. He looked to be in his early forties, judging by the dark age lines drooping beneath his eyes. His pale skin starkly contrasted against the deep purple, collared shirt he was wearing, and he had a mess of thick, caramel-colored hair all pulled back into low a ponytail. Sparse stubble lined his sharp chin and jawline, clinging to his edged cheekbones.
For a few seconds, he peered down his nose at me with dark, nearly-black, brown eyes, distinctly twinkling in the lights of the restaurant. A vintage security cap weighed down his cowlick, shadowing his face, but what attracted my eye most was the golden badge glinting on his chest pocket, inscribed with his name in capital letters: VINCENT.
He smiled at me, and while a woman would have found it rather dashing, it was a tired, dreaded smile. A smile that made it seem like he wasn't excited to see me at all.
"Good evening, sir," he mused. Though weary, his voice rode slightly on the higher spectrum; I detected no vibrato in his tone at all. "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. You're, uh, lookin' a little lost to me. Are you here with the Harris party, or, can I help you find something? Bathrooms maybe? We've got soda machines, but you gotta pay for those."
I stared at him, anxiety for my interview churning my gut. Was this the guy I needed to see? I wasn't sure, but I had to play my cards right, regardless.
Clearing my throat, I spoke my clearest and looked him straight in his black, sparkling eyes. He didn't blink once - it was a little unnerving. "Uh, no, actually. I applied for the night guard job and I'm here for an interview with Mr. Cawthon. Could I talk to him, please?"
To my surprise, the man abruptly stiffened, his expression hard and lifeless. "Which one?" he asked, his voice flat.
Wasn't expecting that. "What? What do you mean?"
He repeated, with a bit of harsh, misplaced impatience fueling his words, "Which Mr. Cawthon? There's two of us." He aimed his finger at his chest. "I'm Vince Cawthon. Did you need to see my brother Scott Cawthon?"
I stood there, blinking in silence like an idiot. Thinking back to the phone call earlier this afternoon, I vaguely remembered the woman on the other end telling me to ask for a Scott briefly, but she had addressed him as Mr. Cawthon for the majority of the call. I guess his name had slipped my mind as the day droned on.
I don't know about you, but I tend to stutter when I get nervous - it's an annoying quirk of mine. And for some reason, Vincent's sour attitude towards my request triggered my stuttering worse than a cute girl did. I actually started to feel a little threatened by his unpleasant, impatient demeanor.
"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't know there were two Mr. Cawthons," I stammered, bracing myself for something I couldn't foresee. My heart thudded heavily inside my chest as the lights in his eyes scorched holes in my face. "But y-yes, I need to speak with Scott. He's here, tonight, right?"
There was a heavy pause - only Freddy's distant laughter broke it. We stood, facing each other in an awkward silence.
Vincent's tone then improved somewhat, and he regained his lucidity, shifting his stance. His expression softened, and he smiled again. "'Course he is. The man practically lives here." Turning to the side, he said, "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back with him." With that, he swiveled on his heel, striding away behind the four tables before disappearing down a long hallway.
As soon as he had gone, a violent shiver tore through me, sending my teeth chattering. I can't tell you in enough detail how uncomfortable I felt while speaking to Vincent. Something about him made my veins squirm. His unnaturally pale skin, that toothy smile, his voice… the subtle shimmer in his cold, black eyes. Errrrgh… Bad vibes, man. He gave off an unsettling air, and it put me on edge.
But all of that only had me wondering… Who was he, exactly? And what was his problem?
My mind attempted to wander into another maze of fearful speculation, but not before I quickly diverted it away. I decided that I wasn't going to dwell on the whole Vincent thing - it probably wasn't a big deal. I mean, he could've just been tired from a long shift, or something, uncertain how to interact with someone like me. I didn't know what was going on in his life, anyway, so why should I let him ruin my night? I had to keep cool and collected. I had an interview to ace.
Letting that conversation go, I rotated my head back toward the stage. The song had ended without my noticing, and I found with amazement that the animatronics had actually left the stage and were beginning to interact with the party guests.
In the absence of the music, the room was considerably quieter, now. My ears rang above the subtle sounds of the restaurant as I watched the party from where I stood by the door.
An employee - also wearing a deep purple shirt - emerged from the hall, balancing a large tray of cupcakes on her shoulder. She carefully set them on a table next to Chica, backing away hastily as the animatronic proceeded to give them away. Chica was wonderfully sweet and motherly about it, especially with the younger ones, who absolutely adored her. They gathered around her like chicks to their mother hen, their arms outreached for the treats.
Meanwhile, Freddy seemed to be telling jokes to the adults, keeping them company while Bonnie let a few of the older kids play with his guitar as he handed out simple party favors. Whistles, pens, toys, rings, y'know. From what I could see, it looked like the shindig was coming to a close, which made sense, considering it was nine o'clock. Some of those kids were looking sleepy as they licked the pink frosting off of the cupcakes.
I really wanted one. Like, really. I literally caught myself stomach snarled up a storm, my hungry thoughts immersed in layers and layers of luscious cake before I forcefully reminded myself of why I was here. Looking away, I quickly read over my résumé a few times, practicing my interview lines in my head.
While in the middle of sifting through my words, I abruptly realized that I had been subconsciously tapping my toe to a cheery, music box-like melody tweeting behind me.
I hadn't noticed it before, what with all the noise, but while reading through my qualifications, my mind slowed. I lifted my head up mid-sentence, the ticking notes of the song pulling my mind away from the text and back into my memories.
I knew that tune - it was My Grandfather's Clock. Ironically enough, my own grandfather used to have an antique music box that played that same song. I clearly remembered listening to it while smearing crayons all over his coloring book collection as a kid.
With a faint smile, I turned around to see where the music was coming from.
Tucked into the farthest corner of the room was a small, secluded countertop, which I hadn't seen upon my first inspection of the pizzeria. A set of shelves stocked with plush toy versions of the animatronics, all with huge, bulging eyes, protruded from the wall behind it. Bright character posters, drawings and decorative pizza slices covered the confetti-print walls.
On the edge of the counter, next to a cash register, sat the music box, outfitted to look like a birthday present. Its polished silver crank slowly revolved on its side as it happily sung My Grandfather's Clock for all the room to hear.
The bubbly notes rose and fell in my ears, bringing me back to my grandfather's living room. But something then caught my eye, stirring me from my reveries: a dark cord running from the back of the box, falling down the counter before snaking across the floor into an enormous, teal gift box with purple trim.
I tilted my head in curiosity at the sight of it, my brows furrowing. It was huge, the box. I probably could've fit inside it with little effort. Oddly, a chill caressed the back of my neck the moment I laid eyes on it, goosebumps erupting all over my skin. Around my clacking teeth, I took a quick glance at the ceiling, noting that there weren't any air vents around. That fact only seemed to worsen my shivering, and my hair stood bolt upright. Brrr… Why was I so cold all of a sudden? And what was inside that behemoth of a box?
Despite my interest, I never had the chance to go over and investigate, for a loud burst of laughter pulled my attention away from the counter and back toward the party up front. I found the guests all in stitches over something Freddy had said - they were banging their hands on the tables and tossing their heads back as they roared in laughter. Whatever it was must've been pretty funny; even Bonnie and Chica giggled amidst their tasks.
Thankfully, due to their distraction, I noticed movement in the hallway behind them. Two figures emerged from out of the long hall, walking side-by-side, skirting around the party and to where I stood by the door, talking amongst themselves. Upon closer inspection, I found one of them to be Vincent, bringing along who I assumed was Scott.
Standing up straight, I prepared myself to make a great first impression for who could have been my new boss, but froze in my place the closer he came. With all of my pre-rehearsed introductions vanishing, I found myself staring in severe confusion between the two men, my mind grinding to make sense of what I was seeing.
The pair advancing leisurely toward me were exactly alike. They each walked with an easy, laid-back gait, their shaggy, caramel-colored hair drifting behind them. The exposed alabaster skin from their faces, necks and hands leapt away from their rich purple shirts and black slacks. Gold badges glittered on their chests, and their gazes were zeroed in on me with hawk-like intensity.
I started sweating again upon seeing them. Upon seeing him. Vincent. There were two of him.
But when they came to a stop in front of me, only one of him returned my smile, his pitch-black eyes strangely warm and welcoming as he took my hand firmly. I shook it, gripping his clammy hands while gazing emptily into his face, my thoughts piled up in a gridlock.
"Hello, hello, friend!" the Vincent I was shaking with greeted. "Good to meet you. I'm Scott, the Security Manager here at Freddy's. What's your name, son?"
...This was Scott? I hesitated to reply for a second, my mind still trying to compute this phenomena. Okay, obviously, they were twins. Completely identical twins, and although it was extremely disorienting to see them next to each other, their subtle differences showed the longer I looked between them.
Scott had neater hair, and his face was clean-shaven. His voice was a carbon copy of Vincent's, which kinda threw me off. Scott, however, was a great deal more inviting. He was legitimately happy to see me, and his smile proved it. Their eyes were different, as well. Whereas Vincent's glinted with an odd, mysterious light, Scott's just radiated with warm hospitality and friendliness. I was drawn to him acutely.
I blinked away my confusion, correcting my slouch and locking eyes with him. Scott noticed my movements with a sly curve of his lip. "Uh, Jeremy Fitzgerald. Good to meet you too, sir. Thanks for taking the time to see me, tonight." I managed to crack out a smile, but due to my stupefaction, it wasn't my finest.
Scott, alongside Vincent, was several inches taller than I was (I'm a pretty tall guy), and he looked down his nose at me just like his brother did. He genuinely smiled down at me, though, nodding with grace.
"No, no, thank you for taking the time, Mr. Fitzgerald. We appreciate it." He then released my hand and stood back, taking Vincent by the shoulder. They both grinned similarly, putting their heads together. "Bet you didn't expect to see two of us, didja?"
I shook my head, bewildered. "Huh-uh. I thought I was seeing things for a second."
Scott gave a hearty laugh, clapping his brother on the shoulder. I thought I saw a flicker of a grimace cross Vincent's face, but it was fleeting. His onyx eyes burned once again.
"Eh, don't you worry about it, Jeremy," Scott dismissed. "We get it all the time - I mean, ever since we were kids. It's actually kinda fun to see the looks on people's faces wherever we go." Releasing Vincent, Scott folded his arms, beaming at his memories. "Ahh, that stuff never gets old… But anyway, enough about us. Let's talk about you. Uh, you were the one asking about the night guard position, right?"
Even after the surprise twin fiasco, my responses started coming back to me, my thoughts collecting. Thankfully, they came back fast. "Yes, sir. That was me," I replied, pressing my voice to banish my anxiety. "Is the position still available?"
My heart sang when he replied, "Darn right it is, bucko. We haven't found anybody we'd love to hire, yet, so we're still looking. Uh... our secretary told us you were very interested in the job. You obviously saw the ad, so tell me, Jeremy, why do you think you should work here at Freddy's?"
This was it: the interview. This was what I had rehearsed for hours for. What I so desperately needed. What I had prepared myself mentally and physically for. I knew precisely what I was going to say - only the best, all enthusiastically, and leaving my subdued fears for the company out of the equation. Truly, this moment, while facing Scott and Vincent Cawthon would make or break my future.
At that exact moment, though, I wish I would have known the twisted hell this job had in store for me. But I didn't. I was completely ignorant of the gruesome potential of this job - criminally unaware of the darkness looming behind the Fazbear name. Man, if I would have known… I would give anything to fix this moment, now. I would do anything to go back and change my own mind…
Like a fool, I blindly sold myself to the fractured doom waiting, hungrily, for me at the end of the interview. Tonight, at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, my impending fate was staring me straight in the face.
And I had no idea.
Taking a deep breath, I began, "Well, when I was a kid, my parents would take me and my sisters to Freddy Fazbear's for all sorts of parties and things. We always had tons of fun, and we'd beg them to go back for weeks. I think we went almost six times during June one summer - we kinda turned into regulars, there. Heh, heh..." Scott and Vincent both smiled at my story. I went on, "Anyway, I guess the franchise has always held a special place in my heart, and now that I'm older, I think I'd make a great addition to the company due to my history with it."
Scott nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds good to me. What, uh, qualifications do you have to be a reliable night guard?"
After handing him my résumé to look over, I didn't hesitate to tell him about my strengths. "Uh, I'm extremely responsible; I was always the one babysitting and taking charge, cooking dinner, even though I was the middle child. I can multitask really well, I'm a hard worker, did great in school, I've never crashed my car or been late for anything. I'm neat, efficient, and I'll stay focused. I'll do whatever you need me to do, and I'll do it fast." I paused, thinking over my next few words. "Plus, I want to work, here. Seriously. You have no idea."
Vincent raised a brow. He craned his head to the side, curious. "And why is that?"
I bit my lip, looking down at my baggy clothes, thinking of the skin and bones they were hiding. My mind then wandered to my pitiful living arrangements, my stomach twisting, reminding me of my poor nutrition and the empty fridge back at home.
My courage collapsed into something equivalent of humble admittance. I shrank beneath the gazes of the two men before me, helplessness consuming me. "I need this job," I murmured. "I'm running low on money, and it's getting hard to support myself… This place - you guys - are my only salvation." I ran my fingers through my hair. "If I don't get this job, well… I don't know what I'm gonna do… I can't go back home… There's no one else I can really go to."
My eyes hung low, embedded into the floor in my shame. A solemn silence, only broken by the faint clinking of the music box, weighed upon Scott, Vincent and me, lingering for several moments. It was almost tangible.
After what felt like a decade, Scott grabbed my attention as he spoke, lifting my eyes from the checkered tile. "How old are you, Jeremy?" he asked, his voice tender.
"Nineteen, sir. I'll be twenty on the eighth of next month."
He smiled broadly, folding my résumé in half. "Well, you'll be happy to know that we only hire applicants who are eighteen or older as night guards, here." I perked up slightly, grateful to hear that something was actually working for me for once. "And since most of the others who applied are still in high school, I'd say you're in good shape with us."
Some light filled my soul at that. If he was implying what I thought he was…
But my hope dissipated almost instantly when Scott raised his head, proclaiming aloud as he set a hand on my shoulder, "Well, I've seen all that I need to. I think we're done, here Mr. Fitzgerald."
Turning away from me, he left me standing there, flabbergasted, my mouth hanging open as he looked from me and to his brother. "Uh, Vince, think you could go and grab the new employee package from the office?" My heart stopped.
"We've just found our perfect fit."
Ta-daaaah! What'd you think?! Hope it got you interested in the rest of the story. I did SO much homework preparing for the story so everything would make sense.
If you have any questions, thoughts, or cravings for more, you know where to find the PM button!
See you next chapter!
...if you dare!