"Ninety years without slumbering…
Tick, tock, tick, tock
His life's seconds numbering
Tick, tock, tick, tock
Then it stopped short-never to go again
When the old man died…"
For what must have been the nine thousandth time, the creature called the Puppet found itself softly singing the tune it had become obsessively accustomed to. The little music box that had allowed it to slumber serenely through the night had long ago been destroyed, and thus if it wished to get a moment of peace it had to sing to itself.
"Ninety years without slumbering…"
It hadn't been ninety years since the Puppet's last peaceful slumber, not quite. It felt like it had been that long, like it had been forever since it was able to drift into oblivion and forget all of the anger and pain.
"Then it stopped short…"
There was no anger within the creature called the Puppet anymore. No more hatred that ran through its adopted body and drove it to pursue a killer in purple to the ends of the earth. All that was left now was sadness. Sadness, loneliness, emptiness.
"When the Purple Man died…"
It unconsciously found itself switching the lyrics to its little song as it thought of the mauve murderer. The Puppet hadn't thought that this would happen. It had thought that once the Purple Man was dead all of the sadness and hurt would go away, all of the anger would be gone, and it and all of its friends could finally fade together.
But that hadn't happened.
The Puppet was perfectly happy with how things had turned out as far as the Purple Man went: he got exactly what he deserved. Now he was the only monster left, forced to wander the halls of the kid's-restaurant-turned-horror-attraction and helplessly cry out in pain and fury.
Yes, justice had been done, just like the Puppet wanted. Things should have been okay after that.
And yet the children's spirits were still sad, still scared, and the Puppet had no clue why. They had gotten their revenge. Wasn't that what they wanted? Wasn't that why it had given them new life in the first place?
The Purple Man had destroyed their robotic bodies long ago, and although it had saddened the Puppet to see the bodies it had so tenderly used to give the children new life broken it had thought that wouldn't matter so long as Purple Man paid. Once he paid, once he died, they could fade. They wouldn't need bodies anymore.
The children that had inhabited the Toys disappeared once the Purple Man went away. But Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, Balloon Boy and Mangle…they were all still there. And now they didn't even have bodies anymore. Only the Puppet itself still had a tangible form. The rest were forced to wander the decrepit establishment as phantoms, still clinging to the characters that the Puppet had assigned to them long ago. Their phantoms didn't look like the children they were. They still looked like animatronics…except older, worn down….
"YAH!"
The Puppet cringed as a scream echoed from the guardroom and several alarms started to go off. Well, there was one thing that hadn't changed. The children apparently still had a sense of humor since they insisted on popping in and spooking the newest night guard every once in awhile.
Timidly, knowing full well that Purple Man was going to be drawn to the noise that Night-Guard was making, the Puppet crept towards the security office, close enough so he could hear the guard curse and click a bunch of buttons to make the sirens stop.
Chica this time. The phantom fled from the office once the guard started hitting all the buttons. Chica turned and her transparent eyes met the blank black ones of the Puppet for a mere second before she vanished into thin air. The Puppet felt a sting where its heart belonged. The worst part of all of this was the fact that its friends had stopped speaking to it. Perhaps Freddy and the others thought Puppet had lied when it had promised that revenge would make everything better.
I'm so sorry, everyone, it thought somberly. I didn't know. I would love to help you, but you won't let me. You don't trust me. Balloon Boy's the only one that will even get near me or let me speak to him…
No hope. Not anymore. Perhaps this was simply their fate: to remain tied to this place for all eternity.
The Puppet was about to find a nice corner to hide in when a call came from the guardroom.
"Come on! Give me something to work with here! I'll try and help if I can, but give me something!"
Hope. That was the first thing the Puppet felt, knowing full well that Night-Guard was calling out to them, the spirits.
And he wanted to help.
That was unheard of. All of the former night guards had merely greeted them with screams and slammed doors. None, not even the ones that hadn't been Purple Man, had ever offered to actually help them. They never even tried to talk to them. They just tried to keep them away.
But this guard was inviting them, offering to assist them. The Puppet might have been suspicious of such an offer long ago, especially coming from a purple-clad guard. But the Purple Man was already dead. It had no reason to be suspicious anymore, and it had every reason to take Night-Guard up on his offer.
My friends won't talk to me anymore…but maybe…maybe they'll be willing to tell him something. Maybe he can help.
It was better than nothing.
With a renewed sense of energy, the Puppet began to slink towards the office, singing it's little song.
"Ninety years without slumbering…"
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