The road to the shack was obscure at best, partly covered in dense shrubs and long-since worn away gravel. Mike slowly eased on the brakes and turned left, heading off into the dark passage. The road was bumpy and slick with mud; he really hoped they didn't get stuck.
His passengers said nothing, save Chica.
"Mike?"
"Yeah."
"How long are we going to stay at this house of yours?"
"It's not really a 'house' so much as a shack. And we'll stay until we can figure out what to do with Golden Freddy. Bones. Whatever that thing is."
"Right. Okay. Um. Is there anything to eat there?"
"I dunno. How do you feel about eating canned food from World War II?"
"World War What?"
"Nevermind."
The trees provided some protection from the onslaught of rain, which had slackened up quite a bit since their departure from the former pizzeria. It'd been years since he'd gone down the road, but if remembered some of the landmarks correctly, it looked as if they were about halfway to the isolated cottage. Foxy quietly hummed The Irish Rover as the truck reached a rather flat section of the road. Mike kept a firm grip on the wheel, in case the truck's wheels suddenly slipped in the mud or fell into a watery hole.
And then, there it was. A small square shadow against the moon's light, the cabin slowly lit up in Mike's view as the truck's headlights approached it.
Mike turned back. "I see the cabin up ahead!"
Everyone in the bed of the truck nodded. For a moment they looked kind of scary, water pouring down their metallic frames as they looked down on him in the dark. He banished the thought quickly; they were his friends, and they wouldn't harm a fly. Maybe a robber or two, but not a fly.
The truck rumbled into the small patch of grass in front of the dark cabin. Mike kept the key in, leaving the lights shining on the cabin's wall. He jumped out and heard the others getting out of the truck as well.
"Hold on!" he shouted back, "I need to get something!"
The robots stayed near the truck while Mike entered the cabin. Banging and cursing followed until a light appeared inside, shifting around as if looking for something. It paused, and a moment later Mike reappeared holding a shovel and a old oil lamp. He was frowning.
"Get Ralph."
The other instantly picked up on his meeting. Freddy walked over to the bed of the truck and gently lifted out Ralph's covered body, lying it on the patch of grass while Mike went to work on digging a hole.
"Are you sure this is the best spot?" Bonnie asked.
Mike stopped, and rested on the shovel handle. "Bonnie, two things: one, this is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Two, the cops around here are idiots and assuming they don't automatically conclude Ralph's body and mine were consumed in the blaze, it will be a miracle if they travel all the way out here and find it."
Bonnie was satisfied with Mike's reply and said nothing more, watching the guard dig the rest of the hole.
When he was finished, he motioned for Freddy to put him in. He shoveled the loose dirt back on Ralph's body, then stuck the shovel in the upturned ground, bowing his head.
"I...I didn't know Ralph Brown very well. He was always a nervous man, but hard-working nonetheless. He dealt with what he had. He died trying to end of the memory of a terrible event."
Mike coughed and raised his head. "Anyone else?"
"He was the cap'n, and for that, aye respected 'im," Foxy stated without a stutter.
"He never really tried to let it on, but he did his best trying to hide the fact that the pizzeria was going under. He had a lot on his shoulders," Freddy said.
"I heard about that," Mike said, "something about the pizzeria shutting down at the end of the year."
Freddy gave a grinding sigh. "Yeah."
"Well, what would have happened to you guys? You know, if this hadn't happened?"
"Honestly, Mike, we were gonna cross that bridge when we came to it. Wouldn't have been the first time we've had to deal with anyway."
"What?"
"Uh, nothing. Look, can we get inside? I'm afraid all this water's going to short-circuit me."
Mike shrugged. He pulled the shovel out of Ralph's grave and held it on his shoulder, walking back to the open door of the cabin. He waved the others to come in behind him. They followed, and were barely able to fit through the narrow door. The sound of rain was just a mere patter on the cabin's thick roof, the sound absorbed by the oak wood.
The cabin was modest enough. Two beds, a desk with a radio, a small kitchen. A large closet sat in the corner of the room, partway opened.
"Home sweet home. Alright guys, this is it," Mike stated. He walked over to the desk and sat his lamp down, turning the knob on it and brightening the room with a warm orange glow. "It's not much, but it's all we got until I figure out a game plan."
"Got any i-inkling of one y-yet?" Foxy asked.
"Maybe, but I'm too tired to explain it to you right now. I'm going to bed. Do whatever you guys want but for the love of God don't go outside. I don't want some camper thinking he saw Bigfoot."
They nodded, and Mike hobbled over to one of the beds to get some well-deserved sleep. The soft mattress was a welcome feeling and a nice change of pace from the normal brick he had to sleep on back at his apartment. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Soon, they became even and slow, and Mike had drifted off into sleep.
Mike awoke with a start. Whipping his head around, he saw he was sitting back in the office of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The lights were low, the desk fan continued its constant duty, and low, gurgled laughing flowed out from the dark hallways on both sides.
"A nightmare? Really?" he asked aloud. In his first few days of employment at Freddy Fazbear's, they were a near-certainty. They always ended with some dark shadow with bright shining teeth breaking into his office, forcing a mask on his skull, tearing into flesh and bone. If it wasn't that, it was Chica appearing out of nowhere and ripping his throat out with her beak.
Of course, when the band dropped their we-are-trying-to-murder-you act, the nightmares subsided as well. Usually. Still had that one where Foxy made him walk the plank.
Since he already knew it was coming, he got out if his chair and poked his head down the long hallway.
"Hello?" he asked in sarcastic voice. "Nightmare Bonnie? Nightmare Chica? Ya'll can come kill me now. I've got a real nightmare in the real world that I need to take care of."
Silence. That was weird. Usually he heard ghostly whispering at this point in the dream.
He braved stepping out of his office entirely. "Hello?"
Again, silence.
With a deep breath, he began to walk down the hall. Maybe if he went to the Pirate's Cove and drop-kicked Nightmare Foxy, that would make the robot bite and he'd wake up.
As he marched up to the dining room, he noticed something odd. The stage area was empty. A barren patch of wood where the three talking animals should have been. Mike shrugged and made his way over to Pirate's Cove. He stuck his head inside the purple curtains, only to find it was empty as well.
Pulling his head back out, he crossed his arms with a harumph. "Well this is just inconvenient."
Finally, he did hear something. Close and sharp. A music box tune.
Playing in his office.
Mike turned, now much less eager to see the end of the dream than before. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his head as he paced up the hallway, and the tune's pace began to quicken. And then he recognized the song. Pop Goes the Weasel.
A high whisper accompanied the song's iconic pace. But whatever singing it was no child. The voice was taunting. Haughty.
All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel;
The monkey thought 'twas all in good fun
The voice stopped as Mike came upon the left side of his office, the tune now repeating as a feverishly face past. Where his chair was, there was no a bright blue present box, the size of a desk. It gave him an overwhelming sense of dread, but yet he had to know what was inside. He inched over to the box, holding out both arms to take off the top.
"You don't want to do that."
Mike looked over his shoulder.
His stomach sank.
Standing there, missing face and all, was Ralph. His shirt was still stained a dark red, and flecks of dirt covered his shoulders. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall.
Mike barely squeaked out a question. "Ralph?"
The manager nodded. Blood dropped out of the open wound with every movement of the corpse's neck.
Mike's eyes darted over to the box and pointed toward it. "What's in that box?"
"Something you don't want to meet."
"Golden Freddy?"
"Worse."
"Then what is it?"
The apparition stood up from the wall. "Let's just say I wasn't entirely honest with you about The Bite. And Golden Freddy ain't the worst of your problems."
"Why? Why tell me this?"
Ralph tilted his destroyed head. "Who knows? Maybe I'm a ghost. Maybe I'm just a fragment of your subconscious trying to warn you. This is a nightmare, after all."
"Warn me about what?'
"Like I said," Ralph answered, "this is a nightmare." He pointed to the box. "And it's time you woke up."
Mike spun around to see the top of the box fly off. Something tall and slender emerged from it, lunging toward him. He saw a fiendish smile and pitch black eyes as spindly hands grabbed his arms and began to pull. The thing laughed, pulling harder and harder while Mike screamed.
Just as his bones began to crack, Mike sat up in his cabin bed with a shout. He was drenched in sweat, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Not a second later did a sharp pain shoot through his side, the injuries from his find with Golden Freddy catching up with him. As he clutched his sides and slowly rose from the bed, he noticed he was alone in the cabin.
It was daytime now, and a small beam of light flowed in from one of the windows. He heard the low sway of the trees outside accompanied with birdsong. If nothing else, the cabin was a peaceful place.
Voices flowed in from the outside. They were hushed, but still quite audible and metallic. Mike grunted; he thought he told them to stay inside. He walked over to the heavy wooden door and pulled it open, the sunlight outside momentarily blinding him.
He first caught sight of Bonnie and Freddy, backs turned to the cabin. They stood over Ralph's grave, looking down on it while in conversation. Chica was standing under one of the pine trees, apparently trying to "talk" to one of the birds making its nest in the branches. Her imitations of bird's calls were atrocious at best, but that didn't discourage her in the slightest.
Foxy stood at the edge of the cabin grounds, looking down the road with his arms crossed. Guarding it, apparently.
"Guys?" Mike asked. They all turned.
"Ahoy, l-lad!" Foxy called back, waving his hook. The others answered in turn as well, waving to Mike as he walked out of the cabin.
"Should I tell him?" Bonnie asked Freddy.
Freddy shook his head. "Nah. I will."
"Tell me what?"
"Well, Chica tried to eat the radio this morning—"
"It looked edible!"
"—when we accidentally turned it to some kind of news station. They found the pizzeria burned down, obviously. They apparently think someone robbed the place again and tried to cover their tracks by torching the building and stealing Ralph's truck."
"Like I said, the cops around here are idiots."
The bear nodded. "Works for us. So what is this big plan of yours, Mike? How are we going to track down a crazy endoskeleton?"
"Well," Mike began, "I was planning on letting it come to me. Wait until you guys go offline then set a trap for it."
"Ye g-got seagull brains, l-lad? That thing b-bloody lifted me off like aye was a c-cabin boy! Ye ain't g-got a chance b-by your lonesome!"
"Well it's that or we somehow track it down. And frankly, I don't want to go wandering in the woods just to get my head bitten off out of nowhere."
Chica joined the conversation, one finger raised. "Actually," she said, "I might know where it's going."
Foxy spun around and shot daggers. "Lassie, you b-best be clammin' yer trap."
"What?" Mike asked. "Foxy, if there's even a chance you might know— "
"Nowhere, Mike," the pirate hissed a warning tone.
Mike threw up his arms. "Look, Ralph's dead! I nearly died! I think I'm pretty goddamn entitled to find out wh—"
The guard's words were cut off from the grip of a metal hand clamping around his throat. Foxy had closed the distance between them before he could even blink. He choked, his legs kicking about as the pirate lifted him off the ground and stared at him with a glow behind his plastic eyes.
"Ye don't know the first blubberin' thing about entitlement. You didn't have to live under the gaze of a skinny tyrant. Ye didn't have yer best mate turned against ye. YE DIDN'T HAVE THE BLOOD OF FIVE WEE ONES ON YOUR HANDS! DON'T BLOODY TELL ME ABOUT ENTITLEMENT, YE BOOTLICKIN' SALTY DOG!"
Chica grabbed Foxy's arm, forcing it down. "Stop! You're hurting him!"
Foxy's eyes softened, and the rage in him began to subside. He shook his head, and his toothy maw opened in shock when he realized where he was. He quickly sat Mike down on his feet, releasing his grip.
Mike let out a series of deep, pained coughs while the pirate crouched down over him.
"I...I'm s-sorry, lad. I don't know what—"
Mike held up a hand. Foxy paused while the guard went through several more pained hacks until he had enough breath to speak.
"Foxy," he finally managed to say, "I need you to be honest with me." He looked up to the rest of his friends. "I need you to all be honest with me. And I swear to God if I even suspect you're lying I'm getting in that truck and driving off."
He looked back to Foxy. "I had a dream last night. I saw Ralph. I don't know if it was a message from beyond the grave, or my brain just telling me something about the story seemed off, but he told me that the story he gave of the Bite of '87 wasn't...entirely true."
Foxy opened his mouth but shut it with another raised hand from Mike.
"He told me something else. "Golden Freddy" is just part of something worse. And a box. Something inside it. Something pure evil. Any of this sound familiar?"
The animatronics all turned to Freddy. The leader of the bang placed one huge palm across his face and shook his head.
"Mike. Believe me when I tell you: that endoskeleton should have never been moving. We made sure of that."
"What do you mean, 'made sure of that'?"
"There was...a bad man. And that costume you found? It was his. But there's more to it than that."
"How so?"
"What did Mr. Brown tell you?"
"Well, a predator got a job at the pizzeria around '85, then the five kids disappeared, then he came back two years later and Foxy attacked him."
Mike looked at the pirate for some kind of confirmation, but he was too busy listening to Freddy.
"That was the story Mr. Brown always had in case someone asked."
"He lied?"
"Not exactly. He believed the story the same as anyone. The company probably told it to him and he never questioned it. What happened...didn't happen at our restaurant."
"And you guys. That stuff you told me about gaining awareness one-by-one?"
A metal sigh. "That was a lie."
"Why? Why lie to at a time like that!?"
"We didn't have the luxury of time, Mike!" Freddy snapped back. "I had to make up something or we'd still be in the pizzeria when the rest of the humans came by! We told ourselves years ago that we'd never talk about it again!"
"Talk about what!? That Bones could move the whole time!? That one day he'd walk up and start going on a rampage!?"
"That we killed him! And how we let the others down!"
Mike's next question came out as a slurred jumble of words. "O-others?"
"Others, Mike. There's four of us now. There used to be ten."
"Ten?"
"Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, and myself. And then there was TB, TC, TF, BB, and Mangle."
There was a pause while Mike mentally tallied the names. "Wait, that's nine. Who was the tenth?"
Freddy finally removed the hand from his face. "We don't know what it called itself. Just know it was evil."
"Evil?"
Bonnie nodded. "Imagine all the worst, cruel things a person can be and put them into one body."
"The nightmare of the d-devil 'imself," Foxy added.
"And where does our endoskeletal friend fit into this?"
"Truth is, Mike, we've always known what the endoskeleton was. Until now we honestly, truly believed it had been deactivated for good. We tore out its central processor and everything. But they brought it to the pizzeria all the same. Probably thought it would be good for spare parts."
"Then what is it? What does it want?"
"I've already told you its name, Mike."
The guard shrugged.
"Mangle."
"And what does Mangle want?"
The wind seemed to die and the birds around them go silent as Freddy said his next words.
"The Puppet. Mangle wants to bring back The Puppet."