*- Sorry for the late upload, a lot of a shit was just dumped on me IRL. I might have to push this back to being once every two weeks to get things back under control, but I'll try and have next week's on time.

- So, we're approaching a point where nothing new in terms of setting is going to be happening, and thus this story is about to get very dialogue-heavy. Hope you guys are okay with that, because I actually didn't foresee it coming.

- This is gonna be a pain in the ass to re-pace when I'm done with it lol.

- As always, critique is welcome, via email or whatever. Don't have a lot of readers, so feedback is nice.*

'So you do understand me.' I stood before the animatronic fox, the light of the restaurant passing through the opening in the curtains to illuminate Pirate's Cove. In my hand I held the blanket, having just before found it tossed onto a nearby table. I toyed with the object, observing it in its odd meaning. 'You understand me, and you're not going to hurt me, so then why not come to the office? Do you think you'd scare me?' my voice continued as I eyed his muzzle. 'What does it mean, Foxy? Why aren't you like the others?'

The shift had been peaceful. The three had stalked the corridors as was their custom, but at no point had the power failed or even flickered. I had received a voicemail once more, this time a recording of what I could only interpret to be the man's frightful end – pounding on the door, the same jingle I had heard, screaming... It had given me chills, but upon checking backstage I had found no indication of there ever having been a body in any of the suits. Over the course of the night the echoic laughing had returned – Freddy's horrible giggle – but I had tried not to worry, and all things went rather smoothly even with my tattered nerves. When six A.M. had arrived I hadn't waited nearly as long as previously to move out and check on things, and quickly spotted the blanket. I had missed seeing him toss it outside.

I repeated the conclusion to myself in a sort of incantation. Alive, or at least sentient. He could hear, and he had understood me. I placed the blanket back atop his shoulder, enlightenment crisscrossing my mind. Disbelief clung to its void only to be quickly replaced by the fond feeling of desire that had kept me still through the night; I wasn't about to be scared off, now. But what did it mean, then – life in him? Foxy had probably been just as alive when I was young, when I was so blissfully unaware. I remembered his eyes – his fake irises as warm and full of spirit as the yellow of dawn, darting to me in the crowd. I remembered the special ways in which he had treated me, the attention he had given me, and the smiles he would gleam when I participated in his games. I had always remembered those things, and I had always passed them off as childish delusions. But I had been wrong.

'You're my friend. You remember me, don't you. So then you know why I want to see you,' I smiled. 'I'll be here tomorrow, too, you know,' I spoke, backing out of the Cove, 'so come on by. I won't be afraid, I think. At least not of you.' Looking into his slouched visage, I realized I had never actually encountered him in the dark and wondered if that statement would hold true when I did. 'Least long as I'm not wrong about this,' I chuckled nervously, heading off.

The weekend arrived to me with the humid glow of an afternoon sun. In bed I watched the dull rays pass over to me in what would have been an annoyance had I not been awake and thinking for hours. Friday had been active but uneventful; to my sincere confusion Foxy had not so much as taken a step outside his place of dwelling – I would know if he had, having spent most of the night anxiously peering at the monitor. I wasn't sure what I continued to want so badly, but the idea of him, and perhaps the others, being more than just simple machines was intoxicating. Maybe that was what had been playing on my mind the entire week, what had kept me going. But Foxy had done nothing, and aside from the highly-disturbing, utterly incomprehensible voice message that I had received at midnight (full of low, swift garble and lasting only a minute, after which I was left more uneasy than ever before) the shift had turned into a monotonous drag.

I had grown angry, or at the very least frustrated. There he was – the answer to all of my questions and the root of all of my desires – and yet he had failed to respond. He had refused to even peak out to check on me, and so when I had eventually went to do so of him I was growing upset. Foxy had remained in his dormant sag all through the night, the blanket having not been budged, and having known very well that he had heard me prior, I had thrown into rage. Certainly not the best of all of solutions – especially if he could feel or the like – but I hadn't been able to help myself.

After I had calmed down enough to grow regret, I had gone to apologize, understanding that I would receive no response. It was clear to me that it was to be on his own terms if he ever did react, and so had patted him in reassurance, wondering on the weekend and my next step, and quickly remembering the documents in the office below. It hadn't been a rash decision, and I found it hard to morally justify, but it was also the one source of information I hadn't looked into yet – the past employees. Everything private was laid bare on those papers, and as I had went to sift through them my mind had gone to the consequences if caught. But it had been Saturday morning, the restaurant closed, and so I had continued onward.

So many names were of third-shift, the vast majority of them only written as employed for a day or two. I had worked slowly through them, often questioning whether or not the words even stood for the living anymore. What had stuck to me the most, though, was that there were more than a few gaps spanning the timeline, one of which happened to be right before the date I had started; there was no one listed as having worked directly before me, the most recent, previous employee having left a little over a week prior.

Arriving on my own contract, I had went to examine it in-full. Sure enough, the details were there, displaying their gruesome, nonchalant clauses of death and bodily harm to anyone willing to read. Finishing my task briefly after, and having copied down the numbers and associated names for later investigation, I had went home to rest.

With a half-yawn, half-sigh I rose to sit, uncovering myself from my uncomfortably-warm sheets. My thoughts were lost on the weekend and of Foxy. After having sang victory over my own, internal issues I was to be faced by something I couldn't control at all. It seemed simple, looking back, that I had tried to justify what I had faced with doubting my senses. But Foxy was real, he was alive, and so why after having come so far was I now confronted with silence? I deserved more than that, I needed more than that, and I would have to figure out his behavior if I was going to earn it.

I dressed, went through my routine, noted my father as being missing, and then went to sit by the phone, carefully sipping at my fuming coffee. I hated talking on the phone; it was always so awkward – informal in its requirement of distance and lack of visual yet entirely formal in its social practice. Looking at the lazily-scrawled notes on my parchment, I figured there to be at least a few hours worth of telecommunication, which would be more than enough to drive me mad. Ah well, it was my best shot. I picked up the handset and entered in the first number, figuring to start with the most recent one.

He didn't answer and neither did many others, their phones either ringing out or being disconnected as a whole. I went through the listings, quickly growing cognizant of the reality of my task and the reactions I could expect from those who picked up; most of them immediately hung up, but a few stuck around long enough to assault me with all sorts of colorful slurs.

Within a half hour I had cleared the majority of the list, and, growing increasingly dismayed, made my way out to the porch for a smoke. Of course it couldn't be that simple; nothing else had ever been. I could always lie to try for answers, but I figured that to be a fleeting possibility at best. My headache strong, I tried my best to find a reasonable solution but at last returned inside in defeat. I was just going to have to see what could be done, and, if anything, I could always try another day those who hadn't answered.

A few calls later, I reached the final name on my list and the very first one for the shift on record. My gut was aching with tension and annoyance, the results having been a mockery of my endeavor. Why was it that no one – not a single soul – had even so much as humored conversation with me? Had their experiences really been that awful? Probably – any normal guy would break into crying their very first night there. I sighed, picking the receiver up again, listening as the ringing echoed, echoed, and then parted ways.

''Ello,' the soft-pitched voice muttered. I asked whom he was and then announced myself.

'So, uh, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Freddy Faz-'

'No!' the voice pierced my ear, now anything but soft. 'No, fuck no! Fuck that place, and fuck its haunted psychos! Stay the fuck aw-' the rant was cut short by the dial tone. I chuckled a bit; as rude as the others.

'Haunted.' Perhaps it shouldn't have, but the word rang throughout my head. None of the others whom I had spoken with had ever said anything as mysterious as that. Were they haunted? The man had surely been referring to the animatronics when he had said 'psychos,' so was he then just exasperated, or did the word have actual merit to it? I wasn't one for the supernatural, even with all of my escapist tendencies; I had never once considered the possibility of the animatronics being possessed or demons or the like. Plus, why would a ghost want to help me? The whole 'stalk and scare' routine would've made sense given the three others, but Foxy saving me destroyed that theory. I remained in my seat, contemplating the events at the other location and if it somehow tied into everything; but there was no proof, and if Foxy wasn't willing to respond I had to find out another way.

My hands tapped on the steering wheel, my body flying down the highway to music and my own atrocious humming. It was going to be a long drive – the man didn't live anywhere near the city. I didn't even know why I was so determined. I mean, sure, there was my wonderlust in Foxy, but it was the weekend, and after what seemed like years of stress and nightmares I ought to have had been relaxing, not traveling out to harass some poor S.O.B. who wanted nothing to do with me. Maybe my subconscious had taken over, then, to push me for answers that'd help me understand my strange obsession. Either way, I couldn't escape the addiction.

It was a warm feeling, knowing that he was conscious, at least – that the one who had sheltered me was not some mindless beast. I was no longer as afraid of Freddy and the others as I had once been, picturing it all. That was probably in part due to my perceived safety in Foxy, but it was also possible that I was simply growing accustomed to everything. I remembered myself watching the three through the cameras in the few times they had managed to draw my attention from Pirate's Cove; in the first half of the week I had only been able to stomach glimpses, but on Friday I had taken a closer look, watching them spasm and stare. That was something new, too – the fidgeting. They hadn't dared move while observed until the latter half of the week. Maybe there was something more to the other animatronics, as well.

The actual restaurant had started acting strange, if I could even attribute action to it. It might have had been occurring for awhile (as my camera had so often been focused on Foxy), but because of my old fright of the others I hadn't noticed it until my last shift. Things sometimes changed; the drawings on the walls, the posters, hell even the walls themselves started to show certain differences from their normal states. While I drove, it was hard to recall what exactly was out-of-place that night (which only added to the tingling doubt of sanity), but I somehow knew it had all been real, and moreover that I had once known what those differences were.

I shook my head mid-song. Regardless of it all, Foxy was alive, and that fact was to remain forefront on my mind. Maybe all of the animatronics were, whatever that meant. I was just excited to have an old friend back, even if he was an inanimate mute.

I stood afront the man's door, nervously hovering my knuckles in preparation for a knock. The apartment complex reminded me of my old home; it was rather plain and not well-maintained, but it was secluded enough from the busy world to give me at least some peace of mind as I contemplated my confrontation. With an inhale, I moved to rap my fist on the wood. The door shortly opened, a fair, brown-haired head appearing through the space the chain lock allotted.

I stared at him in unease. 'Hi! Uh, are you Mr. Fitzgerald?'

'Oh no,' he grimaced. He recognized my voice. 'Not you,' Fitzgerald sounded, beginning to shut the entrance. My hand went to catch it without thinking. 'Move!' What was I doing? I had to say something – anything. His face disappeared from the passage, the force of his shoulders fighting my hand.

'I know they're alive!' I spat out, quickly regretting the shout with a glance around. The pressure pushing against me dissipated, my hand lurching the chain taut.

'Say that again?' the man's voice muttered through the wood. I burned a hole into it with my eyes, unwilling to let my confidence fade.

'I know they're alive.' A loud sigh came from inside and the face reappeared, my hand retreating cautiously to my torso.

'And why's that?' he asked, his tone matching my own nerves.

'I-it's a long story, uh. Well, uh-'

'Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter,' Fitzgerald spoke, turning surprisingly empathetic. 'If you know what's good for you, you'd get outta there and not look back. That place is a hell-hole.'

'But why?' I pressed. He lowered his face with another utterance of dismay.

'Fuck, ugh, come in...' I heard the sound of the chain being released as the man opened the door and stepped to the side. Was it really going to be that easy? I hadn't expected to get anything out of him. I took my paces inside and he shut the door behind us. 'Last thing I need is the neighbors thinking I'm nuts. 'They're alive!'' he mocked. ''They're controlling Bush!' Ugh...'

My eyes averted, a nervous chuckle giving response. Walking to where the home proper opened up I took in the living room – a quaint, modest arrangement of sorts. Fitzgerald stepped up to and past me, moving to the right and into the kitchen.

'Suppose I should offer you a drink or somethin',' he spoke seemingly more to himself than me, clanking glass against particle board as he rummaged through cabinets.

'I'm good,' I waved off.

'What happened to your head, anyway?' he asked while at work.

'Oh, uh... nothing, really.'

'Uh huh.' I listened as he continued about, eventually pouring something into a mug and then moving back to me.

'Well? Sit down.' I did as instructed, doing my best to remove my anxiety by means of the couch. My eyes wandered as he took a sip of what I presumed to be coffee. 'So?'

I couldn't even remember what I had wanted to ask. 'Uh... well...' I paced my fingers on my knee, attempting to bring to mind a somehow-normal intro to whatever story I had to tell, even if the circumstances were decidedly not-normal.

'Alright, well, how about this. How'd you find me, anyway?' Fitzgerald asked in between sips.

My face contorted into a question. 'You never saw how they just leave everything around? Uh... the records and stuff?'

'Far as I know, no,' he shrugged. 'You mean they just leave that crap out for anyone to see? Hah... typical.'

'Yeah, in the office downstairs.'

'Aw, yeah,' he nodded. 'Never really went down there except for, y'know. No reason to. Christ...' he snorted.

'Yeah... It's- it's pretty stupid...'

'Well's not the only thing stupid I'm sure you figured out. Look, how's this? In exchange for whatever we're doin' here,' he pointed at me, 'take care of whatever file they got on me. I don't need no one coming and riling things up. I'd rather just forget the whole fuckin' place...'

'Yeah... yeah, uh, sorry.'

'Whatever, man,' Fitzgerald threw up his arm. 'Let's just get this over with, 'kay?'

'Uh, yeah. So... uh... What uh- what uh... how... what did you mean by 'haunted'?' I managed.

'Well isn't it obvious?' he nearly shouted. 'You said they're alive. You know what those things are!'

'I, uh... I don't, really,' I encouraged.

'Christ...' He brought his palm to his head. 'Look, I told you – get out,' he commanded, his eyes locking with my own. 'How long have you been workin' there anyway?'

'Uh, a week.'

He laughed. 'You're telling me you made it through the whole damn week? Well shit,' he shook his head in jest, 'you're on your way to becomin' employee of the month, or year for that matter,' the man finished, continuing his jolliness. I figured to let him refocus before responding.

'Does no one really stay?' I continued.

His expression turned dumbfounded. 'What do you think!' he boomed in condescension. 'Most get the fuck out, just like I said!'

'I just,' I stammered, 'uh... then how can you know?'

His vehemence faded. 'Uh... well, I worked at the same place you did – er, do – except, uh, I was also at the restaurant before it.'

'Wait you mean the one those kids disappeared at, and that bite or whatever?'

'Oh, you know about that, huh?' he softly nodded. 'Even more reason why you shouldn't be there, then. How'd you find out, anyway? Someone tell you?'

'Nah, I just went through some newspapers and shit,' I rubbed my neck. 'I mean, the guy on the phone – uh... dunno if you know about that – he- he was the one who kinda got me interested in this whole thing. I actually don't know I'd've stayed without those calls,' I chuckled to myself.

Fitzgerald was silent for a bit. 'Aw, yeah, him,' his voice turning soft. 'Was a cool dude. Was one of my bosses... trained me.'

'Huh,' I nodded, 'Yeah he, uh... so you heard the recordings?' I hoped not, even if it would mean some answers.

'Yeah... He's dead.'

I sighed, my own tone become subdued. 'So that's... real then...'

'Are you just nuts or somethin'?' he broke the mood.

'What?'

'Honestly, man, no shit it's real,' he said, bewildered.

'Sorry, I- I mean... it's just a bit much, just everything. I mean, how do they even... th-the bodies. If those things kill people – stuff 'em into suits or whatever – I mean don't people find out?' I asked.

'Sure they do, someone does. Don't know who or how or... whatever, but eventually the place is cleaned up, good as new, just like contract says,' he grinned, chuckling a little. 'Never could figure out how the place wasn't shut down, but guess so long as it's not more kids, people don't care.'

'I just don't get it,' I confessed, stretching into a more comfortable position and looking to the ceiling.

'Me neither, but I didn't care enough to stick around and find out, you dimwit. So why?'

'Why what, stick around?' my gaze returning to his intense eyes.

'Yeah,' he mocked me. I remained silent, looking to and fro as I thought of how to respond. At last I started.

'I mean it's gonna sound crazy-'

'Shit, all of it's crazy,' he waved.

'Suppose so,' I paused. 'Well, uh... Foxy, he, uh-'

'Ohhh, fuck,' he interrupted, his tone turning dismal.

'What?' I queried innocently.

'What, did it talk to you?' he patronized. 'Tell you about how awful it is being him? Heh, maybe it even protected you from one of the others. What a joke...'

'Wait, so he can talk...' I murmured, feeling at once excited.

'You gotta be kiddin' me, I tell you all that and that's,' Fitzgerald pointed, 'what you focus on? That thing's a monster a hundred times worse than the others – you don't understand. At least Freddy and his creeps – at least they don't toy with you before they kill you,' he pressed to me.

'Wait, what- what are you talking about?' I pleaded, my torso moving to crouch forward to illustrate. 'Foxy protected me-'

'Like hell he did!' the man broke into scream, his eyes alit. 'That thing – that fucking monster,' his teeth gritted, 'it killed my friend... it killed my friend... he was so stupid.' Fitzgerald was shaking his head, his fluster pausing. 'I don't understand why he did it,' the man continued after calming, 'He just – he thought he could somehow reason with it, talk to it, whatever... He always told me about the conversations they'd have and blah, blah about how the thing thought it had a soul and all that. He thought he could become friends with it. Told me sometimes about how it was 'alive' – how it had saved him... just like you.' Silence took the room as the man finished, my eyes watching his own grow solemn and drift to the floor. I didn't know what to say, but had to know more.

'So... what happened?' my voice broke the air to sooth. Fitzgerald sighed and continued his pause.

'Mike... Mike, he- he was a coworker, and I trained him,' he began at last, his tone lost. 'Told him what to do, what not to do... he was the one who told me about those calls you got, showed 'em to me. I had switched to day shift to fill in and in the meantime that guy you heard on the phone took over, and then disappeared. At first I'd thought he'd just quit, but... Well anyway, Mike came on and took over – and I sure didn't want to switch back – and me and him got off. Apparently he'd been a big fan of that thing – uh, Foxy – when he was a kid an-'

'Me too,' I encouraged.

'Ah,' he looked to me in reply and then lowered his eyes once more. 'Yeah. So. Anyway... he didn't listen when I told him not to get friendly. Told me one day that those things had got him and that Foxy'd saved him or whatever... Started telling me about how they were all buddy-buddy and talked to each other, how it didn't want to hurt anyone and I could trust it and all that,' he sighed. 'Thought he was crazy, but I think he's right – that animatronic was alive, or somethin'. They all were.' So that was why he had let me in to begin with – I resembled his old friend. Fitzgerald and I waited in silence.

'But one day,' he continued, 'I came in and... and it was like... it was like nothing else.' He leaned forward, his eyes glaring at me. 'I didn't think at that point that those things could even kill people,' he pleaded to me. 'I mean, I heard the voicemails, but I just thought they were a last-minute prank... But... months of working at the other restaurant, and then there... I-I was always told it was just some weird programming – that they weren't actually dangerous. But I should have known...' his voice wavered.

'Ugh,' he sighed before laughing, 'you know apparently they're supposed to stuff you into a suit or whatever? I mean that's how you die if they get you, or at least that's what the message said...' he paused. 'But I found him – Mike – laying in the middle of the room... just... he was cut open all over, just a mess.' Fitzgerald's face became a painful smirk. 'I can't get it outta my head... That fucking piece of shit was just standing over him... staring... and I swear to God when I walked in it looked up and said something. Don't remember it. Just remember those... eyes... just black.' The man went silent, and I watched him as he regained himself. 'Of course I'd seen the others with those eyes too, but not Foxy, never that one. I always thought it was just a glitch, or my head or something, but it's not...'

'Yeah I've seen them too. From the others, I mean.'

'Look,' his head raised, 'I don't doubt its able to talk or whatever but-'

'He hasn't talked to me yet,' I assured, 'he hasn't even tried to interact with me... aside from saving me.'

'Well good,' he said, 'that's good. You just... you can't do what Mike did. Just don't. Don't fall under their spell. There's something wrong with that place – between the kids, and the accident, and how those things act...'

'Is that what you meant by 'haunted'?'

'Yeah... I mean, I don't actually know. Just something off about it all, like demons, or something...' he sighed.

'Do you have any ideas, though?' I pleaded.

'Just...' he shook his head, 'you know how places where murders and shit happen are said to be haunted? I guess it's like that. Maybe something to do with those kids.'

We both sat there for some time in silence. Was he right? Having seen what I had, it wouldn't have been the strangest thing in the world, and if such could actually be true – if there was some sort of ethereal existence beyond our own – then that'd sure be a good reason for why the animatronics seemed alive... if they were possessed or something.

'How come you didn't get the cops when you found him?' I asked at length.

'I coulda, but you don't understand,' he looked to me. 'It's hard to see something like that and think straight. I was terrified, still am. And what am I gonna say, anyway? That a fucking robot had killed him? There weren't any witnesses. And I just wanted to forget about it.'

'Well I suppose that's what the gaps meant...' I uttered to myself.

'What?'

'Uh, just these gaps in the records... periods of time where it didn't have anyone listed as working third... I didn't see your friend, either,' I replied empathetically.

'Ah, yeah... well makes sense they'd do that.'

'I'm sorry,' I tried to console.

He sighed once again, his face regaining some of its color. 'Just do me a favor and don't do what he did. In fact don't even go back – it's dangerous enough, even without that one.' I nodded, growing quiet.

'Why did you stay though?' I emphasized shortly. 'I mean you knew the dangers, yet you worked there for months.'

'Well, I didn't. I mean not to that extent,' he said. 'I didn't know that people had been killed there... I mean, besides the kids and all that. But I was good at my job, was in a tough spot, and,' he chuckled, 'I seemed to be one of the few who could actually handle the scares. The place before yours was a different setup, had no doors or anything an-'

'What, really?' I didn't want to even imagine it.

'Yeah, crazy, huh?' he continued chuckling. 'And then there were these 'toy' animatronics too – bit creepier than the original ones you've got. One of the toy's was what killed that kid,' he shook his head. 'I mean I don't even wanna think about how many people have gotten hurt at these chains and shit... just doesn't make sense.'

I nodded. 'Do you know anything about that whole deal?'

'Just what I heard, really,' he replied, shrugging. 'It was when all that crap with the police and shit was going on. It was gonna be the last day open for awhile after news broke about that freak kidnapping the kids... We had this birthday party scheduled, and apparently one of the animatronics took a huge chunk off a kid's head. Don't know which one it was, and all of 'em were scrapped... They said it was because the kid put their head in this thing's mouth and somethin' about faulty mechanics or whatever... I mean I didn't really care too much – accidents happen. Though now I'm starting to wonder if it really was an accident.' He went to silence for a moment. 'You know what I don't get, though? Is how brand-spanking-new animatronics like those can act out just the same as the olders. I mean, I'm sure they woulda killed me too given the chance... There's something seriously wrong with Freddy's and everything associated with it,' he scoffed, finishing his coffee.

'What about the kids – the ones that were taken?'

'Never really found 'em,' he conceded. 'Whatever you read is probably what I know. I mean I knew the guy somewhat – can't recall his name, though. Quiet guy, unassuming and all that. Real serial killer type, now that I think about it. From what I heard, he used one of the suits to lure them away. Kids thought he was one of the animatronics, poor souls.'

'Do you know if he was sentenced?' Maybe he had some role in all the weirdness.

'Oh yeah. Heard he got life a few times over – wouldn't give up the bodies. Piece of shit.'

I looked at him, then the ceiling, and then back. The information was certainly a great help, but I didn't know what else there was to ask, and right then and there it was a bit difficult to sift through all of it. 'Well,' I decided upon, 'you've given me a whole helluva lotta think about. I really appreciate it, Mr. Fitzgerald.'

He chuckled. 'Christ, man, I'm barely older than you. Jeremy's fine.'

'Well, thanks, Jeremy,' I nodded and he rose, myself following his lead to the door. He paused as he opened it.

'Get out of there. It's what's best. Just... leave and pretend that place never existed. It's what I do, it's what you should do,' the man motioned at me.

'Yeah... I know,' I replied, stepping outside.

'And, look, nothing personal,' he spoke as I turned to him, 'but, well, I'd prefer it if we didn't meet again. Like I said, I'm trying to forget it all.'

I smiled, nodding. 'Yeah, no problem. Sorry, and thanks again.'

'Yep. Good luck,' he shut the door. 'Oh and don't forget to rip up my shit!'