More and more, I'm noticing my story is shifting from the cheerful, slice of life format I'd initially envisioned to a dark, arc-based story. And I'm... honestly unsure how to feel about that.
What do you guys think?
The song in this chapter (which I've modified for story purposes) belongs to YouTuber Muse of Discord. All credit goes to him.
After Hours
Open Up
Trying and failing to stifle a large yawn, Mike forced open the front door and shuffled into his home. He knew that he should replace the key underneath the doormat, but at the moment his mind had only one other focus.
Sleep.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this exhausted, even back then during his first week at Freddy's. Granted, fending off killer robots tended to keep the adrenaline pumping, but still...
There was no point trying to climb the stairs to reach his bedroom; as it was Mike could barely lift his feet off the floor. So instead he wandered into the living room and fell bodily onto the soft, welcoming cushions of the couch. He was DOA before he'd even touched down.
Mike drifted off into dreamland...
Mike settled comfortably into his usual chair in the guard booth and pulled out his phone to check the time. There were still about three minutes to midnight, but that was alright with Mike. He liked coming in a little early – it gave him time to settle in and sit down for a few minutes before the animatronics came to life for the night.
Mike reached into his backpack and pulled out the book that he'd brought in with him tonight. It had a pale green and deep violet cover, with a picture of a goofy-looking green sphere with arms and a toothy mouth that wore a hat and carried a briefcase. Its title, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, was printed on the bottom half of the cover, with the author's name taking up the top half. The book had always been one of Mike's favorites; he loved the tale's zany comedy and gently philosophical nature, one that made a firm point without ever being heavy-handed.
The guard wasn't sure if the animatronics would enjoy it as he did, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to try. After all, he'd already shown them some movies and played some games with them. Why not expand into books?
The alarm on his phone beeped. It was twelve o'clock sharp. The animatronics would be loosening up onstage right about now. Mike pulled out his laptop and flipped it open to watch.
And he didn't see anything.
The guard stared at the screen in confusion for a few brief moments. When the feed still showed nothing, he closed the laptop and reopened it. Still nothing to see. Confusion gave way to concern as Mike shuffled quickly through the other cameras. They were all working fine, so it couldn't be the laptop's problem... but where were Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica? Mike flipped back to the main stage camera, but still only saw black. And Foxy wasn't poking his head out of Pirate's Cove like he always did...
Was the main stage camera broken? That would explain why Mike couldn't see anything through it. The only other explanation would be that the robots simply weren't there, but that didn't make sense – Mike looked through the camera at midnight exactly, and the animatronics wouldn't start moving before then. They had to have been there.
Sitting around here wouldn't answer his questions; Mike knew that he had to act. Tucking the laptop under his arm, the guard rose out of his chair and strode briskly out of the office toward the main dining hall. Within moments he'd reached the stage and found...
A large box. It was styled like a present, with sky-blue wrapping paper and purple ribbons. The animatronics were still nowhere in sight. Mike was more than a little nervous at this point – if they weren't here, then where were they? - but strangely his thoughts kept being pulled back to that box onstage. It was almost as though the box was forcing him to notice it.
Mike leaped up onstage, feeling a strange tugging sensation in his gut. He walked slowly around the box and upon reaching the other side smacked his shin on something sticking out of the side. A hand crank.
Was this a music box? A giant music box?
In spite of the voice in his head screaming at him to "RUN FOR THE HILLS, YOU IDIOT!" Mike crouched down and reached for the box crank. His hand curled around-
ITSME
Mike reeled back. Whatever had happened, the shock of it had shaken him from his trance; he could feel his mind reaching back out to seize control of his limbs.
What the hell had he been doing? The animatronics were still nowhere to be found, yet here he was playing around. He had to find the others, that was his only priority right now. Now fully in control of his feet, he turned to leave.
And promptly fell backward as pain shot through his right arm. Groaning sharply, Mike turned to look at his arm. It was twisted at a painful-looking angle, and extended still back toward the box. And his hand was firmly attached to the crank.
Because that's all I need from you...
"W-Who's there?!" Mike whipped around as the words hissed into his mind. Forcing himself back into a crouch to alleviate the ache in his arm, the guard struggled in vain to pry his hand from its place on the crank. It didn't work – his hand seemed to have been glued to the crank. It wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he pulled or pried.
I think that's enough waiting...
And then, as though controlled by invisible strings, Mike's arm started to turn the crank.
The song that played sounded nothing like a jack-in-the-box sounded, at least none that Mike had ever heard. The notes were xylophone-like in their pitch and timbre, a sequence of alternating high and low notes that fell and then rose again in an ominous melody. What kind of jack-in-the-box made sounds like this?
The other noises fell away, leaving only the sound of two xylophone notes being struck on after the other, repeating again and again, as if the performer was preparing for something coming. Before long, that gave way to the sound of a loud chord, and the lyrics began. Lyrics that were not heard but rather formed in Mike's head, as though he had written them.
When I was young, younger than now, I went to school like always.
We took our bags, we took a trip to Freddy's pizzeria.
There was a sign, no frowns allowed. We passed through glowing doorways.
The air was filled with not a care in our world, then I saw ya.
Mike shivered. This was... familiar.
The daytime guard said "Come with me, got something cool to show ya."
I followed him into the back, where costumes lined the walls.
But it couldn't be. It couldn't.
There were four others there, and we sat there and stared.
The murderer took away our contented looks.
He stuffed and he pushed us into wire-framed suits.
He ran from the lot, while he left us to rot.
The lyrics faded away, leaving only the melody in the background to ring inside Mike's head. The guard was silent, hollow tears streaming down his face; why was this happening? Why now, after he'd spent so much time forgetting, sealing those memories away?
The song continued and the guard, in his agony, didn't even notice the top of the box begin to open up...
For years, we rotted in these shells, our souls never ascending.
Our fragile bones had fused with steel and wires, never ending.
The others have long since forgot their roots in mortality.
I still hold tight what's left of what once was my reality.
"Stop..." Mike sobbed. "Please, please stop..."
I sit and I wait, for a change of my fate.
But the longer we stay, brings longer dismay.
And now we are here, after seventeen years.
We cry underneath rows of plaster framed teeth.
The lyrics cut out once more. From his position on the floor, Mike writhed. His head was flooding with sensations long locked away – children screaming in terror, the smell of blood, his lungs burning for breath, his heart beating so hard it hurt.
And a flicker of dull gold.
The box opened further all the while...
But I must admit that it is you, Mr. Schmidt-
Mike's eyes instantly snapped open at the sound of his name, and in the midst of his shock another fact dawned on him.
He'd let go of the crank. He hadn't even noticed until now. And the crank was rotating on its own now.
That brings back the pain that has kept us detained.
Hesitantly, Mike rose to his feet, and that was when he noticed the box's fully opened top.
I think of that day, when my life was stripped away.
Mike placed both hands on the edge of the box. As the song drew to a climax, his gut grew heavy with dread. Something... something was coming.
The murderer, he looks like
His mind tuned out the song now.
-you-
He steeled his nerves.
-to-
He looked.
ME!
And the thing in the box pounced.
THUD!
The sudden impact forced Mike into consciousness immediately. His eyes snapped open, and for several nerve-wracking moments he didn't remember where he was. It hit him before long – he was home, lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling. He'd fallen off the couch, courtesy of his nightmare.
That nightmare... Mike trembled just thinking about it. His eyes were still wet – he hadn't just been crying in his dream. And he remembered it so vividly... That had never happened before, not once in Mike's entire memory. But what he'd seen, what had come out of that box...
It was a monster. It was black, and lanky beyond the realm of possibility. That alone was terrifying enough, but its face was even worse. Milky white, with blushed cheeks and violet tear streaks beneath the eyes. And those eyes... Mike had never seen such hatred. Hatred beyond words, hatred beyond belief. He could still remember their gaze, the way they looked at him, viewing every inch of him with hate that would blacken every star in the sky...
And those memories... He hadn't thought about them for years. Why would they resurface now? Seventeen years - he'd been seven then. It was the last time he'd entered the doorway to Freddy's since last month, when circumstances had forced him to take his current job. He still couldn't talk about it, not to anybody - hopefully he wouldn't have to.
Mike couldn't fall back to sleep. He couldn't even bring himself to get up. He simply laid there, haunted by the night's visions, as the time ticked by.