"Is he dead?"
"I don't know- I don't know how to check for a pulse-"
"Try poking him?"
Peter felt a jab in his side and let out a squeak of protest. He felt dizzy- Lightheaded… Tired. He strained to open his eyes, rubbing them slightly.
"Yeah, he's fine," grumbled Justin's voice. He huffed, tapping his foot on the ground. "What are you doing on the floor- No, why are you sleeping on the job? I'm paying you to watch my attraction, not mop the floor with your slobber!"
Peter frowned and struggled to get into a sitting position. He was so confused about what had happened last night...
"You're lucky nothing happened- If anything is missing, it's your head!" Justin barked before growing silent. A smile emerged on his face and he broke into laughter. "Ha, Geez… I can't take you seriously…"
"What are you talking about?" Peter groaned, shakily getting to his feet; from his body dropped a small plush toy- it seemed to be made in Twitchy's likeness, only it wasn't as degraded and terrifying as its man-sized counterpart.
Twitchy.
His memory started to click and he began to remember tidbits of the night before.
"Hey, do you leave that thing on at night?" Peter asked, rubbing his head as he bent over to pick up the plush. It was actually kind of cute-
"Leave what on?" Justin questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. He looked about to bark something again before the other person who accompanied him whispered something. Justin relaxed a bit and chuckled. "Oh. You mean Springtrap? Yes, I leave him on at night. Why do you ask?"
"He creeps around the place- I don't know. He almost got into the Office," Peter explained, biting his lip. He was hesitant on voicing his concern. "I think he's dangerous."
"Springtrap? Dangerous? What a load of hooey. The only thing dangerous about him is that black mold, which I'm in the process of taking care of. I mean, yeah, if you decided to put his costume on you might be in trouble, but no one is stupid enough to put that thing on," Justin explained, trying and failing to stifle his laughter. "Okay, seriously, go wash that stuff off of your face."
"Stuff? What stuff?" Peter asked, his voice raised to a tone of worry. He knew how much he couldn't trust Justin. "What did you do-"
"Heh, check it out, dude," chuckled what was apparently the Phone Dude. Peter was accurate when he had said the guy must have been a try-hard stoner. The guy held up his iPhone, showing that Peter had been the victim of Sharpie Graffiti.
Peter recoiled, frowning and blushing with embarrassment.
"Never pass out when there's markers about," Justin sang tauntingly, waving around the weapon responsible for the crude art. "I thought you learned that lesson at the lock-in during high school."
"You're an asshole," Peter huffed as he pushed past the two laughing figures and left the building.
He tossed Twitchy Jr. in the back seat of his car. He wouldn't be giving it back to Justin.
He got into the drivers seat. It was 7 AM, half an hour past when he was supposed to be home. His father was going to have a fit with him.
His hands were shaking.
He felt tears rolling down his cheeks.
What the fuck is wrong with me?!
He put his head on the wheel and started crying. He remembered a time where he didn't care about anything but himself, and in that time, he had been relatively happy.
But why? Why was I better off then and not now? What changed?
He had been like Genevieve at one point. Quiet. Only talking to an imaginary friend.
No, two of them.
He liked to pretend they were his parents sometimes, since his own were always arguing and fighting. He didn't need their love, because he had enough from his fake parents to make him content. Appreciated. Cared for.
But he was older now.
He was smart enough to know they had only just been pigments of his imagination.
With a sniffle, Peter finally got up the power to turn the key and start the ignition.
He needed to get home and sleep.
^xx..oo..xx^
Peter crept precariously inside. It was quiet other than the sound of his mother's Keurig going off as it brewed her morning coffee. He came to the conclusion that his father was occupied, as always, in the garage. The guy hadn't even noticed his son was gone.
He bit his lip with anger to keep from tearing up again. He didn't give two shits about his father.
No, that was a lie.
Peter sighed and slunk away to the stairs.
His father had been uncaring and unloving his entire life. Peter had gotten a job like the old man had wanted, and the guy showed how jovial he was by creating a curfew that he didn't even care to uphold. Even when he was younger the man neglected him; there had been a time when they were on an outing to WalMart when Peter had decided he wanted a ride on his father's back, but the guy acted as though Peter wasn't even there. The trip ended with the poor nine-year-old vomiting from emotional constipation.
Peter peeked into his sister's room.
What an early bird...
She was awake and drawing pictures. She even seemed to be talking, though it was obviously to her imaginary friend. She stopped and frantically looked over to see her brother. A smile emerged onto her face as she jumped up and ran to hug him.
"Good morning," he whispered out, hugging her tightly to his chest. The one thing he loved most after work was coming home to see her. She was his whole world, excluding video games of course.
She beamed up at him wordlessly.
"Hey, guess what?"
Genevieve cocked her head to the side in question.
"I got you something," Peter exclaimed quietly. He pulled out Twitchy Jr. from his shirt and gave it to her. "I hope you like him- I gave him a name, but you can change it if you want to."
She eyed the plush questionably, not sure how to feel about it, it seemed. She looked to the side where her imaginary friend was and smiled before giggling at Peter and hugging him again.
He hugged back.
She liked it.
^xx..oo..xx^
Ms. Schmidt was out it seemed. And with his father to boot. He knew they liked to carry on and such together, but it would have been nice to be informed of it before he wasted the gas to drive to her house.
He sighed and went inside. He felt crappy about destroying that picture of hers, so he was going to do some work around the house for her.
He vacuumed.
Gathered together garbage strewn about the home.
He did her laundry (and threw in his work uniform with it; it was starting to smell dank).
The garden was tended to (though since it was only just born yesterday, he didn't have to do much with it).
Peter would have even organized the room he had encroached upon yesterday, but it was locked. Locked to the point there was a brand new padlock on it. She was bent on making sure he didn't re-enter.
Instead, he entered what used to be Justin's old room. It was relatively tidy, and sort of left in the same condition it had been in since he left the roost to go to college and buy his own house. Two doors, a closet, and some freakin' ugly telephone toy. Peter wanted to so badly vomit all over the room, but thought better of himself not to.
He left.
He dressed into his fresh, clean uniform. It still looked like crap, but at least it smelled better. He modeled it off in the bathroom; God he looked so fine. How were women unable to resist him- He was like a dumpling. A very cute dumpling. Why, he was so confident about his appearance he took a SnapChat of himself.
"Lookin Fly "
He noticed in the picture there was a bottle of medication. He turned around and saw it on the sink.
Peter picked it up to look at the thing; it had to be Ms. Schmidt's.
Natural Cannabis Plant Extract
Minimizes the adverse effects of opiate based treatment such as addiction, depression, lack of appetite, incoherence and constipation.
It was medical marijuana and his friends on SnapChat were making sure he knew about it. They wanted him to try it.
And I'm actually considering it. My parents sure raised me right.
His hand shook. He bit his lip. He stuffed the thing into his pocket.
Peter wasn't a bad kid; he had never done anything terrible before in his life. He had never done drugs, never drank- He would have said he had never had sex, but he could easily recall the time a girl lured him into a hotel during prom and…
Well.
It ended with him being walletless and carless, and having a very awkward ride home with his father (who, for once, did the nicest thing out of his heart by not telling his wife of the escapade).
This bottle of weed pills, however…
This bottle of weed concentration.
He needed it.
And Peter, for once, was going to be naughty.
^xx..oo..xx^
"Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there's been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don't."
Peter was playing as Jiffy it seemed.
"After learning of an unfortunate incident at a sister location, involving multiple and simultaneous spring lock failures, the company has deemed the suits temporarily unfit for employees."
This game was more confusing than the other ones. There didn't seem to be anything he was supposed to be doing.
"Safety is our top priority at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, which is why the classic suits are being retired to an appropriate location, while being looked at by our technician. Until replacements arrive, you'll be expected to wear the temporary costumes provided to you. Keep in mind that they were found on very short notice, so questions about appropriateness/relevance should be deflected."
Peter finally found a way to phase into the ground, and Jiffy was on his way to deliver that sweet cake to the crying child.
"I repeat, the classic suits are not to be touched, activated or worn. That being said, we are free of liability, do as you wish. As always, remember to smile; you are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."
The cake was delivered, the child ceased it's tears, and the Gameboy died.
Peter checked the vents and found Twitchy crawling inside of one. Like yesterday, he kept repeating the phrase 'help me'.
Peter closed the vent. He could see out of his peripheral vision the figure of Brown Jiffy. He decided not to look at him, which was definitely in his favor as the figure soon morphed away.
Twitchy had left the vent, leading Peter on a search to find him; unable to do so, he used the audio device to lure him to CAM 08. The doll was there, so he switched to the room where Foxy's mounted head was and lowered the monitor.
It was calm for the moment.
Jittery and suffering from apparent restless leg syndrome, Peter could feel the cannabis burning a hole through his pants. He had to try one.
He whipped his phone out for the occasion and took a SnapChat of himself taking the first pill.
The warning lights for the vents began to flicker, drawing Peter away from his mobile device for a second. The maintenance panel was lifted, only to reveal that all the systems were malfunctioning. Peter reset them all.
He felt sick to his stomach.
Tonight was by far the hardest he had gone through compared to the others. He honestly felt he was fighting for his life here. He was sort of proud of his past self for swiping those pills; he had heard from the grapevine that weed was good for anxiety.
He checked the cameras and used the audio on CAM 05.
His phone vibrated and he checked to see who it was.
It was an unlisted number.
"Brx sxw wkh jluo lq gdqjhu"
The hell is this gibberish?
"Who is this?"
There was no immediate response, though he blamed it on the fact there was only one bar of signal in this damn place.
Jiffy impostor was stalking off into the distance once again, so he buried his nose into the monitor again; he noticed Twitchy trying to crawl around in the ventilation again, and quickly closed it on him. He played the audio on CAM 05.
The phone vibrated.
He checked it.
"IT'S ME"
Peter snickered. He wasn't sure what was exactly was funny about the message, but he just found it humorous.
He downed two more pills.
He checked for Twitchy and found him skulking around the view of CAM 07. The audio played out from CAM 05 once more before it began to malfunction.
God, what was so damn funny about that kids voice? If he didn't stop, he was going to get Twitchy in here faster than a rabbit.
Wait.
Twitchy's a rabbit.
He broke into hysterics at his own thought, gasping for breath as he tried to reset the vents. He even fell out of his chair in doing so, making his laughter increase by ten-fold.
Peter felt fantastic.
"Jiffy, holy cow-" Peter giggled, scrambling over to the golden suit. "I've never felt this great in a long time-"
"You're an idiot," Jiffy replied with a look suggesting he was unamused.
"Oh! You can talk?" Peter asked, rubbing his eyes.
There was no response. Perhaps his mind was playing with him?
He thought a moment.
There was clanging in the vents again.
How long had he been staring at Jiffy for?
He sealed the vents.
If three of those things made him this incredible and reflexive-
What would happen with six?
Down went three more pills.
His stomach hurt like crazy, and he felt he needed to vomit, but dear GOD. He had been missing out. He was stoned- he was so stoned- He could feel it in his bones.
He ran the audio feed.
He tripped over the chair before finally settling onto it.
He hadn't noticed it before, but… Damn did that cupcake look good. But not as appealing as that fan-
"Hey, why don't you introduce me to your friend?" Peter asked the cupcake. "There's a p-" he started before laughing out at the thought of what he was about to say. He never liked to talk about his Hispanic background, but tonight- He was proud of it. "Hah, th-there's… A fiesta in my pants I want to invite 'im to, ha ha!"
"I'm Cuppy the Cupcake! And I sure will, friend!" Cuppy replied.
"What in the ever loving name of Fazbear do you think you're doing?!"
"Oh, no fucking way-" Peter started. He swiveled around to face his old imaginary friend. God, it had been so long, and he could vividly recall every detail about him. "It's been such a long time, Frederick!"
"Don't get all reminiscent with me! How could you steal her medicine?! Your mother didn't raise you that way, your father sure as hell didn't raise you at all, and Chi and I certainly did not teach you that was okay-" Frederick fumed; the phantom had his arms crossed in a disapproving manner.
"Oh man! Chi! Where is she at- Did you ever get to bang the bongos with her?" Peter asked, cracking up at his own censorship; man he was on a roll tonight.
Frederick seemed to pale at the comment and bashfully looked to the side.
"No, I did not. We didn't have time for such things because we were busy with you," Frederick mumbled in response.
"Neither did I, but I sure made it work," Peter chuckled before falling back laughing into his chair.
Frederick harrumphed before seemingly disapparating into thin air.
"What a guy, eh, Jiffy?" Peter asked.
"Don't talk to me."
The night went by like a breeze.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't know if that's how getting high works. I don't even know if you can get high off of cannabis pills- Doesn't matter. Peter has reached the ultimate rank of MLG. May Helix have mercy upon his Dorito-loving soul. Rest in Pepperoni.
Also might want to use a Caesar Cipher Decoder on that text message, Peter. I think it's important-
~Admin LP