Friday, July 13, 1973
An announcement rang overhead to head for the prize counter, where another Fazbear surprise waited for a lucky guest. Mike jolted a bit at the announcement, but remained where he was. If anything, playing with the clown inside the present box a few moments ago gave him a front row seat.
A small crowd started to gather around. Mike tightly clung to his mother's hand as several other children gathered around them. The blond employee and a waitress helped to form a small semi-circle around the strange green-blue present box with its purple ribbon. The blond man looked over the crowd, particularly the children.
"Wow, there sure are a lot of you! Are you ready for the surprise?"
Several children, Mike included, cheered with a loud, "YES!"
"Awesome!"
The blond man looked over the crowd again.
"We have one more friend to introduce," he said, patting the top of the box, "and one more game to play. Now, normally, our friend will know which is the birthday child for a special Freddy's present, but since this is the first time we're doing this here at Freddy Fazbear's, and there are no scheduled birthdays today, we're going to let it pick out a special guest."
All eyes went to the box. Excited chitters wove through the crowd as each child hoped that they would be the special guest. The man stepped aside and reached into his polo pocket for a small remote with a large red button.
"And now," he said, "without further adieu, let's give a warm welcome to the Puppet!"
A music box tune played as top of the box opened. Two large flaps lifted up to reveal the box's secret.
All around the cobbler's bench
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought t'was all in fun...
Mike and the other children watched with curious anticipation, and soon enough...something came out of the box.
A large, black cross rose on the clear, nearly-invisible string, with darker strings hanging underneath it. Tied to those strings was a thin form in a black costume. Three large white buttons adorned its chest. Its forearms bore black and white stripes. The new character's head hung down over its chest. The cross lifted it up to its waist, then the strings slacked, leaving the Puppet in place as the cross lifted until it nearly touched the ceiling.
Mike watched the strange clown-like being, and took a careful step forward to get a better look.
The marionette lifted its face to show its dark eyes, its smile, the colorful circles on its cheeks and purple streaks down its face. Soft blue lights glowed from the back of its sockets to give it a warmer appearance. It lifted its long arms up in celebration.
Pop! Goes the weasel!
On either side of the strange marionette, small bursts of confetti shot out from inside the box. All around them, children gasped and cheered, excited to finally see what the box contained. The sudden noise and bits of colorful paper took Mike by surprise. He stepped back and felt his mother grip his shoulder as he now fully took in this new character.
Mike saw nothing wrong with its thin form, its dark costume, or even the strange markings on its face. His eyes were immediately drawn to its glowing eyes from when it played with him. Its strange blue gaze, its smile, the few spots of cheerful color all drew him to shift himself from his mother's grip to step closer and greet this new friend.
The Puppet leaned down out of its box. It tilted its head as it looked over the crowd. Many of the children started screaming at once.
"Pick me! Pick me!"
"No, me! Pick me, Puppet!"
"Puppet, over here!"
The Puppet remained silent as it gripped the edge of its box. Its mask turned back and forth as it studied the crowd...until it found Mike.
Its eyes briefly flickered white, before going back to blue.
The Puppet gestured with its long fingers for Mike to come forward. Mike nervously looked to the side, then pointed to himself. The Puppet nodded, and gestured again. This time, Mike obeyed, hesitant and curious. He looked up at the Puppet when he got in front of the box. It reached a hand out. Mike winced and stepped back. The Puppet watched him, then tried again, slower this time. Mike watched its hand, and eased when it gave him a gentle pat on the head. It then held up a finger, a universal gesture to wait.
Slowly, the Puppet dipped down back into the box. A few shuffling sounds echoed from inside, like it searched for something. It peeked over the top of the box a moment later, like a child playing hide and seek. It then slipped back inside and continued its search for a few more seconds.
The second time it reemerged, its head rose, then its shoulders and chest, until the audience saw it now held something in its hands - a gift wrapped in shiny purple wrapping paper and a large green ribbon. The Puppet kept rising on its strings, until it came out of the box completely. Its long legs matched its arms, with white stripes around its calves. It had no feet, only rounded stumps at the end.
The wooden cross stayed close to the ceiling, but moved forward. The Puppet still hung in the air. The black strings on its head and wrists lowered until the tips of its legs touched the ground. At its full height, it towered over even most of the adults in the room, yet its thin body made it appear smaller. Gasps and cheers filled the room, but the Puppet paid them no heed. It glanced down to Mike, still clutching the gift. Its dark strings lowered it to the floor until the marionette knelt down in front of him. The Puppet leaned forward to better match his height. Mike stepped back again. He once more felt his mother's hands on his shoulders.
The Puppet tilted its head as it watched him. Gently, it offered the gift in its hands to its young guest. It held it just close enough for Mike to reach out and take it. Charlotte moved a hand to her son's back and gently urged him forward.
Mike hesitated at first, not used to a display like this. Once more, he felt that strange warmth from when he played with it before, the gentle sensation that the creature before him meant no harm. He stepped forward then, and reached to take the gift. His hands touched the marionette's thin fingers.
The moment they connected, something overcame him. All around him, the voices of the other children, the music and bright colors, even his mother faded into the back of his mind. Only he and the Puppet still existed. His eyes met the creature's. They flashed once. The blue LED lights turned white from the back of the mask. A figure took its place for half a second, something small and indiscernible.
The Puppet's form returned. The warmth drained into sorrow with a strange sense of understanding.
That the gift he clutched in his hands now held more importance than whatever it contained inside.
The moment passed as quickly as it came. Time resumed. The world came back to life. Once more, Mike heard the laughter, the music, and saw the bright colors. The Puppet let go of the gift and slipped its fingers out from under his hands. Its long arms gently hung at its sides. Mike stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to make of what just happened, what he just saw and felt.
After a moment, Mike gently set the gift down and walked up to the Puppet. He reached up to hug it around the neck. He felt the hard metal casing underneath its costume, even as he rested his head on its shoulder. The gentle humming of its servos sounded almost like a heartbeat, the casing comfortably warm. The animatronic hung still in its strings for a moment before it slowly returned the gesture. Mike felt a thin hand on his back, the long fingers running down his spine, its other hand over his shoulder. He felt its head shift as its mask rested against his dark hair.
Mike let go of the Puppet after a time, then slipped out of its long arms to retrieve the purple-papered gift.
The blond employee since turned to address the other children, explaining something about the next event and a table full of goodie bags for the rest of their first guests. Mike barely heard a word he said as he looked over the present in his hands, at the shiny purple wrapping paper and bright green ribbon. He examined the box like a precious treasure, and after a moment, finally pulled at the ribbon to loosen it. The wrapping paper joined it not long after.
Inside the box was a plush Freddy toy in his top hat, bowtie, and microphone. With a delighted squee, Mike pulled it out of the box and held it close, more than content to have the toy in lieu of the real thing. He turned around to look at the Puppet again, only to see it was no longer there.
A look at the large present box showed the marionette lowering itself back into its little home, everything below its waist now submerged into the blue-green box. Mike ran over to it and gripped the edge of the box with one hand while clutching his prize in the other. He stood on his toes to keep his eyes aligned with the Puppet's as it sank lower into the box.
"Thank you."
The Puppet's eyes never left his. In the depths of its mask, they flickered once, white, so quickly, he wasn't certain he caught it.
You're welcome, came the response.
It tilted its head down again. The wooden cross came down. Mike let go of the edge of the box so it could settle above the Puppet without scraping his fingers. The two top flaps lifted up again, then tilted towards each other until the top closed, creating a closed present once again.
Friday, November 12, 1993
Mike stared at the creature before him. He swallowed to try to moisten the sudden dryness in his throat, then nodded to the Puppet.
He did ask for help right before he started his shift, didn't he?
The Puppet remained in place, floating just above the floor. Its hands dangled beside it like a hangman's.
At the thought, Mike winced and reached up to loosen his tie. Upon remembering he already took it off, he changed the motion to undo the top button of his shirt. He just needed to relieve the sudden tightness in his throat. Mike then ran his fingers over the bruise, his still-warm fingers oddly soothing against the pained flesh. He firmly planted his feet on the floor to gain a sense of grounding, then slowly put his hands in his lap, the flashlight beam aimed at the Puppet.
It remained still, its mask staring down at Mike, its white buttons reflecting the light.
The creature watched him, the hollow eyes in its mask aligned with his own. Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He loathed how it stared at him, the dark eyes unable to blink, the mouth forever frozen in an open smile. The Puppet remained still, its eyes and mouth still hollow and empty, but something about it seemed...pleased? Like an aura surrounded it, just strong enough to be acknowledged.
The room suddenly felt smaller. Mike clung to the flashlight for dear life. He shot glances to the open doors on either side of him, a sense of vulnerability overcoming him. A shine of the bright beam out into each hallway showed them both empty, with nothing lurking in the windows.
That he could see, anyway.
He turned back to the Puppet, still discomforted by its stare.
"Will the others…?"
The Puppet slowly shook its head in response. It tilted its head as it curiously looking him over. Mike watched it, but kept listening to the open doors, for clicks or whirs or the humming of servos. Only silence greeted him, as if even the very building stopped trying to settle in for the night.
He had no choice but to trust the creature before him to keep its word.
"...Why are you here?" he whispered after a moment.
Mike kept the flashlight on it. The Puppet hung in silence for several minutes, giving Mike the impression it was thinking. Slowly, the glimmers of light appeared in its eyes, cutting through the hollow shadows as they narrowed in on the night guard.
You called for me.
For the first time, part of its body aside from its head began to move. Its head and torso remained in place, but its legs bent up and twisted like a pretzel, until it floated crossed-legged in front of him. Mike watched in awe. He wondered how it kept itself in midair without any strings. The Puppet then lowered itself until it matched Mike's level. It sat in midair before of the night guard, its mask aligned with his face.
Mike briefly recalled when he first saw the Puppet as a child, how it took in his discomfort and carefully allayed his fears before handing him the gift. Now it got right into it, with no pretense of its intentions.
The creature lingered in silence for another moment before it finally moved again. It lifted its hands and held them up to its chest, its fingers spread toward him almost in an offering. In the flashlight's glow, Mike watched as two threads snaked out of the Puppet's wrists. The tendrils shifted and wound through its long fingers, completely under the creature's control.
He carefully inched his chair back.
Do not be afraid.
The Puppet's eyes flickered, its pupils dim, but still there. The strings remained contained around its hands, tangled and changing. Its gaze never left Mike's.
This is what I see.
"...Strings?" Mike asked as he watched the shifting threads.
Yes. It is important that you understand this.
The threads continued to dance in the Puppet's fingers.
Strings grow, it said. They tangle. They break. But most importantly…
The strings straightened for a moment, then formed into perfect spirals around the Puppet's long fingers
...They can be untangled. And they can be followed.
The Puppet tilted its mask. Mike's blood chilled. With how the empty stare focused in on him, he imagined the creature saw beyond his physical body and straight into the depths of his soul. He crossed his arms over his chest to try to banish the sudden cold surrounding him.
I see the strings tied to you.
Mike winced. He lifted his hand up into the light. He twisted his wrist a few times and flexed his fingers, but saw nothing there.
"What do you mean?" he asked, looking back at the Puppet.
The creature kept it hands in its lap. It sat quietly like a child listening to a story. Mike noticed it didn't even bob as it hung in the air, its body still as a photograph. The Puppet glanced down at its own hands. The threads no longer remained in their perfect spirals, but wove and tangled like they did before.
...I see them, it said at last. Little threads that tie and bind, connecting one thing to another.
It looked back up at him, its eyes dark and empty once more.
I saw them when you first arrived four nights ago. I saw them lead into the hidden room. I see them now, all around you. And as each night passes, they grow stronger. Brighter.
Mike watched the threads dance for a moment, then untwist themselves. The motion strangely calmed him as the strings continued their dance between the Puppet's fingers.
"Then that suit..." he said, trying to piece it together. "Does it have anything to do with me?"
The Puppet nodded in response.
"What, then?" Mike asked.
It holds significance to you.
"How?" Mike asked, a little confused. "I only saw that thing once, about…"
He paused, mentally turning back the clock.
"...Ten years ago."
I remember.
The Puppet remained still, its eyes and mouth hollow and empty, yet like moments before, it radiated a faint, pleased aura.
No one saw me peeking from my box that day. The rules kept me inside. But I saw everything.
Its demeanor veered, the warm, almost friendly aura now growing heavier.
I wanted to help him. I tried. But all I could do was watch.
The purple tear streaks shifted in the flashlight's glow, the effect so subtle, Mike easily took it for a trick of light. But even for a moment...he swore the creature cried.
You saved him.
Mike moved his hand to his now-throbbing right arm, and slowly looked away from the Puppet. He tried to soothe the sudden remembered pain. His only saving grace that day had been that the bite only snapped his bones instead of outright destroying them.
Three long, dark fingers gently caressed his cheek. Mike looked up. The Puppet's mask leaned closer.
I told you before that I remembered you. You are a protector of children. It tilted its head. Why else do you think we let you come back?
Mike pulled away from it, taken aback by what it just said.
"You 'let me' come back?"
The Puppet reciprocated his wishes and retracted its hand. Mike briefly noticed it no longer played with its strings, that it retracted them at some point. The marionette simply gave him another nod.
"Then what about the other guards?" Mike asked.
He quickly glanced to the open doors on either side. His heart pounded again. The flashlight shook in his hand. Mike ran the beam over the doors, once again finding them empty. Nothing peeked in the windows, and he saw not even a scrap of old plush or a glimmer of an animatronic eye. Mike swallowed hard, then faced the Puppet again. Its mask looked down at its lap, and once more, it played with its strings.
"Wh-what did you do to them?" he choked out. "What...what happened to the guy on the phone?"
They could not hear us, the Puppet said. They could not understand.
Mike narrowed his eyes.
"That's not what I asked!"
I am aware.
The Puppet looked up at him.
It is not important.
"The hell it isn't!" Mike screamed, jumping up from his seat.
The Puppet's mask tilted up to keep him in its view. The night guard didn't care. He reached out to grab the marionette, his fingers aimed for its throat.
"You murdered them! You guys hunt us down, then stuff us in those fucking suits!"
Something long and thin grabbed his wrist, then pulled it away. Mike stumbled forward. He fell down on one knee while his arm remained suspended in the air. He aimed the flashlight up to see what ensnared him. A long, black thread wrapped around his wrist. Tracing it showed it pulled taut, then curved, the end of it controlled in the Puppet's hand.
Please.
It released him. The thread retracted back into its wrist. The Puppet then gestured to the chair to offer him a seat. Mike glared at it. He trembled with anger, but remained on one knee.
Listen.
"Why?" Mike asked.
He stood up and shone the flashlight on the Puppet. Mike tried to steady his shaking hand.
"Is this your plan? Tell me what you want me to know, and then let them murder me?"
The Puppet shook its head.
We will not harm you.
"Then why the hell are they still coming after me?"
The marionette gave another gesture to the chair. Mike remained standing, then ran a quick check of the open doors and the windows for anything to wander into his flashlight beam.
Nothing but empty halls.
You have noticed that we are not simply machines.
Mike turned back to the Puppet, his eyes narrowed. The flashlight shone on it once more.
We think, the Puppet continued. We feel. We remember.
Mike fought the tremors that ran through his body. Even so, his face softened in worried curiosity.
"...Remember what, exactly?" he asked.
Loneliness, it answered, dropping its gaze. Pain. How we screamed, and cried, and no one heard us.
It went quiet, then lifted its mask back up to face Mike. The pinprick eyes glowed once more.
No one but the Smiling Man.
Those last two words sent chilled dread throughout Mike's body. He remembered those very words written in a child's scrawl, the strange gray figure in numerous drawings to accompany them.
SmiILiNG mAN
The creature's eyes shifted subtly, as did its demeanor: warm again, but not the content, gentle warmth of happiness. This aura burned with passion.
Hatred.
And so, he realized, did its eyes, like two tiny fires that longed to consume everything in their path. Mike gave into his earlier urge and backed away from the Puppet. He tightened his grip on the flashlight and hardly dared to breathe as he focused on the creature before him.
At how the simple tilt of its mask changed its relatively cheerful, smiling face to one of anger and pain.
Mike felt the desk behind him. He gripped the edge with one hand while he aimed the flashlight at the Puppet with the other. The marionette sat in midair, its mask still tilted enough to give that look of malice. The pinpricks in its eyes still burned.
It gave Mike all the incentive he needed to stay still and quiet.
For a long while, silence lingered between them, disturbed only by the sound of the night guard's heart forcing its beat throughout his body, his own ragged breathing. Finally, the creature tilted its head back up to properly face him. The fiery aura around it died down, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Slowly, the Puppet moved one hand from its lap and stretched its arm forward. It curled in two fingers to better point to something behind Mike.
She fought the hardest, it said at last.
Mike hesitated, but glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the monitor back on. Instead, he saw the drawings that normally decorated his office, most of them with Freddy or cake or balloons. The one directly over his shoulder, however, showed Bonnie popping out of a present box to the delight of a small child.
He quirked a brow, then turned back to the Puppet.
"'She'?" he asked, confused. "Bonnie's a boy, isn't he?"
And what did it mean by "escape"? The aura around the Puppet became heavy, and the ferocity in its eyes began to fade again.
I tried to save her, it whispered. I tried to save all of them. So I gave them life, in the only way I could.
Mike turned back to the drawing, carefully processing this information as he looked it over, taking in each crayon stroke, each crooked detail.
"You gave them..."
Mike trailed off in realization. The flashlight fell from his hand and clattered to the floor as dizziness clouded his head. He groped for the swivel chair to take a seat before his legs gave out. Mike tried in vain to force his mind to go blank, to not think about it. His blood chilled with each piece that slid into place:
How the animatronics showed more intelligence than possible for machines designed to sing and dance.
The strange, haunted voices he heard in his mind and in his nightmares.
The smells of death lingering on their character suits.
A situation that required someone to fight for their life, where no one else saw or heard them.
His first night here, the restaurant's bloody history hung in his mind. The rumors and legends gave him every desire to run. Maybe he should have. But if the animatronics all contained the remains of dead children, then…
The rabbit in the back room came to mind, its golden color, those years ago when it stared at him with its then-green plastic eyes at the birthday party of gold.
Mike's breath stilted then, the air around him now too heavy to take in.
"...No," he whispered, struggling to get the word out. "G-god, no. N-no!"
He looked up at the Puppet, the words dead upon his lips. The creature simply hung in midair, as silent and still as it had been before. Mike's throat tightened. His fingers curled around his mouth to force back screams. His other hand gripped the armrest in another pitiful attempt to protect himself from this horror.
Breathe, his mind told him.
It took everything in him to to obey that thought. It took even more to try to speak again.
Mike moved his hand from his mouth. His tongue danced against the back of his teeth with uncertainty of what to say. For several moments, he just breathed, tried to force his mind to go blank again.
Don't think about it.
Another breath. A stilled tongue. Mike crossed his arms over his chest again, his gaze on the floor where the Puppet's shadow darkened the tiles in the light of the fallen flashlight.
"T-tell me it wasn't...w-wasn't…"
The creature waited, and when Mike went silent again, it gently urged him.
...Was not...?
Mike bit his lip as he channeled all of his focus into simply breathing. A water droplet detached itself from his chin. A spot of warmth hit his lap and grew cold a second later. Only then did he realize he had been crying.
"J-J-Jam-" Mike sobbed, trying to get the name out. "-mm-mie!"
He struggled to breathe and covered his eyes. The Puppet tilted its head. Its eyes flickered for a moment as it allowed Mike to regain control of himself and quietly processed what the night guard just said.
...No, it replied after a moment, its voice almost a whisper now.
The Puppet reached a hand under Mike's chin. It gently ran a long finger over his cheek to brush away stray tears. Mike saw something shift in his vision. He likened it to the blurriness that clouded his eyes.
Jamie never came back after that day, the Puppet assured him. The Smiling Man never got to him.
The shuddered breath spoke enough of his relief. Mike reached up to wipe his eyes, eased a bit more by the Puppet's warm aura. He used his sleeve to clean his face, then tried to settle down again.
"I-if...if it's not Jamie," he whispered, "then…"
The Puppet remained quiet. Mike ignored it, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He only saw the suit that one day, and he believed the Puppet when it said Jamie never came back. The animatronics terrified that poor kid; he imagined Golden Freddy's bite him halted any future trips for the Green family. And aside from them, he knew no one else who would have known about those golden suits.
Mike looked back to the Puppet, hopeful for an answer. He parted his lips to say something. The slender creature anticipated his question, and answered before he spoke a word.
Some answers will come to you, it said, quietly.
The night guard looked it over, from its mask, to its crossed legs cradling its hands in its lap, the shadow on the floor beneath it. He asked the question anyway.
"...Do you know?" Mike asked.
The Puppet remained suspended above the tiles. Its mask stared ahead. It moved not even a long, slender finger. Mike waited patiently for an answer. Only silence met his ears, the quiet ambience without the fan and light. He briefly noticed the warmth in the room again. After several minutes with no answer, he tried again.
"Please," Mike whispered. "...What do you know?"
The marionette remained still for a another moment before it spoke again.
You wanted to know, the Puppet said at last, why they still do it.
"That's not what I-"
Human or machine, memory can fail.
Mike stared at it, and realized for whatever reason, it refused to answer his prior question.
"...What do you mean?" he asked, giving in for now.
They do not know his face, it continued, only a badge, a uniform. Night after night, they see a man in both come back. They remember what happened to them, and they think of nothing else but that pain. About what they must do to spare another child.
Mike took in each word carefully. He glanced down at his own uniform, at his purple shirt, at Freddy's face shining from the golden security badge. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the badge. He traced over the embossed design. The blood in his face drained once more as he came to one horrifying conclusion:
"...They thought I was him," Mike said, quietly. "The Smiling Man."
The Puppet gave him one simple nod. Mike's stomach dropped at the confirmation.
"But that...it doesn't make any sense," he said. "If they know I'm-I'm not the same guy, then…"
Mike's face warmed again. His body shook again, but not with fear this time. All those nights spent holed up in this poor excuse of an office, all those hours fearing for his life, all those mornings he had to lie to Vanna if he didn't get home first...
He reached up to cover his face. His fingers clawed at it in some desperate urge to hold onto something, to make the world make any sense. Mike let go after a moment, then turned back to the Puppet. In the fallen flashlight's glow, he saw traces of its form, its white mask and buttons sticking out more in the dark.
"Why do they keep doing this?" he whispered. "I didn't - I didn't do anything wrong!"
They are learning.
The marionette remained still with its hands in its lap. Mike tensely gripped both the armrests of his swivel chair.
They cannot always recognize the same face coming back, the Puppet continued, yet they are slowly learning that you are not the Smiling Man they seek.
"How?" Mike asked.
The Puppet tilted its head.
I told you before, it said, simply. You hear our voices. No one else ever has.
Mike stared at the creature.
"...No one else…?"
No.
"Why do I hear you, then?" Mike asked. "Why hasn't anyone else?"
You came looking for answers, the Puppet said. Because you wanted answers, you were willing to listen.
"Listen?"
The Puppet nodded.
Do you remember when you first came here, Michael? it asked. Do you remember what happened when you received your gift?
Mike pondered on it.
"I...felt strange," he said, "and I think I...I don't know. Saw something, maybe."
I spoke to you. Do you remember?
Mike looked away from the Puppet as he mulled over the memory. He thought of the brightness of Freddy's back then, of the colors and games, even the smell of fresh paint and pizza before he and the other children gathered around the Puppet's box. He thought of the present, the Freddy toy inside, the Puppet resetting for the next show…
And how the Puppet replied when it thanked him.
Mike remained still in his seat, unwilling to face the Puppet.
"...I thought I...imagined that," he whispered.
The Puppet shook its head.
For a brief moment, it explained, your mind was truly open. Even now, you allow it to remain so.
It made a gesture to the room around it.
This place - it holds meaning to you, Michael. It hurts you as much as it hurts us, yet you still persevere and come back. No one else wanted answers like you. No one else was willing to accept what we are.
The Puppet hung its head again. It went quiet for a moment, processing.
Only one other came close, it said quietly, but time and pain have blinded him. He cannot quell it long enough to listen. He has buried himself so far in his own suffering that our voices are silenced under it.
"...I'm sorry," Mike whispered.
The Puppet aligned its gaze to his. Its purple markings shifted again; its aura grew heavier. Mike watched the lights in its eyes gradually fade. He realized that the fingers of one hand at some point found their way to his bruised throat and continuously moved over his skin.
It does not matter, the Puppet said, simply. What matters is you hear us. ...Do you understand?
Mike hesitated, but gave it a faint nod. The Puppet tilted its head again as it stretched out a hand towards him. Mike watched as it reached for his hand still gripping the armrest. He slowly uncurled his fingers. The Puppet gently rested its hand over his. Mike's vision flashed. Something stood in the Puppet's place - a strange gray form.
A small form, humanoid, with a round head that reminded him of an alien.
Mike winced and thought of the strange pictures he saw on the wall before.
The smile.
The figure disappeared, having lingered only for a split second. The Puppet once more sat in front of him. Mike glanced down where it still touched his fingers, unsure of what he just saw, before he turned back to the Puppet. The white mask greeted him, the red circles on its cheeks, its dark eyes, the purple lines painted down its face.
I have never forgotten you, Michael.
The words lingered in Mike's mind, as did the strange image.
Why did he feel like he saw that somewhere before?
He has not, either.
The night guard perked a little.
"Who's 'he'?" Mike asked.
The one who called out for you.
The Puppet retracted its hand and pulled the other from its lap. Its wrists hung almost level with its shoulders, its hands limp. Slowly, it uncurled its legs, but kept them bent, almost kneeling. Mike noted its position, and recalled the large wooden X that it was normally attached to. If he imagined strings coming from the Puppet's wrists and ankles...it looked like it hung in the hands of an unseen puppeteer.
The night guard remained in his seat.
"I don't know what you mean," Mike said. "They all talked to me."
The marionette held one hand to him, then curled its fingers toward itself in a beckoning gesture. Slowly, it turned around, then floated toward the left door. Mike shook his head, choosing to remain in his seat.
"No way," he said, sternly.
They will not harm you.
"I don't believe you," Mike replied.
He bent down to pick up the flashlight, then gently kicked the chair back until it tapped against the desk. The Puppet turned back to him, still floating on invisible strings. It cocked its head in confusion.
In all this time, we have not been disturbed, it said. Have I not kept my promise?
Mike shone the flashlight over the skeletal creature, his eyes drawn to its unchanging mask and empty eyes. A tilt of its head changed its face again, the smile now almost...sad.
I will keep you safe.
The Puppet beckoned again. Mike hesitated a moment then glanced to the open right door. He shone the flashlight in that direction, and once more found the doorway and the window completely empty. No footsteps echoed out in the halls; no hint of purple or brown or yellow came into view. He swallowed hard, then turned back to the Puppet. It patiently hung in the air, waiting for him.
"Why can't you just tell me?" Mike asked.
He really didn't want to leave the office, where he felt even somewhat safe.
It is better for you to see, the Puppet replied. For him to see.
It turned back toward the door.
Come.
The Puppet slipped into the dark opening. Mike pondered for a moment, then slowly pushed himself from his seat.
Crazy, he thought as he stepped towards the left door. All of this...it's crazy.
The missing children. The Smiling Man. Each of the animatronics bearing a human soul, all of them just as trapped in this place as he was. And himself, he realized, caught in this strange mess and walking the path toward certain doom.
The Puppet's strange ability to hover in midair no longer bothered him in comparison.
Mike stepped out of the security office, his flashlight drawn like a sword. Out of habit, he flicked it over to the corner to check for an ambush. No animatronic waited for him, only the Freddy poster hanging at the end of the hall. Content that nothing crept up behind him, Mike started down the hall after the Puppet.