"I'm going to come f-f-find you-u…"

The next few weeks I spent in the glorious outdoors as a social outcast. I smelled of rancid puke, old blood, and absolute raw garbage. The me from July would have died in pure shame. I kept to myself mostly, and the people learned not to stay out after 12. Why? Because that's when he would show up. The Purple Guy, who breaks into houses, drains electrical power, and drinks the blood of young women and children! No doubt, they spread the fables and tall-tales all across the state of Utah.

Today, I decided to give myself a break from living in shadows and hiding in dumpsters. I took a little field trip to the charred debris of the Afton house. Don't worry, I used the back roads, and I only got lost four times. Curiosity nipped at me when I passed Father's robo-circus warehouse, but flashbacks of betrayal and pain were convincing enough for me to keep walking. Everything's probably ruined anyway. I didn't tread along the house's gravel pathway for a similar reason.

Some areas of the structure remained intact, while others were not so fortunate. The cold, wet weather had done its fair share of damage, too. My bedroom didn't survive. Oddly enough, that brought a sense of relief; no more eyes in the closet or secret plushies harbouring headache-inducing memories. I'd miss my smooth sweaters, casual button-ups, and clean skinny jeans, though.

"I'm going to come f-f-find you-u…" I played back my tragic message once again. My voice sounded lower and glitchy-er in the recording. I took a steady breath when memories came flooding back. Is this why Father shocked us? He heard this stupid tape? Reliving the scene brought intense sickness broiling in my stomach, so I hit the pause button.

"If I find you," I began in a bitter, hopeless tone, "I will kill you." Father's confident grin plastered itself across the tape player. I crushed his nose with my foot. I wanted to see his blood splatter across the pavement. My leg bounced off the player's hard surface. I waved my arms to prevent a fall, then scowled. Stupid thing! I picked up the cassette player and hurled it across a thick chunk of house scrap. Plastic shattered around me. Tiny pieces dotted my shoe. As I stared at the mess, I became aware of my furious stance. I relaxed my arms with a breath.

Why do I get so angry? I asked myself. I almost apologised to the cassette player- after all, it didn't deserve that. Sighing, I kicked a few cigarette butts off into the grass. My arms flew to my chest when a chilly wind blew. More questions filled my mind- as usual when nothing else occupied it. Where did those Bidybabs run off to? Where did Ennard go? Why did they have to leave me? If I had never applied for that job, would she still be alive? Why am I destined to be alone no matter what I do?

I left the wreckage of my home before anyone reported The Purple Guy snooping around there. I wasn't crying. I was fine.

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At the far corner of the dumpster, a pair of star-shaped sunglasses caught my attention. I swept away some unimportant scraps of trash. Swimming forward sapped most of my energy, but I didn't care. Got it! The shiny plastic prize was mine. Yellow glitter decorated my dirty fingers. For a moment, I felt something other than cold and bitter inside.

Coolio, remarked my brain. I peeked through the lenses but met world-warping scratches and a vibrant pink that sent my body lurching. CAT scan- out of control- blood- sky- gravel- Static clouds formed in my eyes. I clutched my head, dropping the glasses and blinking profusely. I tried to reroute my attention elsewhere. I don't need cool things, anyway.

A sideward 70s toaster oven gazed at me with its orbicular dials. Its mustard colour disgusted me, but the way the oven stared held my attention. I inspected its side and noticed raw, open machinery. The wires stuck up like bed-head hair.

"I bet we're cousins," I half-smiled idly at the toaster oven. "Guess what, though? You weren't cursed with advanced sentience. That's the word, right?" I rested my back against the dumpster wall. "And you can't talk either. You are so lucky, just sitting here… not having to wrestle with painful m-memories of people getting hurt- or hurting you. You don't even have th-the fear of possibly, p-perhaps mayb-be being, um- being a f-father to a- a r-real, human baby…"

The toaster oven was speechless. My open guts suddenly gnawed at themselves. I swallowed and forced a chuckle.

"But you- you just heat pizza pockets all day. Or used to, anyways. How was that like?"

Silence again. I frowned. I'm talking to a toaster oven. I could be pawning it off, but no, I'm having a chat. I really am mentally deranged. With a sigh, I went back to digging. I tossed aside a loose dresser drawer and untied another few garbage bags.

Grass? You're not supposed to throw that away. Why is this one filled with lamp shades? Nothing important. Nope. Nope. I'll take that jewelry box.

I stashed the valuables in Holly's purse, then politely re-knotted the garbage bags. My hand brushed past brown fur. Huh? I dared to grasp it. A blue-eyed, top-hat-wearing bear plush showcased a toothy grin. Freddy! Instinctively, I gasped and chucked against the dumpster wall. It ricocheted back like a high-speed yo-yo to slam into my chest. I doubled over, trying to catch my rattling breath. Are you kidding me? I undid my heavily-layered top to inspect the area underneath.

"Sh-sh-shit gobl-lin," I glared at the Freddy plushie while I realigned my left lung in a makeshift ribcage. The bear kept its goofy stare. After several uncomfortable seconds, I smacked the bear over. He faced the sky now. Stay there, and think about what you've done. The Freddy plush didn't move. I thought about his larger, more-alive version- that hulking robot bear and the way his blue eyes shined.

Did Father really hide the children inside them? They're still trapped, aren't they? Like me, my sister, my mother- doomed to live in a body you don't want.

My brow softened. That's why they're so mad and scary. They're mad at him. I looked back at my new temporary friend, the toaster oven.

"Father could be there again," I pondered out loud. "His-his house and factory are gone. Where else is he gonna go to do whatever secret freaky evil stuff he does at night?" I tapped my chin, briefly looking down at my feet enclosed in smelly refuse. There's no way they'll let me on the premises during the day. Which means the only way I can go back there is…

I snapped my fingers. "The job application. Easy." My bones tingled with a little confidence. A plan! "I'll do the j-job if it means I'll find him. I'll find a way to help those kids. They don't deserve that stuck life. Then I'll- I'll make him tell me what he did to her. I'll make it all make sense! Then-" I squeezed my fists together- "-I'll kill him. Or, w-wait, I'll make him make me able to die. Then we will all be done. Finished! Dead! End of story."

Both the toaster and plush Freddy eyed me with scepticism. I folded my arms, brimming with more confidence with this thought: I have nothing to lose! They can't kill me if I can't kill me!

"It's a great plan," I declared, twirling my jacket strings. "Or my name isn't Billie Jean. It isn't. But still, it's-" The dumpster suddenly began to shudder around me. I gasped and ducked to my stomach. What I assume was the garbage truck bellowed a series of alarm tones. BEEP! BEEP! My ears rang, and my head swam with memories of other unpleasant alarms. No- no! I snapped my eyes shut, unable to breathe lest I throw up my one remaining kidney. The trash tumbled around me. I was like a pair of Father's underpants in an overpriced washing machine- except yelling and swearing, obviously. Or maybe that's what clothes do in the wash when you aren't looking?

When the truck completed its task, it started back onto the road with the whirrs and hisses of engine and wheels. Several years later, I emerged from the sea of scraps. I released my breath. And my grip on the Freddy plushie. And the old toaster oven. I spat out some diaper fluff with a few dry gags. My glowing eyes cast a dim blue light in the otherwise dark interior of the dump truck. I sat there for a moment, letting my boggled brain catch up. Then I slumped back deeper into the waste.

This is fine.

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After a few hours, I was lucky enough to find a road map in the landfill- riddled with ketchup and mustard stains but useful nonetheless. A vacant gas station became my next destination. I swung the door open. Flickering lights and curious flies buzzed overhead. The man at the counter blanched.

"Yeah, it's me, the Purple Guy," I winced through a frown as I wiggled my fingers. "I need to phone Satan." The man gave a shaky gesture at the corner of the store. I flashed the sweetest smile I could.

"Thank you, s-sir."

In immediate response, the cashier whipped out a many-bookmarked bible. He mouthed the scriptures with tears in his eyes. I grabbed the telephone, swallowing that new punch to my self-esteem. It's fine. Now what was that Freddy's number, again? The commercial jingles and poster slogans came back to me after a few minutes spent pacing and chewing my jacket strings. Got it.

"Uh, hello. I'm interested in applying for the, uh, the nightguard position here."

"How old are you?" asked the worker on the line. I looked down at my fingers in my belt loops.

"Um. 42." That's pretty old. They might not hire-

"Do you have a family?"

That's hella complicated. "N-no. It's just me. Alone." I frowned at myself for adding that unneeded extra bit. The caller hummed pleasantly, "Fantastic. What's your name?"

"It's, uh, it-it's Mike."

"Mike…?"

They know, I panicked and tore my eyes away from the chewing gum shelf. Through clenched teeth, I answered, "Yes, that's right."

"No, what's your last name?"

"Ohh. Uh-" I paused. I didn't think about that part! I can't use THAT last name! I surveyed the snack shelf next to me, my brow wrinkling. I swiped the nearest snack- a mini yellow cake filled with chocolate cream. Gross. The thin packaging read, Schmidt's Pastries.

"Schmidt's P- uh, I mean- Schmidt." Anything's better than Afton.

"Mike Schmidt. Okay, great," the caller said. "Be here at 12 in the morning tomorrow for your first shift."

"Okay, thanks-" I started, then comprehended that. "W-wait, I'm sorry, t-tomorrow? I got the job?"

"Righty-ho. Now, don't be late, now. Or the robots'll get you."

I clasped the phone tighter. Before I blurted out a dry I know that, the caller added with a parched laugh, "That was a joke. I'm totally joking. They are certainly not alive, and they have not already killed three previous nightguards. Here at Fazbear Entertainment, we value the lives of our employees. You get a year's worth of free pizza for a discounted price of seven ninety-nine. Good luck."

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The spare key to Freddy's was missing in my jeans pockets. I stood at the door, my breath making little puffs in the air, and tried not to focus on the faded animal characters judging down at me from their sign like some kind of furry gods. That key's long gone now, no doubt. I went all this way, wasted effort for nothing- oh, I'm so stupid- I tried the door anyway. It miraculously opened. Oh.

I stepped into the main party room, holding my breath. The animals making up the rusty carousel glared with blank, white eyes. Were they like that last time? The chequered floor began to spiral at my feet, and its black and white mixed into ugly greys in my static-filled vision. Playbacks of being here churned in my head all at once.

What if she's here? I panicked. What if she's- she's one of them? She's trapped in a freaky children's robot! The way she looked at me when- I can't- she'll be so mad at me! She'll-

Reeling on weak legs, I clenched my throat and gripped the nearest tablecloth. I shut my eyes so I wouldn't faint. She's not going to be here. Stop thinking about her. You'll find her. Dead or alive. Somewhere. A small part of me imagined her shocked, pale countenance when I opened my eyes. Stop thinking about it!

I straightened my spine, and I evened my breath. My head pain eased into a dull fuzz. I'll be fine. I finally noticed the items in front of me. The key to the building, a flashlight, and a garish purple uniform lay on the party table. A sticky note rested atop it all.

Happy nightguard-ing! May God have mercy on your soul!

I took out my journal to remove the pen from its pages then wrote a small Thank you at the bottom corner of the note. The lines of my letters looked too straight compared to the flowy ones above them. I stopped staring, feeling odd again, and grabbed my new uniform. I haven't worn a uniform since Circus Baby's. This uniform was too big on my skinny arms and meatless torso; it fit like the previous one but significantly worse now that I've dropped pounds. Should I stuff my clothes to look less like a zombie?

The stage behind me creaked. I whirled on my heel, the uniform swishing with me. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica- the classic three- sat in their places on the stage. Either I blinked or a lightbulb flickered once. They're just confused children. It's not their fault they're scary. I still kept my distance.

In the prize corner, the Puppet's gift box sat open. I approached it with the flashlight and a tightening throat. Dust coated the bottom of the box. I dragged a finger through it, getting a chunk of glitter and food mold.

"Hmm," I said. Where did the Puppet go? The hair on my neck raised the longer I thought about it. It could be hiding. It could be behind me! I turned sharply, raising the flashlight like a weapon to be sure. In my mind, I saw the Puppet's captive. And rain. My heart shuddered for a second. She left this place. Maybe she's looking for him, too?

I reminded myself that the characters start moving after 12, and without a watch to check the time, I got my butt to the security office. The clock clicked to read, 12:00 am. Right on time- I jumped back when the phone blasted alive. After a second of hesitation, I picked it up.

"Hello? Hello, hello? Uhh, I wanted to record a message for you… to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked-"

I muted the audio. A sinking feeling worsened in my gut- I knew it to be fear. I never thought I'd be here again. I replaced my fear with a healthy layer of false confidence, telling myself, "I know what to do."

I just have to watch them on the cameras. Should be easy. Maybe I can explore on my own, too. It's not like they can kill me, anyways. I can't even kill me.

I switched on the computer. It booted up with a series of clicks and whistles. Before it turned into the bright teal of the desktop and then a glitchy camera system, I caught my reflection on the black screen.

Yikes.