23. Epilogue: A Good Knight's Work

The old music box hadn't worked in nearly a decade. No matter how tight he wound it. No matter how delicately he cleaned and took apart and rebuilt. The old music box had been silent since the night the Marionette had been killed.

And that hadn't changed. At least, he assumed it hadn't. After all, the thing had been left here on Mike's night stand in the Prize Room when they all left. When he and the others returned home, (and Mike had slept for almost three days straight, scaring the hell out of Max who had to be reassured by Freddy several times this was Mike's normal,) they'd discovered a snow storm was heading into Hurricane.

So Mike couldn't really get started on his plans when he wanted to. No, he had to wait.

And be patient.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks meandered to months.

At the first sign of melting icicles, Mike was out behind the old parking lot with a shovel.

This was, after all, the last thing on his List of To-Do's. He'd done everything else. Talked with Max, studied Scraptrap. He'd felt the whispers just barely out of range of his hearing, saw shadows scuttle and dart around the edges of his vision when he was alone. Discussed it all with Freddy, who was reluctant and protective as ever, but ultimately stepped back and agreed it was worth a try. Talked some more with Max, even with Scraptrap, who was friendly and outgoing as much as his Suit simply was not. (Although it became clear to everyone rapidly that Max was content to follow Mike around like a little puppy, even if all he did was simply exist near the man while Mike tinkered.) Bought supplies. Sketched. Planned. Built. Messed up. Rebuilt. Hell, he'd even painted.

Mike had really wanted the music box to work too, to be ready.

But it wouldn't work, no matter how he tried.

Mike eyed it with no small amount of frustration, but his eyes narrowed before he took his attention off of it, and back onto the work bench before him. He studied the content draped along the table, and inwardly begged himself not to go crazy. Not just yet.

"Okay. Judgment day." Mike sighed, running a hand in frustration through his hair. The anticipation was almost too much, and yet he felt stupid for getting his hopes up.

There was perhaps no saving the music box, maybe. He'd had the inner one ready anyway. Maybe that would be enough.

He'd done everything he possibly could do right. At least he hoped he had.

Mike sat, and waited.

Then he waited some more.

Finally, when even Gold admitted it wasn't working, and likely wouldn't, Mike let his posture slump. The tired sag of his chin onto his folded arms soon became looser and more relaxed than a man waiting for something to happen. His shoulders soon followed fully, body begging for rest.

Even he would admit he was exhausted. Burning the candle at both ends, like Freddy warned him he did so often.

All was quiet. Peaceful even. There were no ghosts left at Freddy's, save for one, and that was his. Maybe the chills and eyeless stares he'd felt since they returned home were nothing but his imagination. Mike stared at the flashlight, eyes tracing the spot where the crack was but could be seen no longer. He rolled it along the work bench, then sighed and stopped fidgeting. Maybe it really was all over.

It was possible.

Unlikely, but possible.

'Could be, Michael.' Replied one of the very last ghosts left.

Mike let his eyes droop closed. Just for a few minutes, he'd rest his eyes.

3am came, signaled only by the man's watch. Coffee hour. The Witching Hour.

And that was when it happened, naturally.

The black fingers beside him twitched and curled by some half-managed instinct. The room darkened and seemed to shrink in on itself as shadows tip toed toward the work bench, slithering their way in.

Mike's eyes fluttered, roused by the soft sound of the music box which had begun to play, slow but steady. It took him several sleepy seconds to recognize the tune for what it was. My Grandfather's Clock. His eyes opened, and his wrists ached suddenly as he stared across the metal table, lifting his head from his folded arms to look at what was already looking back at him. The air vanished from his lungs, and he cracked a watery grin.

"Hello, night guard."


"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.

But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

–The Velveteen Rabbit


Well, there we have it. It turns out it was the last shift—for Henry, for that guy-on-the-phone, for a few others, too. But not, it seems, for everyone. A final big, warm Freddy-sized hug to those who favorite, followed, left kudos and several big hugs to all who reviewed! All the support, kind words, encouragement, (and playful threats) kept me focused on ensuring I could make Last Shift as good as I possibly could. I loved FNAF6, though I am growing to like Security Breach almost as much. (If nothing else because of the exploration and the yummy inspo it's giving me. I don't think it's perfect, but then, what is? That might make it easier for me to work with, who knows.) I know I'm more illustrator than author, but I enjoy my writing hobby and I'm so glad to know others like my silly stories too! Until next time, Dear Reader, where hopefully we can meet again in the next part of the knight guard au. Who knows what lies within those walls…?

Of course, there'll be teasers and sketches posted on my art blog, google: charlie'slowartsies. Everything for this series is tagged 'knight guard au'

Love, Char