Why did I even decide to go back to the house with the family? I wasn't thinking at the time. I still had absolutely no idea why I went back. I can try musing about it all day, but I highly doubt it would get me anywhere. But the main thing is that I went back... in more ways than one.

I saw the family. I noticed them hovering around me. I had stopped paying attention. I had reverted back the the state I was in before I discovered their computer. Everything was numb to me. I just did not care at all. The days passed by again.

The days passed by again.

I imagined that a series of days went by. Perhaps a week at most. Things took a turn for the strange.

"Patrick, you're on television! What were you doing?"

That was the one thing that could have snapped me out of my rut. I drowned myself in my curiosity once again. On television? Me? I merely tilted my head in curiosity and went to see what all the fuss was all about.

And sure enough, it was me on there. Shambling off to who knows where. Dozens of videos, each of them in a different location and angle. Was I really that out of it? I could have waited until tomorrow night. I could have just searched around on my own for Mike Schmidt. Why had he not arrived anyway? Had he found out who I really was? I was sure I had sent the email to him. He should have been there.

He should have came with the crank and released me from my suffering.

And then I remembered the computer.

With a whip of my head here and there, I located my notebook and wrote down a request in it.

"i need to use the computer"

The parents were flabbergasted at my sudden request. They were hesitant, but I merely hissed and wrote down that I needed to see what was up and why he did not come. They were still hesitant, but reluctantly agreed under the condition that I be monitored. That was acceptable.

The very first thing I attempted was to contact Mike again. That attempt was swiftly stopped when I noticed I had two relies from him. The first made me feel a little humiliated and stupid for my overeagerness. It turns out Mike could not come because he had to get up for work early the next day. He had left another note saying that he would contact me again once he had the time again. Just like that, I gained one more regret. The regret of not double checking to make things went smoothly for me. I really had gotten rusty. I kept on making mistakes.

The next reply? More regret with a lot of anxiety.

"Dude, get that fucking thing out of there! It's one of those damn haunted animatronics! Junk it! If you don't believe me, check out my youtube shit."

The parents were in minor disgust over the use of his language. I hissed at them to be quiet as I did as Mike Schmidt instructed and went over to his Youtube channel. His newest video... was of him talking about me.

It was about me.

My anxiety was now going to have a very difficult time going down now. He has a little over thirty thousand subscribers. That was a little over thirty thousand people that now know that I am able to move... that I was haunted. I gaped at the screen for a few moments as he described the situation with some panicked concern. And then... I noticed he had linked to the original Youtube videos.

Sure enough, they were the same as the videos that were of me from the television. I buried my animatronic head into my animatronic hands and started panting. Why was this happening to me? Why did I mess up so much? This would have all been avoided if I had never found Mike Schmidt's Youtube channel.

But I had to know more. How far did this knowledge reach? How much did everyone know? I had to get a handle on this situation. As I searched, I found myself on news sites, social media sites, more youtube videos... It appeared that I was everywhere. My searches were mostly informativem proving just how deep a cut my depression-filled mistake had against the control I had on this situation.

But...

Some videos were downright bizarre. Youtube poops, unfitting music, a song made by someone named Guile, edits inserting a person here or a thing there, and so much more. I was confused at these videos. Of what purpose did they hold? Why was I in so many odd viral videos, as they called it? Were they making fun of me? ...Was this some bizarre form of art? I never did understand art.

Days and days went by. I requested further computer time in the following days, tracking my popularity. It was steadily growing. Internet forums, Twitter posts, artwork on art websites, songs about me wandering the city streets and being lonely. I had no clue how to stop this. It needed to be stopped...

But I had no clue.

Well... maybe I had one clue. When they realized I had finally departed, they would most likely stop. Even if they did not, I had no care. I would be gone from existence.I had to get in contact with Mike again.

But he knew. I did not think it would be of any use to lie that I was the family anymore. If I portrayed myself as amicable, he had to ease up on his fears of me.

"I am Springtrap. You heard that I can move. There was proof of it. Now, I only want to depart from this world. I need you to help set me free."

I sent that email and awaited a reply. It had came two days later. And it was disappointing. I sent a further email of me detailing my fake story of merely being a victim of the animatronics when Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was last open. I had to assure him that I had meant no harm.

I had to make sure I only wanted to depart.

That was when the mother entered, a scowl on her face.

"I know who you really are."

I tilted my head inquisitively.

"And a child murderer has no place in my home."

...What!?