Chapter Two: Pancetta (1981)

Andrew, stuttering like the mechanical coughing of an oily printing press, slowly started to advance on Milford. His arms, previously concealed against his body, were not outstretched and rigid with the signs of panic.

Milford could not move his gaze from the bloodied symbol upon the floor, but he was starting to move back, even though his legs felt as though they were shot through with liquid nitrogen. His mouth, tasting dryer than sand, struggled to form a coherent expression. A long, protracted scream lay dormant at the back of his throat, waiting for the provocation that would set it free.

"Mifford!" Andrew cried. "Don't... It's not what you thenk!"

Milford, suddenly crashing into the back wall as he continued to backpedal, finally let the scream go free. For about three seconds the wail was audible to the world, but Andrew quickly shut him up, darting over and cupping his hand over Milford's mouth.

"Mifford, please," Andrew interjected. "Don't do thayt."

Milford struggled against Andrew's gag, but the deformed man seemed to make no attempt to harm in any way. He waited patiently for Milford to calm, his beady black eyes following the transition of emotion in Milford's eyes as it raged and then settled like a wave crashing on to a promenade.

A few seconds passed, and then Andrew spoke in a hushed whisper. "I'm gonna take my hand off now, can you promise you won't scream?"

Milford was unsure if he could adhere by such an assurance, but nodded nonetheless.

Andrew removed his hand, and Milford stumbled away, leaning against the back wall with a healthy proximity to the door. He shot another look at the bloody symbol upon the ground, feeling a indomitable nausea sweeping over him.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he spluttered.

Andrew held up his palm so Milford could see. "It's jus rats, Mifford. See?"

Milford's eyes focused on the limp rodent on Andrew's palm and clenched his stomach in a desperate bid to avoid vomiting.

"Why? Why would you do that, Andrew?" he exclaimed.

Andrew bit his lip. "It's not harming enyone, Mifford. It's sposed to bring good luck to the diner. We need som good luck around here. I only wanted to help!"

Milford was struggling to process what Andrew was saying to him, but he couldn't deny that, covering his mouth aside, Andrew did not appear to have any intentions of violence towards him. The few times he was able to bring himself to make eye contact, he saw innocent-confusion and naivety. His whole face seemed sagged, like a child who knew they were about to be told off by a parent.

Eventually, Milford was able to regain his voice.

"Alright, listen Andrew. I believe that you meant no harm, but you need to clear this away now. This will freak out the other guys if they come in and see it tomorrow morning. You understand?"

Andrew nodded quickly. "Oh yes, Mifford. Clean it up. Right on."

Milford nodded, handing him a mop from the side of the room. As he did so he saw the storage locker and recalled his reason for returning to the diner.

"I have to leave now," he told Andrew, who was swiping away at the bloodied floor like a man possessed.

Andrew looked up, panicked. "You not going to tell the police on me?"

Milford raised his palms defensively. "No, Andrew. I promise I won't. But you shouldn't do this again. Yeah?"

Andrew nodded, the storm clouds dispersing around him. "Yeah. Right on."

Milford retrieved his belongings and left the storeroom. As soon as he had gotten through the front entrance and outside, he started to run, not stopping for breath until he reached the corner of his street, where he looked back to check for pursuing devil worshippers.

His mother was full of questions when he arrived, a full hour late, but he closed off to her droning voice, heading straight up to his room and crashing into his bed.

He did not sleep well.

(-AOTB-)

Milford's eyes slowly opened to the chittering of his alarm as streaks of sunlight from his bedroom window broke through the glass, advancing upon him like sharpened knives.

He rolled out of bed, and started to do his morning routine of press-ups and sit-ups. As images of bloodied pentagrams came back to him in his sleepy stupor, he found the energy seeping from his body, as though it were sapped by the same symbol that had been sapping the life of the rat that previous night.

Finishing his routine, he lay flat on his back, listening to the excitable birdsong outside of his window. He could imagine himself joining them in some alternate universe to his own.

"It's little wonder that they sing," he thought. "If you could just fly away from all of your troubles, why wouldn't you be incessantly happy?"

Eventually, his ears tuned in to the jingle of the Jeremy Kyle Show, which was blasting from the TV in the living room below. He knew he would have to get up and moving soon, or else his mother would trudge up and start yelling.

The last thing he needed now.

He showered and dressed quickly, grabbing a bagel from the kitchen to eat as he rode the bus to work.

Today the bus came a good two minutes earlier than schedule, so Milford decided to get off at an earlier stop, for no reason other than to postpone the inevitable moment when he would have to walk through the doors of the diner and see Andrew again.

Of course, Milford had given thought to quitting his job right there and then. However, it was not the favourable option, even in spite of the events of the previous day. With such few qualifications, Milford was lucky to have been able to get a job at all, and he'd already been searching for months.

Besides, as unlikely as it seemed, there could've been a devil worshipper at the tyre shop or the Chinese takeaway as well.

Better the devil you know, he supposed.

At least Fredbear's paid better. Or, at least, for now. Unless the business took off, Milford didn't see his position as a long-term prospect.

James was outside in the car park when Milford arrived, the cigarette in his mouth lighting the grey morning with an orange wick. When he looked up and saw Milford he opened his mouth to speak, causing the cigarette to fall from his lips and be extinguished in a burst of sparks in the puddle of water below.

"Shit," James growled, reaching into his pocket for another.

Milford avoided his glare, ducking away through the front doors as though he were a rabbit bounding away from a ravenous fox.

Opening the door to the back room, Milford half-expected to see the bloodied pentagram emblazoned on the floorboards. But the ground was clear, with no evidence of the demonic symbol having ever existed.

Milford might have written it off as a dream at that point, were it not for the presence of Andrew, lurking in the corner of the room. He was leaning on a broom, gazing sidelong at Milford with expectant eyes.

Nobody spoke, and Milford was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"I haven't told anyone," he assured him.

Andrew blinked, keeping his gaze focused. "I know. Thanks."

Milford reached for the Fredbear costume, but froze when he saw that the head, perched on a shelf above, was facing his direction, the bear's bulbous eyes staring right at him.

He had left the head on the floor.

"Andrew," Milford began, gaze fixed on the bear's ghoulish smile. "Did you put this up here?"

Andrew frowned, as though I had asked something ridiculous. "No. No, I dint."

"Well, then apparently the head climbed all the way up here by itself."

"Dun be silly," Andrew smiled. "A head can't move wiv'out a body!"

Milford tensed involuntarily as he turned his attention to the bear's torso. It was as he had left it, propped up against the wall...

But... had its arms moved?

Milford shrugged it off. Someone from the night shift had moved it, it was clear. He didn't need this job to get any weirder.

By the time he had put on the costume it was time to open. Not that he'd needed to have rushed at all, for the first few hours were just as uneventful as the previous day. When he saw Jenny at lunch, she seemed to have a lot to say about it.

"It's this neighbourhood," she explained. "I heard that a kid got knocked off a bike only a month ago and left to die on the curb."

"Not to mention all the robberies," Joe added. "Every shop round here needs to have a nightwatchman just to keep the property safe."

"And even then, you get cases of employees stealing from work."

"Yeah," Joe replied, nodding and grimacing. "This ain't a nice place for a family restaurant."

James seemed to be losing a clump of hair every time Milford saw him. His face was a permanent blank slate, but his arched back and rigid arms betrayed his frustration.

So when the bell above the front door rang at around 2.30pm, nobody in the diner was expecting it.

"Hello?" a deep voice called. "Anyone here? The sign says open."

James practically catapulted out of his office door to greet the customer, shaking his hand and taking his baseball cap for safekeeping. Milford, suited up except for the head, peeked through the storeroom window.

The customer was a large, round caucasian man with blonde hair and a blue Mickey Mouse T-Shirt. He wore sandals on his feet that clacked on the wooden floor as he walked, which would've been strange in Summertime, but since it was early Spring, it struck Milford as genuinely bizarre.

Sensing it was time for him to earn his minimum wage, Milford put on the Fredbear head and came out to greet him.

The very second the man caught sight of Milford a broad grin extended over his face.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Hi, I'm Fredbear," Milford cried. "Would you like to eat with me?"

The man chuckled. "Would I ever? Wow. You're incredible! I'm Eddie, by the way. But you can call me Ed."

James returned with a menu and Eddie turned to him ecstatically. "What an amazing mascot you have."

James snorted. "Oh, yes. Just a thing we roll out for the younger ones... You know how it is."

"I love the design. He's a marvel!" Eddie continued, sprightly and without a hint of sarcasm. "Are you going to dance for me too?"

James' eyebrows elevated. "Dance?"

"Yeah! And sing? You're missing a real trick with that. Chuck E. Cheeses have a whole band!"

"Well, would you like to take a seat, Eddie?"

Jenny came whizzing out with a complimentary glass of water which signalled the start of the meal. Throughout Eddie's time at Fredbear's, Milford stood near the table in his costume, keeping him entertained with novelty tricks and japes. He would've tried to leave but Eddie seemed to have little interest in anything but Fredbear. Every time he attempted to move, he'd launch into a new wave of compliments or relate another anecdote about stuffed animals who couldn't compare to the bear. It was like listening to an excitable child on their birthday, only in this case, it was an overweight thirty-year old man.

Eventually he left, singing the praises of Fredbear's Family Diner. James seemed pretty pleased with himself, and the way he eyed the costume Milford was wearing gave the impression of a man deep in thought.

Soon enough it was time to close up for tje day. Milford bade Jenny, Joe and Hai goodnight before he popped into the backroom to see Andrew.

The janitor was busy attending to the floor and he didn't seem to notice Milford as he opened his locker and took out his keys. However, as he walked towards the door Andrew called out to him.

"It worked, you see?"

Milford looked back. "What worked?"

Andrew smiled toothily. "The gud luck! It's began Mifford!"

Milford gave his best smile, trying not to betray his deep unsettlement, before saying goodnight and closing the door behind him.