Account 1-1 Case # 6392

Subject: Michael Solomon Afton

Location: Hurricane, Utah, USA

1005 hours, June 26th, 1985

Mike hesitantly opened his eyes and scanned his room. This was the third time he had woken up this morning. A part of him wanted to stay in that bed forever, to crawl under the covers and hide away from the world and everything he had done. The only thing stopping him from doing so was something that happened yesterday. While drinking behind Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, he had been given a slip of paper by one of his former friends who worked there. The paper read "Meet me at the pond near the Military Base at noon tomorrow." When he asked who had given him the slip, he told him the person said they were an old friend of his.

Ever since the death of his brother he had been a loner, only interacting with others when necessary. In his mind he was a parasite, he would only pull people into the miserable life of drugs and alcohol he used to forget his mistakes, anyone who dared become friends with him would regret it. Yet, a part of him still wanted to believe there was something more for him. Even if his life had been rightfully ruined, maybe there could be some way for him to feel some shred of happiness before he left this world. That belief became manifest when he received that note. Maybe he could finally have a friend again, someone who at least tolerated his presence. He knew that possibility was only a fever dream, for all he knew, the note was intended for someone else, or the person didn't know what he had done. But he had nothing to lose anyway.

He jerkily ripped the covers off his form before sluggishly getting out of bed and making his way to his closet to change. After throwing on a simple grey shirt and blue jeans, he trudged his way out the door into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and rubbed his eyes before noticing the two doors that haunted his mind. A small light blue door on the left side of the hallway to his right, and a bright pink door directly in front of him. The doors to the rooms of his two deceased siblings.

His gaze went to the pink door, eyes tracing over the dusty handle, the rusty hinges, and the faded red letters reading 'Elizabeth'. He hadn't gotten to know her all that well, hadn't even seen her that much aside from the few times his uncle had brought him over to this house from the UK back when he still lived with him. The only thing he knew was that their dad spoiled her rotten, and her personality very much reflected that. She went missing around 3 years ago, shortly before his uncle would die and he would be handed over to his actual parents.

He turned his head to look at the blue door and his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. It was the former room of his brother Evan. Unlike Elizabeth, he had gotten to know Evan after he moved here, but their relationship hadn't been amicable to say the least. When he had been forced to move here, he had grown a resentment toward the rest of his family. He was still bitter about the fact his parents refused to raise him over the belief he was a bastard. He felt like an alien in that house and that his parents only took him in because they couldn't send him anywhere else, a belief reinforced by his dad's uncaring and hostile nature towards him. One way his father would justify attacking him was Evan. He would frequently claim to have nightmares about the animatronics and every time Evan would try to escape the house, he would blame him for "scaring him" and lash out at him. He couldn't get back at his father without risking more punishment, so he took out all his anger on Evan. He made fun of him for being afraid of the animatronics, began to dress like them to scare him, and even got his 'friends' involved with the whole thing. Then, one day he went too far.

A jolt of pain shot through his skull as he began to recall that day in vivid detail. He remembered how he'd been angry with his father over a round of "punishment" he gotten for messing with the Foxy animatronic. He remembered his brother kicking and screaming in the arms of his friends. He remembered them placing his head up to the Freddy animatronic before the jaw collapsed on Evan's head. He was responsible for what happened.

He forced himself out of his memories and began to briskly walk towards the bathroom. He was having a headache again; he needed his medicine. Barreling through the kitchen, he clawed his way into the bathroom, swinging open the medicine cabinet and pulling out a small pill bottle. He stared down at the tiny label that listed the prescription information and boldly displayed the name 'Ziprasidone'. He undid the cap and shook the bottle until a single pill rolled into his hand. Without a second thought his hand raised the pill to his mouth as he prepared a glass of water to wash it down, the pill tasting oddly sweet against his tongue before it travelled down his throat.

Almost immediately after the medicine hit his stomach his headache began to subside. He held his head over the sink and gasped for air as his body recovered from the searing pain that had run through his head. He had been cursed with these headaches since he was a child. Every one of them was painful, and all of them would force hallucinations or vivid memories upon him. After his involvement with his brother's death, he had been psychologically evaluated and it was determined his headaches and hallucinations were a result of previously undiagnosed schizophrenia. Those pills sitting on his counter were the result of that diagnosis and a subsequent one year stay at a mental hospital before he was let out on 'good behavior'.

After what seemed like hours, he let out a deep breath before lifting his head up, putting the pill bottle back in the medicine cabinet, and brushing his teeth. When he was done, he walked out to the kitchen only to see his mother and father sitting at the table. His mother sat facing away from him, her blond hair a mess and her blue floral dress dotted with wine stains. His father meanwhile stared directly at him with his dead grey eyes. His black button up shirt and brown khaki pants dominated and seemingly leeched the color out of his surroundings. His greying brown hair, brow, and mustache added to his grim appearance, making him look as though he were a malevolent force present on this earth for centuries, rather than a mere 72 years. Any ordinary person would reel in fear at the sight of this man, but Mike had to live with him for almost 2 years, and the only thing he felt looking at him was numbness and resentment. The two of them engaged in their little staring contest, mulling over the myriad of grievances they had with one another until his father broke the silence.

"Going somewhere?" He said in a voice as grim as his stare.

"Just wanted to head into town today." Mike responded, keeping his composure.

"And why do you want to go there?"

"To get some fresh air."

His father furrowed his brow and huffed. As he was grilling him over his simple little outing, his mother finally broke out of the stupor of her hangover and noticed the standoff going on between her husband and her son.

"Fresh air huh? The stink from your breath last night certainly wasn't fresh."

A small gasp escaped his mouth. It was no secret that he had a drinking problem, both of his parents had known about it for a while yet had done nothing. The only time his dad ever brought it up was when he wanted something from him. He briefly closed his eyes and caught his breath before continuing the conversation.

"I think we both know why you brought that up."

A slight smile spread across his father's face.

"I'm going to need some help with the animatronics today. If you agree to come with me, I'll forget about your little 'quest for fresh air' last night."

This bastard was attempting to solicit free labor from him again. Normally he would have gone along with him to avoid any conflict, but today was different. Someone was waiting for him, and he needed to see whoever it was.

"Well, you don't exactly have that much ground to stand on either old man, do you now. Would be a damn shame if someone were to find out you were letting your own son drink himself to death."

He smiled as his father's smile turned to a look of anger, he sprung up from his seat and began to shout at him.

"Listen here you little wank-stain, don't get cocky with me now or I'll…!"

"William!"

The two of them looked over to see his mother, her face a mixture of drowsiness and fear.

"Please God just let him go out for today, it's the anniversary of the incident after all. We all need to forget for a day."

William glanced from his wife to him before letting out a defeated sigh.

"Ok, maybe Beth is right, you can go out and get some 'fresh air' today."

He took his chance and briskly walked to the door.

"But before you go!" William stopped him.

"Meet me at the restaurant at 5, your little playdate should be over by then, right?"

He looked on in fear as William's mouth widened into a wicked grin. He continued to make eye contact as he slowly opened the door and walked outside before the door closed behind him and his line of sight was blocked. Something felt wrong about that stare, he looked as though he were a predator eying up his prey rather than a man looking at his son. He didn't know what would become of this day. But one thing was for certain, he wasn't going to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza at 5 that evening, no matter what his father would do to him if he didn't.