Chapter 1

Something of a Regular Day of School

Morning, the time of new beginnings and plenty of change. Many opportunities came with the rising sun of the early morning, and for young ones only a few years old, those opportunities were priceless. So many chances to seize the day, make your mark and-

"FREDDY! GET UP; YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE!"

Never mind then. With a jolt and unfortunate bonk to the head, Freddy was wide awake to be greeted with the frantic expression laced across the face of his little brother Gordon. "I didn't!" Freddy exclaimed. "Yeah, you did! Now hurry! Ted and Fred are already having breakfast!" the tiny boy urged, running out of the room. With a sigh, Freddy jumped from the bed and threw his clothes on, hurriedly rushing out of the room as he stumbled to get his shoes on and brush his curled mess of hair. Down the hallway of his quaint bungalow he sprinted, sliding into the kitchen to see Fred Barry, Teddy and Gordon all eating cereal with bags packed and selves ready. "Oversleep again?" Teddy asked, nonchalant in his approach, as always. "Maybe…" Freddy replied, a bit ashamed to admit it. "Is it that obvious?"

"Freddy, you're brushing your hair with your shoe." Fred Barry noted, prompting Freddy to yelp and fumble with the shoe, unsuccessfully juggling the item until it bonked him on the head and fell aside. "I really ain't a morning person." he deadpanned, slipping on his shoe and settling himself in to wolf down some cornflakes which ended up a long train of mistake after disaster.

"Freddy, you just poured orange juice into your bowl."

"Freddy, are you salting your cornflakes?"

"Don't eat with a knife, Freddy. You'll cut yourself!"

Breakfast was a disaster, maybe packing for the day ahead would be easier.

"Freddy, why are you putting the cornflakes into your bag?"

"Freddy, that's a fork, not a pencil."

"Freddy, the baby skillet goes on the stove not in your pencil case."

"..."

SLAM

"I hate mornings.


Timezones were a pain to adjust to, and no one thought them worse than one Seán Trapp, forgetting the time difference between home and England, and of course, messing up the alarm. If not for Bonnie's daily ritual of consuming carrot juice at 6 every morning, oversleeping would be a certainty. With urgency, he shot from the bedroom and rapidly got himself ready, dressed, packed and downstairs to consume carrots and bran flakes. Peter followed suit, albeit slower and sleepier, the little one toddling down the stairs with eyes still droopy in sleep. "Good morning, Peter!" Seán grinned, handing his baby brother a glass of carrot juice. Peter took the cup and downed it all, then perked up brightly with his usual grin. "Morning family!" he smiled, taking a seat at the table as Crew shuffled his way down. "Good morning cousins." he waved. "Morning Crew!" Bonnie smiled. The blonde waved. "Everyone excited for today? Early start, great carrots; the morning is destined to be fun." Seán wondered, helping himself to some extra carrot juice. The family nodded, downing some more carrot juice and chatting the time away, savoring their perfect morning.


It's a fact that roosters crow in the morning, but in Chica's household, it was the chicks. First thing that morning was T.C.'s obnoxious pop music blasting over her alarm at 6am, and second was her horrific singing as she verbally massacred the musical travesty known as "Baby" by Justin Bieber. Slamming the pillow over her ears, and her cat upon her head, Chica ambled about her room to get dressed, attempting to block out the horrors of modern pop from her mind. She managed to wrangle her grey dress over her head without too much exposure, but as she slipped her wellies on, the full power of pop garbage dubbed "Tik Tok" by the one and only oddity "Ke$ha"...whoever that was aside from some robot-voiced girl who didn't sleep it seemed. Sighing harshly, Chica pounded the wall separating T.C. from her enraged sister. "¿T.C.? ¿Podrías por favor bajar la música?" (T.C. Could you please turn down the music?)

Silence…outside of the music being turned up even louder that was. Chica groaned and muttered something in Spanish before stuffing her bag with items and dragging herself and Carl out the door, praying she'd be able to find some good country tunes to cleanse her ears of her sister, and some food for her precious kitten.


Five kids in one house was bound to cause some trouble, especially as one was a baby, and you'd be right. The morning madness began at 6am with Mini-Head being the dutiful canary he was and tweeting down the house with his piercing chirps, desperate for freedom and some pets from his owner. His call went noticed as Fianna was soon up and beginning the daily bird maintenance, while Fionn left for the bathroom to change privately. Sharing rooms would certainly get awkward at times.

"Goooood morning Mini-Head, ready for some food, drink and plenty of fresh air?"

"TWEET!"

"That be the spirit! Ye ready to be the best bird on the seven seas?"

"TWEET!"

A collective high-five by the brother and sister and they were on their way, going about their routines while the twins went about theirs. In their eerie synchronicity, both got up, got dressed, and got ready in perfect sync, not a single movement nor action out of place in the slightest. Knowing how the twins were though, it certainly wouldn't last long; they liked to be different despite their single-minded nature. All was fine and dandy, until Jason hugged Evan. The younger twin thrashed a little in his older twin's grip, but Jason refused to relent his giving of affection. Evan continued to thrash anyway. Though he did like the hugs, he didn't like the implications. Hugs were used to imply that he was cute, and he hated being called cute. His squirming of defiance at being labeled adorable only succeeded in being picked up and slung over his twin's shoulder to be carried into the hall. Evan limply stewed in his silent rage all the while as Jason hauled his brother down the hallway. All four siblings met outside, one by one descending the stairs…and then tripping and rolling down them like a wagon wheel, where little baby brother Eli was poised to greet them with glee, a happy, toothless grin stretched across his chubby face.

Typical mornings.


A new morning in a merged household, how interesting. The triplets were up and at it, dressed and eating breakfast as they usually did. Color-coordinated clothes, bowls and breakfasts made to the personality of each; B.B. with his bowl of snagged cereals he'd manage to grab from each box, while J.J. had her bowl of fruit, yogurt and lots of sprinkles, and lastly, D.D. with a bowl of sugar and some cereal mixed in. As they ate, their stepmother made her way up to see them off, waving with that motherly pride she always had.

"Good."

"Morning."

"Amelie."

Each greeted their stepmother in order, from oldest to youngest. Their similarities really were so very similar, yet incredibly humorous. "Good morning, children." Ms. Amelie smiled, helping herself to a breakfast of fruit while her new husband Paul snacked on cornbread. While the rest of the family ate breakfast, Marionette had already consumed her egg and bacon and was content to wait for the bus while drawing more clothes to design. Inspiration had hit her in the night and from the moment she woke up, the ideas had been flowing with drawings spilling from her pencil and onto the cluttered pages of color swatches and fabric scraps taped in. "Trésor? Avez-vous déjà pris votre petit-déjeuner?" (Treasure? Have you eaten breakfast yet?) Ms. Amelie queried, calling to her daughter and receiving a nod in reply.

Her mother satisfied, Marionette continued to draw, sketching out a lovely tie in electric blue and teal with lightning designs all over. Mr. Paul ambled his way over to his stepdaughter, curious to what she was drawing. He gave a cursory glance at the paper, admiring the craftsmanship. "That's a lovely tie you're drawing. Looks amazing." B.B. smirked from the table. "Is that your boyfriend's new tie?" he yelled out mischievously, prompting Marionette to slam her book shut. "No! It's a late birthday present, and he's not my boyfriend!" she replied, vehement and flustered. "Sure he isn't!" the balloon-loving boy smirked back.

"It's a birthday present."

The triplets snickered. It had to be something else, it just had to be. It couldn't have been anything else to their young minds except that. They would have continued and gleefully so had the sound of hydraulics not wheezed outside their door. The bus had arrived; time to go. All four children said goodbye to their parents and departed, hopping up the stairs with a cursory greeting before taking their seats with their friends as all children do. Once on the bus, the usual workings of social law took hold. Friends sat with friends, kids refused to belt up and got a good reaming from the saner riders. As like the previous days, the middle schoolers rode along, something about their bus being out of commission or something. Apparently this issue had stemmed from some management and other grownup problems. How expected.


With the screech of rubber tires squealing on the pavement, the bus came to a stop in front of the school. The doors opened with that familiar hiss of air and kids began to dismount, each politely thanking the driver as per usual. The elementary school children made their way to the school while the middle schoolers grouped together with their teachers to begin the walk to their own school. It seemed this odd arrangement would persist for another few months, and many were miffed over the entire situation. Walking back and forth from school to school was a pain, and doing it multiple times a day was tiring. Oh well, time to suck it up and go with it. Kids lined up and walked, chatting together in little groups held together by the fragile law of the school line.

Deep down away from most of the children stood three tweens, walking together in a tight-knit group while they strayed disconnected away from the others, leaving a substantial gap between them, the cool kids, and then the rest. Two twins and one girl, the trio of misfit friends set to do great things, well, they hoped to at least. All three were gossiping about the day, Evan having acquired some new information as of recent and just dying to share it with anyone who would listen. Both Marionette and Jason had their interest piqued by this new information, perfect for "putting on the prayer list" as they had decided to deem it.

"Ms. Lida getting a divorce makes a lot of sense." Jason mused. {What man married her in the first place?} Evan wondered, bewildered at the idea of someone wanting to be with a witch like Ms. Lida. "I want to know what hip boots was he wearin' 'cause y'all know he needed some to wade through her bullshit." Jason stated, earning nods from the other two. "Whoever married her had to have been some level of stupid because not even an incubus with no standards would want her." Marionette added. All three came to a rapid agreement, add one ex-Mr. Lida onto the prayer list…and the legal team too.

Soon enough, the kids of both schools were in class and ready to begin. The class roll would be first, and for most, this was nothing to them, but to a good handful, it wasn't as bearable as it should've been. Upon hearing his own name called out in attendance, Freddy could finally understand just why Teddy preferred their old surname over the stage name their father had taken on. Mr. Fazbear always did commit to things, maybe too much. The thought crossed his mind but left as fast as it had arrived, and with its departure, began Freddy's focus on his school-related queries, one which was of course, not related to the class, but to his friends, and what thoughts crossed their mind as attendance was taken and lessons began.

With Bonnie, his name already was the bane of his existence, and his surname didn't help either. Bonnie Cottontail, quite the comedy show for anyone who heard, and by Scott did people hear. Of course, it was changed from something rather normal-sounding, and of course, it had to be while his father was in the military. Because where else for a better time to change your name to something utterly ridiculous? Oh well, at least it wasn't as bad as Chica's.

For Chica's, she swore her blood could boil the water in her water bottle when hearing it called out. Chica McEggson, a comedy of letters strung together to illustrate just how drunk her mother was when making that name change bet. Never before had Chica's resolve to never drink been strengthened upon hearing that tale. She could almost pity her sister who was repeatedly known as such, despite efforts to use their original surname. Oh well, T.C. could suffer just a little more considering the garbage she forced her younger sister to endure, and such times made Chica thankful for such an odd name, but her jealousy never wavered, especially concerning her amigo Zorro.

Fionn Fox, a normal name if not for the animal though a common enough surname, except whoever would've seen it on the likes of a kid like him? Considering the stereotypes, maybe quite a lot, at least concerning the surname. But never would anyone have expected such a first name for someone so unlike his namesake. Fionn, a name meaning blond, yet his hair was a solid red color, as was his skin. He could angst over the somewhat oddity of a name all he wanted, but there was no need in his opinion. Fionn had friends with much more unfortunate names, and a brother whose rage at his own name could break a meter in minutes.

Evan Fox, but only a nickname however. His full name was Evangélion, and dear God did he despise its very existence. If he was able to, he'd have erased the rest of it from every legal document with it, but alas, so is the life of a 12 year old who cannot speak nor express his own feelings without difficulty. How Jason managed to be so inexpressive yet articulate always bugged him, it being the one thing his own other half was better at than him, but victories must be conceded where they may. Jason deserved some small props for being able to form coherent sentences most of the time as his oft frazzled and anxiety-ridden mindset would try and hinder him to a painful degree.

Time for class. All children could only hope it would be a good day of productivity and an overall good time. Kids whispered across desks, friends passed notes and the crafty ones made little fortune tellers to try out at recess. So many friends secretly socializing while the teacher remained none the wiser, something Fionn couldn't' help but be envious of. To have friends to mess around with this way, to sit near them and chat, to do all of the expected mischief made by smalls, it wasn't something he was granted the opportunity to partake in. To do so meant to fit in. And for Fionn, he could forget that.

Fitting in was never easy, especially for an outsider like himself. His accent never quite fit the other voices in a crowd, his speaking manner saw others deem him juvenile and a hopeless dreamer for a stupid fantasy, and his style of dressing garnered mocking laughter never going silenced. Here he sat, alone in a crowd of misfits, not one as strange or different as him.

"What does the term "the seven seas" refer to…Fionn Fox?"

The teacher called him to answer the question, forcing him to detach from his thoughts and respond.

"It be referrin' to the old idea that there be seven seas in this world, most often referring to the: Mediterranean Sea, Adriatic Sea, Black Sea, Red Sea, Arabian Sea, Persian Gulf and Caspian Sea."

Of course the kids looked at him funny; his voice surely stood out as did his manner of speech, too much. Heck, even his own name stood out far too much. For starters, "Fionn" was an Irish name meaning "blonde"; for that he was not, being neither Irish nor blonde. Second, his surname of "Fox". It usually wouldn't turn heads, but his blatant Native American heritage ensured no one would run out of comments over how stereotypical it seemed. Thankfully, his middle name "Reuben" seemed to draw less ire, a silver lining to a darkened cloud.

He was readily drawn away from his thoughts as the school day began, the first assignment of the day being passed around from desk to desk. It was a quiz on piracy, Fionn's favorite. He wasted no time in taking his sheet and passing on the rest to the fellow beside him before grabbing his pencil from his pencil case and beginning to scribble in answers. The quiz was a breeze; his years of accruing nautical knowledge of plunders past was finally coming in handy for more than random trivia on the playground that only earned stares and odd looks (although maybe speaking about the punishment of keelhauling wasn't appropriate for a group of 7 year olds like himself).

As expected, he was the first to finish, signing his name at the top and sitting back to wait for the rest of his class. Fionn slid his pencil back into the case and attempted to close it, only to encounter a slight struggle between him and the object. Times like this were when his desire to have a right hand would increase; it would make many aspects of his life a lot easier to manage. He continued to fight with his case, the blasted object sliding across the table every time he attempted to zip the mouth shut, until finally he grasped it with his left hand and took the zipper in his teeth, finally dragging it closed. No doubt, someone had to be staring at that, most likely the kid in the back corner. That kid saw everything.


Lunch time, everyone's favorite. Like bats out of Hell, the kids were gone from their classrooms and sprinting to the cafeteria to get some grub, socialize, and hope to score some seats with their older friends in grade 7 for the purpose of being little gremlins (all for fun of course, nothing short of usual sibling behavior). Said older friends were already busy with some gremlins of their own, specifically a few Neutrals going at Jason, who was in no mood to put up with their garbage.

The eldest Fox had his head on the table with arms crossed underneath, attempting to achieve some degree of rest while the Neutrals went at him, his brother and Marionette, who was trying to drown them out with a good recipe book. "Evan, I have to say, this book on pie is amazing." she spoke, hoping this new topic would shut the Neutrals up, but alas, they kept going, so she did as well. For a good minute, both went at each other, attempting to cease the speech of the other side until a sufficiently annoyed Jason snapped at the Neutrals to shut up and move, to which they finally let be and retreated. Now with silence, the exhausted Fox slammed his head onto the table once more to resume his ill-fated nap, as no sooner had he done so when the younger ones had headed over to see them all. "Hiiiiiiii." Freddy grinned, waving wildly as he charged over to the table with the rest of the kids.

The trio waved tired waves of greeting. "Greetings." Jason welcomed, motioning to them, which they immediately took as a sign to invade the table. "Woah, slow down!" Marionette exclaimed, overtaken by the sudden rush of smalls jumping upon the wooden bench. "You look dead today. Why are you dead?" Peter asked, squishing himself right up to Jason before being displaced by Fionn who wanted his brother. "I died over the weekend." Jason deadpanned, submitting himself to his life as a climbing frame for Fionn, Fianna and a very eager Peter who was determined to find a spot to cling to, that being the older Fox's shoulders and chest.

"YOU DID?! But why are you solid. You should be a ghost. Are you ghosty?" Peter poked Jason again, trying to see if he was ghostly or not. "I didn't actually die, Peter." the platinum-blonde stated. Peter's surprise was immeasurable, his nescience to the idea of sarcasm and innocence of the world prompting him to boggle his forest-green-eyes in utter shock and bewilderment. "You didn't?!"

"No."

"Then why do you have the dead look?"

"I didn't sleep."

The younger kids gawked. No sleep? But sleep was important. Everyone needed sleep. "Why didn't you sleep?" Freddy asked. "Nightmares from that game Freakshow Rock had me play: Five Nights at Freddy's." Jason explained. The kids listened along, fascinated and excited to hear that someone had actually played it. It hadn't even been out two months and already people were saying that it was haunted and cursed, that the ghosts of the dead children from the real Freddy Fazbear's Pizza had latched onto the game and would haunt anyone who played. "The rumors got to me and I swear I've been seeing those ghosts in the corner of my eyes for days on end now."

That little note soon spiraled the conversation down into a rabbit hole of madness over games and of course, the unknown and complicated history of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and associated restaurants. There were so many mysteries about it, everyone wanted to know what was what and who was who. Most notably, who was the murderer. All that was known was it was an employee and someone who allegedly loved toast. Such little wonders of macabre history took up all of lunch and soon enough, the kids were all heading back to their classes. Jason was thankful to be free of that conversation. He hadn't been kidding about the ghost sightings, always in the corner of his eye or standing behind him in the bathroom mirror, he swore he saw one of them. Grey, bloodless and crying they were, horrifically killed in a gruesome way with visible signs of the trauma they had suffered marking them.

The sights terrified him and even though his insomnia never would have let him, he still refused to sleep peacefully lest they appear in his dreams again. Taking a breath, he stealthily broke away from the line to wander the empty hall where his locker stood. Thanking God for the lack of anyone down the miles of corridor, he opened his locker to retrieve some bandages for his arm when a frigid sensation gripped his wrist tight with an intense emotion he couldn't make out. Panic gripped his mind and he tore his arm free of whatever had taken hold, tearing the chafing against the bandages underneath his sleeve and sending stinging pain across his skin. Jason twitched as the sensation tore across his skin, old injuries from cutting making themselves known in the least kind way.

"Dammit." he cursed, rolling up his sleeve to assess the damage. Nothing noticeable, thank God. With a sigh, he slid his sleeve back down and went back to his mission. Just get the bandages and antiseptic. That's all you have to-

BANG

An enraged force gripped his hair from behind, dragging and throwing him into the open closet behind. The door slammed shut as the blonde picked himself up from the floor, struggling to stand in amongst the random junk stored inside. He now found himself in pure darkness except for the blinding spotlight over a piece of aged paper. Jason crept closer, stepping under…something icky as it squelched and squished beneath his soles. Squinting his eyes to see, it was clear as day what the paper said.

"MISSING"

Beneath it, a name, reflecting in his di-colored irises with frightening clarity.

"Gabriel Ursidaea-Smith"

One of the victims…

BANG

Another noise shocked the room as more papers quite literally grew from the walls. "Jeremy Hasen", "Susie Gallus", more names of victims from that fateful incident back in '87. Words began to whisper and spin in his ears, as if something was attempting broken communication with the freaked out Fox.

"Missing children. 6, no, 7, no, 8 deaths. So many deaths. Children. Mother. Dead. All dead. Help us. Help us. Help us. Listen to us. I don't want to die. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it-"

Jason couldn't tear his eyes from the blood now pouring down the walls to form messages of desperation or tune out the screams that echoed in his ears. 2 more deaths to toss onto the pile…their screams wouldn't leave. How cruel had this man been to take away such innocent lives? His arms were drenched in blood now, was it his or someone else's, he didn't know.

Something, the feelings of warm fingertips brushing against his shoulder snapped him back to reality, the visions dissipating into the air and sound muting to the buzz of the overhead light that shone across the small closet. That couldn't have been a hallucination, they never ended like that…then again, he could never tell what was real and what wasn't. That was just how hallucinations were. But now, he had to be losing it now, he just had to. "Jason?" It was Marionette's voice; he liked her voice, it was calming and brought on a sense of security and safety. "What's wrong? You're bleeding. Your sleeves are soaked in blood."

Wait…blood…his arms…he hadn't cut himself in a week, he couldn't be…

Jason turned an arm inwards to look at it, and indeed, his once white sleeves were now a sickening crimson as blood pooled beneath them. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be real. His arms didn't sting with that punishing pain, so how could he be bleeding?

"Please…help us. Don't let us die again."

"Jason? Do you know this girl?" Marionette questioned, turning her gaze from her friend to the child before them. "No…I don't…you see her?" the blonde answered, casting his friend a concerned glance at her final words.

"Yes." she replied. "Why?"

Author's Note

Updates to wording and fixing any spelling errors or unnatural speech. I also misspelled Gabriel's name. I confused him for the F.F.N.a.F. character "Gabriella".

The mystery begins...