Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria
PROLOGUE
Scene: In an Office at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. Posters of the animatronics hang around, some together in a band with some images portrayed individual from each animatronic. Various different toys lay abroad, as there's one of a balloon boy with unlidded eyes that sits on the cabinet, and a cupcake with eyes sitting on the desk. The desk lies on the front wall with some computers and laptops, some made to check the cameras, while some were for other work purposes. Enter William, Johnny, and worker.
WILLIAM
My theories are set, and there's nothing you can do to unconvince me of my mind's treatise on the lines of metempsychosis. We humans aren't built for our flesh alone, but for worlds beyond our own, and earths that our mind's trammel has not the key to. And methinks there's an alchemy to be tapped to discord the transition of life to a forceable, but peaceable, way of life, that yes involves death, but preserves the essence of the soul for eternity through the ways of human hands.
JOHNNY
Yeah, but what does that have to do with this pizzeria? We are looking for a new hire because these so-called you acquaintance with, these animatronics, are putting us out of business and take us from our clientele. We can't hold a worker unless he's challenged or needs to be put to a home, because they can't stand the animatronics when they guard this place late at night. I've tried to tell you before, with my experiences with them too; they were getting on my last nerve until you switched me last minute to cover the day shift. You explain me of your philosophy, but how will that put us in business? Customers aren't lining up to our gifts, mothers are scared of those towering animals- I mean, the animatronics tower way too tall, and seem too lifelike that it disgusts the majority of viewers. Anything that's toy and made for fun, if too lifelike, will cause disagreement in the humors of souls of men since we're trying too hard to figure out the mighty right hand of God to serve our own creation. And what's your obsession with this metamorphosis anyways? Especially with these animatronics? And alchemy and stuff? You speak works, but there's no connection in this metamorphosis, or metempsychosis, whatchamacallit, and the animatronics and the workers. What does that have to do with our jobs? We can go out of business soon! You own the industry. You know-
WILLIAM
I wish I could tell you, but you seem not to read me. These animatronics are capable of life just like humans: walking, sharing, singing, everything that completes a man. But unlike humans, our inventions live beyond us. If animatronics are like man, and man like them, and if we humans are possessed not what nature serves to us on a beheaded platter, but something more metaphysic than our thinking, then I would think the animatronics, the inventions we give life too, engage with spirits we are unknown to that only they can connect to, and there's a field we must tap in order to be as them. For don't you think the heavens are surprised when they see us man engaging in spirits that are away of the heavenly truth and The One, whatever that is, and coining our own enchantments by our own will to power? And don't you think this same fantasy is in these robots from our begating?
JOHNNY
You know, you really scare me with your theories at times, and the fire you consume yourself when you give them life. I still don't understand you. All of this nonsense about the relationship of humans and robots, or humans and animatronics. It's really not that deep, but your obsessions make it so. You seem not to understand the fear that you've created within this pizzeria. You seem to forget our history! With your theories, we're inflicting more harm from the animatronics onto the people, instead of focusing on the people and making the animatronics safer for all. Yes, accidents do happen, and the animatronics have no conscience to accidentally hurt a kid, but this isn't going to make our case better. You know people don't forget their history, especially with this place in the likes of what happened-
WILLIAM
Forget what happened. People are so stuck in history they can't even enjoy the present. And the animatronics have no conscience? What? They have a conscience too. Don't you- well, if you don't get me by now you never will.
JOHNNY
Are you telling me we should just forget our history of this pizzeria? Is your mind this clouded? Don't you remember the accidents during the course of these last decades? A kid being stepped on by Freddy? A kid kicked by Bonnie from the Fazbears concert? Don't you remember the time of the missing children in this joint? Gabriel? Jeremy? Fritz? And another kid, the name forgets me, but all of this taking way before these Fazbears, I mean animatronics, had the tech to even be alive? Are we just going to hide that under a bus?
WILLIAM
There are no buses here anymore, but they haven't been thrown away, and that's our problem. We must lead everyone we can to enjoy our Fazbears! But while you do this complaining, don't you remember my idea of turning this place around?
JOHNNY
Oh yeah, that golden Freddy. What of it?
WILLIAM
And I feel no passion on your tongue, and this brings me anger. You share not my same fire for this new-age alchemy. But anyways, the golden Freddy, the golden bear of an animatronic, is what will turn this place around. Think about it, everyone of our age believes that all that glitters is gold, and attracted to any tin foil that shines, and with this new addition, my new base metal disguised as gold, without much reason people will come back and flock like they used to do in the old days as if all of our accidents never happened! Kids will have fun and parents will be mesmerized by our golden Freddy Fazbear! I will also have more confirmation of an idea of mine working, which my tongue seems to hang up when giving the words to you. I just need more hours and something else. And here's where I said earlier in how the worker comes in. I-
JOHNNY
Yeah, but how will we explain that to our new workers, especially our new security guard we have been looking for on the up and up, how this golden Freddy is supposedly to change all and avoid the rumor of the history of this place. You know the smartest look up the job before Indeeding or applying on our website.
WILLIAM
That's no problem: we hire someone who's young and inexperienced, who believes they know everything to the world and can handle anything, but is in desperate need of a job. We just need someone, and need someone quick. Nevermind you; hey worker! have you got any applications yet?
WORKER
None of them seem promising; all of them prefer the day. But there's this one named Mike who I interviewed from a walk-in, and he seemed up for anything because his mom led him to the shop. He seemed very intelligent, but I don't-
WILLIAM
Hire him, hire him, hire him. We need him, we need him, we need him. Hire him. Call him and hire him; and don't say I told you to say that but make it seem natural and hire him and say that he can start next Monday and he will get paid weekly and that there's nothing to worry about and that the job is very simple and-
WORKER
But you didn't listen to the else of what I was about to say. He's-
WILLIAM
I don't care, hire him. What's his name? Forget his name. I just need my profit and this gold Freddy, the golden Freddy, gold Freddy! ready for-
JOHNNY
Hold your horses and have some periods with you when you speak!
WORKER
Why don't you-
WILLIAM
He may be able to make my operation work. I have ideas. Well, hire him; don't just stand there like an ignorant moose. And you, if I can't explain you my soul, then I'm an individual Napoleon. And since you work day shift, create some messages for him for training hours before his shift starts so you won't be plagued with the afterhours. I must focus on my genius and invention! The perfect Freddy will come to be, and my theories will be confirmed. I'll see you cats later, one of these days! Exit
JOHNNY
Man, he sure does give me the hibby-jibbies. I know the horrors of this place. I feel sorry for the one who's the next security guard. I might need to give him the every nitty-gritty before it's too late. I'm taking my leave of this job, even though I have twins and a wife who's close to walking out on me. I can't go through another divorce! And finding another job won't be easy. But I would much rather a new job than endure a contentious woman. Plus this Will just gets weirder and weirder and puts more witchery in the air.
WORKER
And with taxes growing, it just seems it's getting worse and worse. But, there's no action in complaining, so I'll make sure I get in with this Mike guy and clasp my hands together and pray he takes on the night shift, because who knows how Will will react when he comes back, whenever he does, and finds there no security guard guarding his teddies at night!
Night 1
First night on the night shift at this Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria; I made it here 11:55pm, but my shift starts at 12. I had no one to greet me, but the managers when they got back with me for this job a few days ago said I would be assisted on my duties, whatever that vaguality means. But no matter: I see no manager, I see no customers, so I am free with my work, with my only resorts to writing, and now starting this journal of my new habit of this won't be a written picasso, or any great work for the ages; for it will probably amount to a decay of nothingness in the translation of the sadness of my heart and whatever harbors in my soul. For I'm depressed of my own mind, and my mind sorrows to a greater depression. Saturn, the planet of sadness, zeniths me like a Roman genius and guards all bliss from approaching my heart. Within me, I feel there's an illness, and I know not the meat of it to war myself out its oppression. Before this work, I had dreams, dreams greater than this desk that befores me, as all men; even a one-eyed Polyphemus would have witnessed me with my dreams. If I was a Ulysses without dreams of returning to my Telemachus and Penelope in Ithaca, and didn't make the eye of that one eye giant bloody, Polyphemus still would've seen nobody. For there's no such thing; for all men are aiming for something, and by our natures we wish not to miss our mark. But, from my unconscious and depressive ways, I have since sinned and missed that mark plenty. My once goal was to be a writer: a successful Hemingway, or a Goethe of this age; an overman who exceeded all the bounds of writing! I would play with myself to my mind's stage on the Mount Rushmore of great writers each night I was chanced to; but after various accounts of failures of unwriting the novel my mind so perfected, and the endurement of rejections, for the reasons of man not understanding the depths of me in my accounts of literatures, as all great writers are accustomed, I've since given up the ambitiment. I wasn't made for these times. I'm too deep: that's the reason, that's the reason right there, I know it. For, as I know, as we all know, under the state of things, death makes the once monotony of great prose the sated nourishment of the tomorrow for writers. The feeblish mind called audience believe this to be myth, and believe a contrary, where if a writer, or anyone for that matter, is picked up by his bootstraps and works hard for a certain amount of years, he will be graced by the mighty right hand of God and rewarded like Job after his time in pestilence. But this isn't true for me. I know it's not true, as God seems not to exist for me or doesn't care for me. Even if he does work for my greater end, I'm not giving tears up to God for help as He seems to be no part of me as Nature binds me to mine condition. I scream silences in anger, and the audience knows not the fact that, yest the fact, that no matter how much work you put in there's no guarantee that the work will come out on top. That's science, and I believe that. My heart possesses only one-third the soul of Job, and my situation is more situational and purposed than any suffering Jobs, so they can keep the stories to themselves.
I know not who I speak to with this piece. I know it won't go out the confines I put it to, so why do I even bother with my writes? Maybe it's medicine to cure utter loneliness and go away this creepish sense of the night. Most writers say their best work comes at night; mine usually comes in the afternoon. But this is neither here nor there. I write this at night for a change because this will be the only time I have to write, as no one overwatches my shoulder as I'm at the pseudic peace of this night shift. But there's no peace nor rest for the wicked in this dump. I feel as if all of my mind's monsters vamp on me during this night here in this pizzeria, and anything will try its best to send me six feet under in a gravely act. I don't know, maybe I speak, or maybe I feel some wicked influence in the shadows of this place. Maybe a Mephisto, the devil's misfit, will come through the walls and promise me spells; maybe a minion of Hades will use red eyes to shock me; maybe a Count Orlok will-
I had to pause for a second; it sounded like someone was trying to call but it was left under a voice message instead. It was the security guard who worked at this joint before me; he wanted to give me some tips and pointers on how to go about my job. I never heard of him before, and he never introduced himself, but he said that he also worked in the same office before me and is finishing up his last week now, but I know not how this helps because he gave no psychology on how to endure the mind when it troubles through the night. I mean, he did give the basics 'don't worry' and 'just focus' and 'get through the first week', as if these pedestrious wisdoms aren't already spouted out by the commoners of Orange County who think they are guru to self-help. But anyways, the recording then gave a introduction from him to the company; it went about like this:
"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza: a mystical and magical place for children and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun become a reality. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovery of damage or death occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced-"
I was worried as to why he cut himself off like that and took it all as blah-blah. The company had not enough liquid to have someone physical to train me, and with this god-forsaken bloke recording his kermit-like voice through the telephone's screen, how do they expect me to succeed; it just adds to the cheapness of the business. And why did my man act as if the 'death' he mentioned was nothing? I mean, how can death occur in a family friendly place? Isn't that odd? I mean, 'death' that fast into the introduction? Is that not suspect? Maybe I'm hyperventilating over this nothing, since it's true, as with all, legal precautions do go over all worse scenarios, with death being the absolute wrong that could go wrong and would it be unlawful to not go over the worser case. He went on as so:
"This might all sound bad, as something that bleeds the ear as if I'm sticking pencils to the lobes. I know, but there's nothing to worry about, you know. Listen, there's nothing to worry about. Anyways, the animatronics, those characters you see in the back, at night do have their quirks. During the day, they are the prettiest things ever, but at night, they uhh, they get a bit weird, a bit creepy and resentful-like, as if they've been harboring a disgust for the kids for playing on them behind their smiles. They get…shaky, I guess that's the word. I don't say this to scare you off; and you shouldn't be scared. And how can you blame them? If I were forced to sing those same mickey-mouse songs for twenty plus years and never got a smooth bath, I'd probably be irritable at night too. Remember, these characters are a disney in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay. And by the way, I don't think my coworker told you this during the interview, but these characters do wander a bit. I believe if he did mention it during the interview, it may have driven you off, like it did others. We have a high turnover, so we wish to leave out all the bad before you're the milk for the cookies that await you; and so you can enjoy this process of getting to know the animatronics and understanding what Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria is all about! And like I said, there's nothing to worry about, as I've told them as I tell you. And these Fazbears, these animatronics, they're just kind of free roaming at night; something about their boards locking up if they get turned off for too long. But that's A.I.! You never know what artificial intelligence may give you, am I right? It's a totally new concept, if you think about it. They used to be allowed to walk around during the day too, but there was then that bite of '87. This was before your time; but uhh, yeah. It was crazy, what happened. I won't waste story on this, but yeah. Maybe you heard it before, actually, if your parents are based here. But forget about it. It's history. But you know, I-it's amazing how the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"
Combined with his pauses of laughter and the useless mentioning of information that had nothing to do with the currents of my career, I was utterly confused by what his measures meant during this part of the recording. Has anyone tried to fix these robots that roamed around at night? Or do they expect me to do the dirty work? I'm not a mechanic, I signed up for a security guard and that was it. I'm so confused. And what about this man roaming around without a frontal lobe? I feel like I sight men who roam without their lobes during the burning daylight, as most men act more animal than man is capable of. I disregarded this whole recording baloney, but waited for more message that served my purpose:
"Now concerning safety: the only real risk as a security guard, if any, is the fact that these characters, if they eye you afterhours, they probably won't recognize you. They'll…they'll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton unentered to costume. Now since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, with we to have law and order to structure families and kids to have the best and most magical time in the world, they'll probably try to...probably trying to, qrwezzfa! excuse me, sorry, probably try to- now listen here, probably try to forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Now, that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area when you think about it. It isn't really that bad, but you could imagine how having your head pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort... and an unfortunate death. I'm not saying you will die, I'm not saying that at all. I should've even said- but uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, haha. Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up. But hey, first day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good ni-"
I cut him off there, as he seemed to utter nonsense at this point, and I assumed he was at his end. If there was any other dissertation, I could care less of it. The bounds of any robot coming 'alive' seemed a doubt to me. For aren't we the humans that created them, and as such with power to destroy them? And don't we humans have sense enough to not make a beast that can overpower us? Isn't that how God created man? I don't believe in their killing anyways; maybe it was some killer that had an animal suit that killed someone. And if it was a killer, or if this animatronic supposedly imitated a manson and took the womb out from a mother like a Nero, wouldn't the workers, or whoever coined this electronic, have power enough to deconstruct it? I mean, man is using his logic to deconstruct all structures of life in our declining and bronze age, so why can't they apply this logic on hand for this same situation? It will probably be of more benefit. But either way, I doubt all of this, I doubt there even was a killer; I think this unpearled swine is trying to get me to walk away from the job because he's trying to scare me. Or better yet, he's trying to replace himself to his old position. I think this is it. He said this his last week, with the man kicking him to the curb because of his inconsideration to take time to repair his sentences for sense, or some other fat reason. But what a petty move! He must think me afraid to get me to quit! I'll show him I'm not afraid! What a dummy.
Some of his comments did appeal to me though, regardless of how far-fetched and vegetable-like some seemed. I believe he mentioned something about the Fazbears, or whatever you call those contraptions, shove you into a suit if they believe you a skeleton and forgot to put back on your attire. It sounded like he was trying to describe the animatronics to force a metempsychosis, a transition of the soul to another body; but this method seems to metaphor and more reflect the people that possess our present states than the animatronics: for there roams plush animaiods called humans who purpose all they can to stuff you on the same agenda as they. They preach individuality, but force you to comply with their needs, and be a part of their clan, whatever that clan is. This is the essence of a community being too far-spectrumed in the good and evil of their beliefs: in trying to comply you, it turns them to psychopathy if you resist and resorts them to killer instincts to get you to be like them, even to the point they can confuse their persuasion into murder; but this is everyone. I highly doubt these things will turn psychopath. I also think he went on to say that some person from '87 went on living without his frontal lobe; I know this to be true for many others, as most of man continues on their journey without using their frontal lobe, their reason and logic, to express rational action. This phone guy spoke in half-truths, as all he said applies to everyone, not just these animals that malfunction from time to time.
I relate to my previous logic in believing this man is trying to get me to make my two-week notice and run so he can get his old job back. But I have enough mental supply to keep me going with this job; at least I hope so, as long as I can bare the creeping death of friendship and resurrection of loneliness in this room of unforgettable kiddy and happy-go-lucky pictures, animal custom remnants, and the buzzing of this flickering light bulb that aboves me.
I just hope I'm with requirement of my job to make success of it, in for I have nothing else to look forward to when the sky calls Sun up from the world's sleep. As I said before, my writing career is beyond my time; I have no breath to cure my mental state from its ever growing sadness, and I am down to my only friend, the Mirror, and this mighty sword I use to type who knows my emotion and feels it too. I've forgotten love, because in this age of gold-diggers and independence I see no reason why I should waste my golden bows on this affection. Women wouldn't even like me anyways since I have no bag, no apps to pay a woman's bills, careless to travel 100 countries, careless to make pages filled with heart-shaped photos. I also careless of any french laundry, careless of Gucci or Versace, or the next Lululemon drop; careless of women with botox or implants of unproportionate sizes, the constant barking at dinner tables of women about how independent they are, the disrespect placed on being a man, careless of the OnlyFans content creators, careless if she's on juice, careless of the women of abnormous body count and confess it so, careless if she expects me to invite her out like a rapper did back in 2012, or if another rapper direct messages her for a quick snatch, careless to express love to her like a K-Ci or JoJo, or any other expressions that makes men to boys; careless if she worships her time at McDonalds and careless if she protest of some trendy cause, careless of the woman who knows her Sundays and careless of the women who pomps her virtue instead of being virtuous. This leaves only 2% of women in our states that I would most likely be attracted to, which is close to none, as women of our states are only attracted to, according to a recent article, to only 20% of men. No one can confuse this science as women are becoming more independent than ever and soon to cross the equality of man and be more in wealth and looks, with they to be not just woman and not just man, but an androgynous sapien who takes on the role of men and women. And I can go on and on what I don't-
Forget it. I've filled this page with useless sentence of what I care less about the current state of women and have become even more depressed because of it. I don't believe this for all, but I'm just afraid to be and die alone as all men with a heart of Orlando Furioso have, and feel my life's tragedy is towards Satan and Hell itself. Women are nice, but they aren't nice enough to fall for a man at a dead end job as this. Women have their attractors just as men, as I would like to go for a Jenner or Kardasian, if I'm just being honest, while a woman would most likely go for a Gates or Bezos to a Bilzerian or Tate, one with power and prizes along the way, if I'm just being honest. And with this job, I'm far from it. But I don't want to reflect too much on my situation; if I do, I may see more of my soul and would have to reflect it to my conscience, making myself feel the nauseous need to resort to self-help by the next guru who talks too much but relates too little. They're always screaming through my screen of how I need to improve. They're the ones that need to improve! How can they possibly know my position and know what I've been through, and what I'm going through now?
I write all of these scripts for my own personal use, and have no intention of releasing it beyond the bounds of my own bosom. I already know how it will end up: bought, but forever trashed; sold, but left for the dirt; seen, but then left on read. And because of this, I'll just write whatever comes to mind and careless of the structure or any story, since this will also be a journal for me as I-
I had to check the cameras. It's about four a.m now, two more hours till I get off, and I thought I heard something down the hallway. It sounded like a kid was saying Hi, with another laughing whisper behind his hands. When I checked the hallways I didn't see anything, and assumed it was my mind building up an imagination. Darkness does strange things to a person, so I left it for what it was. I got up to go to the restroom after and didn't hear anything else, except for the buzzing of unchanged light bulbs and the unconscious music of my mind playing happy-birthday songs looking up at the Freddy Fazbear gang pictures attached to the hallway walls. All was silence…
I'm almost off now. It's ten minutes till, and I can already see the crown of sunlight gracing far-reaching staffs on the Californian plains. I messed with the cameras for a little bit and pressed buttons on the walls to shut the doors and open them again. The doors of these offices have been engineered more modern compared to any modern door I've seen coined. In order for me to make my exit, I have to press a button on the side of the doors to open it, and it won't close unless I'm back in the office. To me, it seems a terribly stupid concept, but maybe the owner of the place had specific intentions when detailing the plans of the doors. Maybe it was more 'modern'. But those intentions I'm unknown to. The cameras aren't too interesting, just regular cameras. But I'm talking to myself, and this is the most boring job in the world. But I could care less to work for any other corporate and capitalist enterprise that will give me a heart attack on a Monday. People unconsciously slaving away for the end of the week? that doesn't seem like my cup of tea. I'm still depressed, even though I did make an effort to write some.
I honestly don't have much to write. And if I want the time to haste itself through my shifts, I'm going to have to make something up with my writing. Every camera looks fine, every place has its place, and I'm still good with power as this buzzing bulb overlights me. I guess I will end this shift with some of my synopsis of earlier plans of reviving the history of Sextus Tarquinius and Lucretia. I remember not much of the meat of the story, but I do remember reading it somewhere in either Ovid or some book regarding, what you will, about a twelfth night. I found it something interesting because it capitalizes on my fantasies of having all-power and have the blood of it, with the likes of Sextus in being able to indulge whatever his mind's capsule proceeds at the tips of his fingers. He has desires, and isn't afraid to indulge them, and he finds a liking of an all encompassing beauty of Lucretia. I don't know the ending either, but all I know is that the story will give me ways to forget my ailing consciousness and be one with my dreams, since this job of darkness is doing nothing for my mental state. I have a head filled with mysteries for this piece! I wish to write it in verse, and have it a novel but quoted as for the stage, and have-
It just turned six. This shall be continued, and I will start the beginnings of my conceited works once I get back since the checking of cameras and saving power doesn't seem to be too hard and will give me chance to become the writer I always dreamed of. But before I end off for tonight, I thought it a bit odd how the clock, once struck six, was met with a chorus of happy children yelling Hooray! Does this office do that for everyone who works in it? Or did the boss set it specifically for me? Or was that chorus from the same throat of laughter I heard earlier? If this is so, it must all be a part of me. But it doesn't add to my situation in the depressive darkness of this hell-hole. Anyways, I will return to this soon.
Night 2
Night two, and I'm under the same malignant cloud of depression entering my shift for tonight. Tonight, Fortune forgets to favor me with bliss, even though I felt myself bold enough to walk into this joint despite the wyrd influence that lurks everywhich way of this pizzeria. All that covers me now is angst. I start here because I'm more anxious than I thought I would be before I entered tonight's shift. I read a bit of Soren Kierkegaard, a little bit of Dostoevsky, a little Nietsche, a little bit of French and other absurdities before I got here, but the prose did no works to fulfill me, and the being and nothingness of their reflections did fed not my spirit. The knocking of my heart at the door of my ribs confounds my ear drums, even though I thought no thought to allow these nerves to make this chronic music. I feel like I can hear children laughing, but don't know if it's my mind's shadows of lonely tricks or distant recordings. Loneliness brings out insanity of a man, and if not careful can erupt to play visions before the eyes to the brain's wonder and movie. I want to watch myself, because I know a friendly kin of mine had a similar illness for being an artist, and got drunk to the death of his wits, and believed he was seeing pink elephants do circus acts or bats eating a hand out of a hole in the wall when he was with himself. I also had another who practiced himself to his frets and from excess loneliness allowed his imagination to get the best of him to think that the horses he saw on the road from the cars were enslaved by the men riding them, and thought it best to run to them and speak speeches of saviorship and making promises of saving the horses from their confinement. I also had another- but I won't go too deep into this; after all, they had heritance of illnesses, with those ailments of the brain always in their unconscious but needing a life event or tragedy to bring it out to the seas of reality. It was always there, but just needed loneliness to help them make it worse.
But this is neither here nor there because I won't be like this; I know I won't. Because I have my writing and I have a job, and I know I have no inheritance of brain deformities; plus, because I'm conscious of the illnesses of man, I'm one step ahead in preventing them. Plus, I have workers who put their voices in the voice message machine, and imitate a friend here for my comfort. Plus, I have my dreams with- wait; speaking of messages, I need to check to see if I have any.
And just like that, another message rolls in from the cheapness of this message recorder that wishes to return to the 90s. This goes to show the laziness of managers who can't even come in to help train me to excellence. If I'm not good at my occupation, then the fault is not mine; it's their fault, because these people can't even come here during my shift, or better yet call me for an earlier shift, to train me and use their eye to divide my rights from my wrongs. What is wrong with these people? I should just walk out; but I'm not going to, because I think that's what this dumbbell wants. But I'm going to record the second message here to help me remember all that this bellend said so I can be one step ahead than this fool with bells thought I'd ever be.
"Uhh, Hello? Hello? Hello! Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to Day Two, uh, congrats! I-I won't load my sentences because I wish for you to take attention to the night instead of listening to me since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses, and it would be good to aware them before any of them act a ghost and roam before you."
What? This is a comment. At this point, I grew to a method of doubt about this man teaching me since he goes straight to emphasis on Freddy and his other animatronics. Why all the emphasis? Are people this afraid of these positive electronics built for kiddies? And how would they get worse if the week progresses? Is this a game or something? This pizza place has been open many a week, and it was only a fortnight ago I applied; so you mean to tell me these robots get worse but reset each week because a new bloke decides to apply? By every faraday of electricity, the energy of machines never stays the same and must be a contraption and die out, and I'm pretty sure, as all know, batteries run out and must be charged. Why isn't this same applied for these animals? Aren't they run by electric batteries? Or are they recharged by the manager of this game they play on me who decides to take this job so they can run me for cash and save more hoping I quit to prevent from giving me a raise? This must be their scheme; it has to be. I know it has to be, this world they create. But I'm as doubted as a Thomas to it. I won't let them make me quit, no matter how doubtful the darkness of these halls get, no matter how many unconscious remarks my mind gives me, no matter how the malfunction of these furries are confused as deadly. But anyways, let me finish noting this message:
"Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk just to make sure everyone's in their proper place."
It might be or is it a good idea? This was useful advice, but he should've been more direct. I dislike any wishy-washy comments. But I did check the cameras, and all seemed in their proper place, except for this one fox robot that's peeking through the curtains with a wick in his eyes. I didn't know what that meant, and it made my boyish heart sink into my stomach, but I continued the trust of the process with the camera checking as I listened to the more of his sayings:
"You know… Uh... interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I heard he becomes more of a ghost in the dark though, like a thief in the night waiting for his victims… So, hey, I guess that's one more reason not to run out of power, right?"
Again, why would I lose power, but not the animatronics? And why all the flutters in his voice when he said that?
"I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. Blind spots are in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors. So if-if, uhh if you can't find something, or someone, on your cameras, I persuade you to check the door lights. You might only have a few seconds to react...and that's not saying that you would be in any danger, of course. Of course I'm not saying that. I'm not implying that at all- But I forgot to emphasize: check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he likes being watched at Pirate Cove. I don't know. I know I don't like being watched, so that's why I always check the cameras and use my door lights…anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon, chao!"
He mentioned the Pirate Cove camera, and I'm assuming that's where that fox character was he even got there I was before that mark! I'm already one step ahead! Told ya! Well, I'm really not telling anyone other than myself since I'm alone and alone in this world. I checked the cameras at Pirate Cove again, and that fox character went away.
But he also mentioned checking the lights. The whole concept of the lights is something different to me as well: instead of the common usage of flipping the switch for a light, this light is a press of the button, right next to the door buttons on each of my sides. This must be a modernism coming from the owner as well, to make the place look 'modern' when really it's doing nothing for the equipment of the art other than the aesthetic of turning on the light. But why did this derp think it best to scare me in just turning on a light? It seems very easy, and no need of fear to erupt from the concept of it. The company should've had someone else train me, instead of this scared little idiot-boy in the shell of a man. He probably wants me to be scared, like I said before, and it's all making sense to me now because of these small-brained messages. I think that he's-
I'm a little confused. I just checked the cameras again, and as I look on the other laptops I know not if the pictures that came before me were produced of my own mind's image or some bloody visage that stood before me. I thought I saw a fox through those curtains at Pirate's Cove previous to this checking, but after checking again, the fox is now a ghost to the screen. I thought I saw a fox. I thought I saw a fox with his mouth open and eyes of light screaming at me in silence. But I don't know. Maybe he was active, and he only peaked through the curtains for a bit. Or maybe he wasn't, and maybe it was a quick myth dreamed up by my peripherals to play me a fox smiling through the camera lens. Maybe he was active, maybe he wasn't, but all I know is that I did receive a mini shock in the heart and shot of the eyes from it. The fox probably wasn't active as I believe when he said 'active' he only meant that the character would make ratchet and unmellifluous noises, and move around, but only in its desired place side to side, up and down, since most animatronics have a vicinity that they stick to in the command of their control operating systems. And if I did see him, this was probably a malfunction for malware or something. But all of this reason is just from fear, and all I saw was just product of mine ill fantasy.
The camera checking did make me become acquainted with the electronic animals. There's a picture of Freddy Fazbear and all the animatronics ganged together as if they were the next Beatles above my laptops, and I flipped back and forth between each camera, while looking back and forth from the picture to my screens, to put names to faces. The bear animatronics is Freddy Fazbear, the restaurant's namesake, and in the picture he is with a microphone in his hand; Bonnie, a rabbit animatronic under a decoded blue skin tone and exaggerated muzzle in the likes of Freddy, with a Metallica-like guitar in her hands; Chica, a yellow duck with a babe's bib on that says 'Let's Eat!'; Foxy, who I was introduced to in Pirate's Cove, more looks like a pirate than a fox, with an awfully sharp hook for a hand that would've helped more buccaneers to Treasure Island than any parrot could, with an eye patch in the picture, though was without one when I saw him. I mean, when I thought I saw him. I thought I saw him, but there's no guarantee; oh, nevermind…
There's also a withered looking version of Freddy in the picture, sitting down with his hands out by his sides that looks like a worn out unsacrosanctèd figure of a man trying to pass blood and bread. He had golden skin but no eyes in his sockets, with a soul of blackness that led one on to hideous wonder of what lies behind his golden mask. He laid in the corner of all the Fazbears, with his little magician's cap and microphone, and an open jaw that had much to say but couldn't. His neck was also broken, and made crooked his head. Maybe the no eyes came from this golden Freddie not being accepted by the animals and crying a lot because he's too small compared to the larger figures. I can relate to this immensely: knowing within your heart you're a star and golden, yet being kicked out by others who believe you're not. I feel for this golden bear, even though he's withered. He probably just needs-
Let me not relate to any animal. I'm not a kid, and have a job to do. And plus, this golden Freddy looks like he's been photoshopped to fit the crowd, for some reason. But all in all, they all had looks of smiles on their faces with a skin that only wanted to have fun. They just want to play, that's all they want to do! The faces of the animals look too child-like to have malice intentions, so I don't know why this freak on the other line keeps telling me to watch out for them. Why did the managers hire this lame excuse for a lodestar to guide me in my quest for greatness in this position? It seems like he doesn't know what he's talking about. He talks as if I wasn't going to make it through my second day, as if the message was already pre-recorded for another candidate. I believe I will make it just-
I paused my writings for a bit because I heard a noise. A walking of some sorts. Steps far off. At first, I assumed it in my mind, but after the steps were like thunder, I checked the cameras again and turned on the lights, and eventually the storm stopped and settled.
From this back and forth I didn't see Foxy, nor Bonnie for that matter. I confirmed my doubts with truth that Foxy was dallying the curtains at Pirate Cove earlier, and that wasn't just a mental image of schizoidia that played with my eyes. But this doesn't help my case, but I can't find Bonnie in her group or in any of the cameras. Let me keep checking though…
With all the darkness that surrounds me, to think from my few seconds of keeping the lights off Bonnie would be staring at me through the windows as soon as I turned the lights back on to check my curiosity of her. In the window on my left, with smiles of nothingness on her face, eyes that had no windows to a soul, demeanours I couldn't divide from my reason, I was rushed with rivers of blood moistened on my face that froze me as if I was caught eyeing Medusa down those windows. She was stiff as a rock, with no movement to continue her movements nor any decision to figure her best option of attack. An automaton at its finest. I had intentions of welcoming her, but my hand thought before the rivalry my head to give the best action and pressed a button to turn off the lights of the hallway from my office and pressed a button to close the door.
She said nothing, nor did I hear anything. All was a horrific mystery to this creeping beast built on wires. Why so stiff? Why so silent? Why walk without any introduction? Or maybe this was just another waking dream. I'm more likely to believe this to prevent my heart leaping like an elephant out of my chest. Yeah, maybe from admiring the picture of these animals I projected them from my depression to the real world. I mean, at least a robot would have the courtesy to speak or make mechanical noises to warn you of an approach. But hold on, let me check the cameras and lights again and break for a minute so I won't be caught lacking…
I feel now safe as a panda taking retirement on his leaves that that everything is checked without any jumpscares. I felt myself sloth to this admirement, but saw on my main device that my battery was running quickly from power. I didn't know what it was, and made sure all the lights were off with the cameras checked, but no answers served the droppage of battery life. I was hasting around to figure out why my battery was dying everso fast, but my hand did another thought for change and pressed a button on the side of my office, opening the door that I prevented from Bonnie's approaching. This calmed the drainage, and I was relieved from my nervous frustrations, even though I'm now horrified with the knowledge that Bonnie can come at any minute in the dark and just stare at me through the window to wonder if I'm an endoskeleton or not. Or would she do that? Or did she do that? Or was that her that really did that? I don't know. Why did I sign up for this? I should write a complaint. And why did my manager speak in suspicious tones, as if the fear of his voice hides whispers of truth that makes this pizzeria? It seems as if he spoke one thing but didn't want to fully explain the darkness of this place. And another thing: I don't know why this man refers to Freddy as if he was a person, when he should refer to it as 'it' since he possesses no human soul, at least no soul that I heard of hitherto. No soul of Gabriel has knocked this Freddy unconscious and brought him back to life, and I know this since the geniuses of above have no influence on electronics. They are all human coinage. All of these weird influences that happen to robots are all because of us; for we made them, and if they die it is because we have killed them. And if I'm alone in this process, as I'm alone in this world, I will be sure to kill these animals if they make any wrong moves against me. But I know they won't make any wrong moves because they know I'm just like them. Well, these animals don't know I'm like them because they don't know me; and they don't know me because they don't know anything, and since they don't hold no smarts, they're not alive to make any wrong moves. All of these fears are in my head…
But I speak bitter nothings. I relate all this sentence to a run on because I have no friends else to relate my heart to on anything. I'm still sad and nothing has changed about it. I thought this profession would turn it around for me, but the darkness of the few days' work just reflects the greater darkness of my soul. I didn't even choose this job at first; it was my mom's idea to get me here with her intentions of helping me save money so I can eventually move out. First of all, I didn't need her help, because I'm my own man; and second, I find it a bit annoying and embarrassing my parent is involved with me. If I'm going to survive in this world, I'll have to do by my own two feet without much help. You have to have a heart to survive in this world. Plus, moving out? doesn't she know the rent is at a record high in this state? That's why I ask her to help me with an accompanied loft and assisted living in our house in exchange for me producing art and works in my writing, in the likes of some old artist hotel I heard about in New York that was built upon the exchangement of finished pieces to pay for rent. I believe it held the likes of Dylan Thomas and Patti Smith, but this was sometime ago. Nowadays our states can't even hold down an artist because of the devilish possession of all for riches. And not even wealth, but for blue paper that is easily burned by their hedonic consumption. Combined with these viced ambitions and the cost of living, no artist is able to survive. No wonder I wasn't able to make it as a writer! The way we live now seems corrupt, and I guess I just wasn't made for these times. I was made for times where the to expense my work for me to be great. Now we have scholarships and programs that don't even come to your line unless you've hit a million on YouTube or have thousands of followers elsewhere. Don't these publishers know that most of these views and likes are paid for? What about for the lone artist who can't even get a break no matter how hard he tries. Does he need to sell out his passion for the likes of the popular? All of this is past me; and I got this job, not out of my mother's intention, but for the sake of paying myself first to help me become a writer, or anything else Calliope or the other muses set my mind to. I don't plan on moving out, so she can scrap that mind out of her skull. And I can go on and on on this subject for the sake of argument, especially on trends that people take and confuse it for creativity, but there's no need to waste time on this.
I checked the cameras once more and went to the restroom, came back to my seat, turned on the lights and saw Bonnie, and yes this wasn't of my mind's eye, back at the same window with the same witchcraft in her eyes as before trying to figure me. I saw my power for my lights and camera was getting low for any further action, but I was afraid bad things would happen if I turned the lights off, though saving me power; but felt as the opposite equal action keeping the lights on, would give reign for Bonnie to work her witchery for some cursèd animatronic magic to strike me.
My instincts did the best for me, and shut the door to stop this Bonnie from entering. After some of night's light had waned, I opened it to have enough power under my office's belt, and found Bonnie nowhere to be found. I checked my corners, I checked the outside of the hall; I checked the cameras, and it looked like Bonnie and all her friends possessed by some Hecate were all in their place in the back of the pizzeria on the stage for the end of the night.
I'm relieved no other horrors haunt me, and as of now it strikes 5:30 on the clock. I have enough power in this office for light to write my story I've been planning that I spoke briefly on yesterday. Sextus Tarquinius and Lucretia: on love and abandon, on mystery and hate, on pleasure and the senses, and the history of ages. I still know not the completes of the story, but I have backstory and the argument held as so: During an evening of siege in Ardea, Sextus Tarquinius, the son of Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, the king who had caused his father-in-law murdered and went contrary to Roman laws and customs after possession of the kingdom, with other noblemen of Rome, went about discourses during their dinner with every man commending the virtues of his wife, including the virtuous Collantinus of the chastity of his wife Lucretia. As the men finished dinner and left for Rome, upon arrival to a tent Lucretia was found among her maids while other ladies were dancing and merrying themselves. Tarquinius became so enraptured and passionated upon the sights of Lucretia that he immediately took leave from the party. It was sometime later Lucretia, for the royal pleasure, gave a recital at Collatium. Again, Tarquinius had to withdraw himself during this event to escape the will he felt for Lucretia; but in the pride of himself and the kingdom, he went with his lust, confessed his passions for her, and indulged every soldier's dream for the night, and so on and so forth. I know not the ending, but I believe the muses above will take my mightier sword before my hand and write it out when my warped reason gives me a writer's block.
And this will be meant for a play to be read, with forms taken from Greek tragedy. I'm one for the classics, and feel this journal is my safe space to be able to indulge my art in the classics when our world fails to recognize the greatness of them. For no tragedy, in my opinion, of our states contain the soul of Aeschylus or Euripides and the verse of Sophocles to endure as statue through the test of time. Most of the tragedies written of our modern age are on the writ of some ugly and unhonorous papyrus, that showcases no debates of kings or the virtuous of men, and is more or less a rude sketch written for pop culture. They communicate no soul, and I hope through these writings as a humble servant that my likes will escape the mediocrity of these times. I will also feel an escape from this dark loneliness that trammels me in this shift, and feel my imagination will grow me some seeds of pleasure instead of having those grass and flowers be cut by the mower of life. I am documenting a royal, and it seems all royals have the best in life and need not to worry about one thing; every fancy, every cream of the earth becomes milk and honey on their platters. What a life! To get what you want when you want! But anyways, let me begin my verse:
Scene: In front of Lucretia's door in Collatium. Enter Sextus Tarquinius.
SEXTUS
I've escaped the chambers of my heart's reign
That tried to grave my passions on reason
Alone, and as the near-sighted light
Of Aurora makes morning for Apollo,
There stands another wall of my desire
That's the only prevent and delay of will
To this Lucretia. If I go with this,
Permitting the flames of my wisping lust
Violate a loud fire, I pawn mine honor
For a king, and trade the lode of reason
For a path of musty flesh and vain rivers,
Forsaking myself for myself's own desire.
For we kings are mediators to gods
And imitate Mercury with our feet
To guide others to an Elysium.
But on the other thrice day, I saw heaven
Painted on the visage of a face
With virtuous Cherub glossing her cheeks,
Seraphim posing her torso, with even
The Three Graces giving laughs and wonders
To her that I've seen in no other mirth.
She was beyond our world and not of this earth
And I must have her, as my own manly life
Profits me none 'cept for honor and wealth,
With each of mine prideful arteries
Sharing blood with the dust, and rotating
Mine femurs from their direction. I'm young
And unseasoned with life, and have no maid
By my side to beside the woes that
Arrest me. What is this life? Filled with woes
And the next saturneous sorrow
To achieve… to achieve what? An honor
Given by feeble neanderthals
Who know not of mine own deportment?
I have desires other to mar a nation;
And with wealth and my name royally born,
I should complete the fasting of my passions
With something to stomach. I know commandments,
But my naked armor was recently shot
By Love's erect and filled golden arrows
That quiver me, like the shakes of Tellus plates
That leaves the lechery of his mantle
Open to holes to spurt flames from the flesh
And dirt of the ground. O Lucretia!
I remember her alabaster skin,
Her eyes, like two suns, and breast as two lambs
Untouched and pure for milk! but this image
Fades to my mind's mystery and blackens
To a crisp. The real thing is for the better
While thoughts are merely dreams until they're applied.
I must go! My heart begins to beat
And hurt me from the quiver from Love;
And I can't indulge me to the vision
Any longer: for action conquers fear,
And fear is the wall to mine passions.
I must deconstruct this wall and enter
To my love! This dream may not come again;
For love is few and not as many as sin.
I will leave it here for tonight. I love these studies of Greek tragedy! And it's a shame I have no one to share it with, nor anyone to purchase it to read it. But I will leave it for here tonight and pick up on the next scene during my next shift. The clock just struck six and hoorayed for me to leave. The animals are back in their place and I didn't lose power. I guess all's well that ends well. More from me tomorrow.
Night 3
I think my likes deserves an instrument of death so I may plunge it into the sea of my heart and may drown in mine own blood to suffocate in the vein of it. April is the cruelest month, but all of them are just as equal to serve cruel if you'd ask me. Depressions coming from the waves of cold, sorrows burning from the extended daylight; the heavens bring war, the earth's intestines bring Hell, and without a friend, the entropy of it gets worse from nature's causations. I guess my heart is a mount of woe tonight because I didn't feel too healthy walking into this wasteland to complete my shift, and feel now a nauseous hurricane encircling my stomach's ocean, even though I didn't eat much before coming here. My woes of depression are only getting the best of me, and my shifts with the night won't make it better. I may consider quitting, but I know that's what the managers want. But even if they did want it, I'll probably have to consider taking my leave just to save my conscience; there's something weird of this place.
I don't know, but I feel this weird influence that possesses the shadows of this eatery, and ghost more figures beyond what I can see. When I walked in just a few minutes ago, I thought I saw a mask that resembled a marionette, a puppet of some sorts, that was hanging from the sky controlled by some unknown mighty right or left hand, that had darkness for eyes, a smile of blackness and no mouth, an ivory complexion mixed with an Egyptian formed but tattered makeup that painted the face of it with purple roads of tears coming from its blank sockets and rosy cheeks that were ready for dating. It goosebumped me upon entrance as the fickleness of the light dimmed upon it, but the light soon became straight and far-reaching when the figure disappeared. I assumed this was another fatal vision produced of my own world, but the matter did leave an impression on me. Was this some vision of my mind, or a figure of Hecate that laid before me? If this was only of my mind, why did the lights flicker until the vision was over? No. I'm believing in things. I only saw the vision when the lights flickered, with this vision a product of my fancy that I must of saw from a horror picture, or the unconscious of me bringing back childhood memories to my outsides so I may relive them, with the darkness giving the mind reign to project any film it wishes, and thus allowing the vision of the marionette to roam free to scare me. This seems more like it. There's evidence, but no definite or confirmed proof; but I'll trust my science before any myth that comes before me.
As I sit here on my duties, I still shake. I feel I shake for no reason. I shouldn't shake, I'll be okay. I know I'll be okay. I look at the picture of the Freddy animatronics, and look at it closely and…nevermind. My mind is playing tricks on me again. I thought I saw that marionette figure in the picture, but realized it was just an afterimage of the marionette that had been hanging on the back wall since day one. Man, what horrors the mind can cause on man! We humans can scare ourselves if we're not careful. So yeah, the marionette mask I saw in the entrance my mind confused it for my office. And the marionette I saw in this picture was just a mere reflection of my confused mind's eye from the puppet hanging. This confirms everything. There's no need to be scared. The puppet is meant for play, like a Punch and Judy for kids to enjoy, and it looks scary because in trying to make a positive image for kids the too much lightness and innocence takes a contrarian effect and becomes frightening that I take it as a source for threat than a meaning for comfort.
However, these doubts have no comfort in them. The marionette is without soul to scare, but I'm still enshivered by its presence since this marionette looks like it has strings attached to hang itself, with most of the ropes wrapped around its neck, with the lesser portions attached to the arms and legs. The body coins my fear no different; the study of this marionette's painting of figure is shaped like a slenderman: lanky with arms and no health to meat up the skin with bulk and extended to a disproportionate taste. A disgusting image! Or are the ropes really attached around its neck, or is this another portrait of my mind considering my fate? If my strings are attached to this image, I must cut them! But no… I'm no master of my fate. I've proven this plenty with my art as a writer, and I'm nil to none if I'm able will any power in myself to get out of this dungeon of a job. Atropos is the cutter of my life that is held in the skies, and I'm lost with my powers to do anything about it. I'll let her do the judging of my life, as I've let the woman of my life judge me to this course. Ahh, let me stop with this; I need to listen to my messages…
Great, another message and another reason to reason me to think this pizzeria is the zenith of a dump. This invalid can't even give me proper directions to make my work work. He must certainly be retarded, because a man of mind would be at all tongues with his advice and receive any questions for his fellow workmates. What's wrong with this dude? Can't he get over these fazbears and just focus on me for a second? How about wising me wisdom to success at this job? Giving me the deets on how to make more liquid? To make more pay? More cheese? More of that green stuff? More blues? He desperately wants me to pass on. He desperately wants me to move on. He's doing everything he can for me to quit. But stop myself now and write down what he said so I can continue to attack him with my own thoughts:
"Hello, hello? I hope you can hear me. You know, you're doing great! Most don't last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. They're past this job and gone with the wind. Man is like that: they come and they go; quick on this earth and alive for other things. But I'm not implying that they died. Th-th-that's not what I meant. And I didn't assume that. I just figure the worst, because, you know, with all workers of this world you must assume the worst. No one has his own discipline and no one is built for themselves unless they have someone or something governing over them. But I better shut it. Listen to me… uhh, I better not take up too much of your time. Why? I say this because.. uhh… well, things start getting real tonight. I mean, really real. Like, you know, the animatronics become more, or should I say, they act more with some weird influence. But listen, I had an idea, I just thought this: if you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed in a Freddy suit, uhh, imitate death and drop dead! You know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think that you're an empty costume instead. Then again, if they think you're an empty costume, they might try to... stuff a metal skeleton into you. I wonder how that would work. Yeah, never mind, scratch that. Yeah, scratch that scratch that. I think I told you something like that already. It's best just not to get caught. Um... okay! that's all there is. I'll leave you to it. See you on the flip side!"
I'm doing great? Everyone says that. That isn't saying much. That's saying nothing. He must be making a satirical rogue of me. I'm doing great. That's like praising a fly for buzzing, or praising a man for his steps. I'm doing great. I hope this man accidentally drinks bleach. All he does is utter nonsense. And implying that I will die? How would I die? Why is this man jumping to such strong conclusions? And why would I want to leave? I would only leave because this cockamamie imbecile keeps talking about me leaving. What is wrong with this man? Instead of working this pizzeria, he needs to consider being put in a home. He needs to consider washing his tongue with soap. He needs to-
And what's up with this Bonnie? I turned on the light on my left wing because I heard walking, and I found this Bonnie hovering over the open door as if she needed something. I closed the door as I knew none of her intentions as she stared and stared at me with a frighting curiosity. Her eyes were close to bloodshot from all the staring she made of me with no blinking to interrupt her mind's doubt of me. This only made my blood erupt from my overpulsed nerves. She doesn't have a tongue, has no introductions, yet stares. She likes more a nervous child trying to figure out a friend group to play with during recess and lacks confidence to approach from the intimidation of the environment; it's cute when you're a child doing that, but when you're an overtowering being of a tall and maculous height, as Bonnie takes to be, that cuteness evades into darkness and returns into the adultish being a soul of Nosferatu, an agèd creeping thing of death and deprivement, replusing fellow man for any specimen of this earth from the assumed nervousness. But I believe she's away, and I can open the door; because if she's not, I'd be wasting useless power.
Okay, she's gone. A relief indeed! Her coming to me was all wrong; her soul of anxiety to see if I was a missing endoskeleton communicated itself to press down worries on my bosom. But anyways, I'm not following this phone guy's advice in - what did he say? Something about playing dead? Imagine if I would've played dead just now for Bonnie! How I would have to contest my eyes with those piercing and cold mechanical looks! If I get whatever it means to be caught, then obviously playing dead won't work since these furries would have more motive to stuff me in a suit since they may see me as bait to help one of their machines' brethren. But I'm not going to indulge the thought; the mere sight in my mind's eye being shoved into one of those things brings daggers to my consciousness. I can't take it. For I'll be dead; but not only in being dead, I'll be reincarnated into a kiddy animatronic! Oh! The price I have to look forward to for laboring my sins here in this world! For Pythagoras had none of this insanity in mind when he presented his ideas of the transportation of the soul, especially having other animatronics doing the business for you without the hands of Brahma helping. But none of this will happen, because it's too weird and in the skies for it to happen. I'm letting my fears become irrational. I don't believe in any of this. And the warping of these ideas lead to a grotesque corruption, and Pythogras, I'm sure, held the transportation of the spirit's idea with soul, meant to enlighten minds and not corrupt them.
But if I may indulge the fancy for a bit, if I'm shoved into a suit, this man says I'll die; but if I'm shoved in a suit in the likes of Freddy, then I must not be dead since the suit they stuff me in is probably one made in imitation to wear for Halloween and not built as an automaton. This makes sense, and denies any death on my part. But wait, if I continue this method, this manager knows about this place more than me, so he must be implying this place has no false suits and only empty chambers of wires and circuits. But all the wires and ports of the furries deny any existence of me or any soul stuffed inside one of those things. This leads to another doubt of mine: how does Freddy and his mates operate? Do these animatronics operate off just electricity? Off of coded instructions? It can't just be that. I just saw Bonnie away of her place on the stage at this Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, and wires and circuits alone can't operate other than for her to play her guitar on stage. There must lie some weird influence in this world of Freddy Fazbear, something Hecate could only coin from the skies, as there has to be some witch or spirit of Pluto in those things or these machines wouldn't be able to operate as they do. No coded instruction, nor the warping thereof, can make the robots dysfunction the way he claims they do. I wished I could've asked him this: why are these characters so intent on shoving me into a suit? I believe this man said because they think I'm out of character and need to be put in my place as one of them. But how do these machines even think and know I'm supposed to be one of them? This must add more to their waywardness. My only conclusion comes to this: maybe they think I'm one of them because they were once one of me: a human with affections, senses, and passions, but stuffed in those suits when they were unguarded by some spring trap that keeps them in there. Even with this, there's still a method for doubt because of the wires and all that circuses their circuit's deportment for sapieanic living. I hate to further my reason, as I feel as if I'm going over the shadows of this world. I think this may be the case: as I've mentioned before, through forced metempsychosis or some transportation of the soul, though the body has died in the wired-up fursuit, the soul lives on and possesses it and acts like a human without reason. By Plato's banquets to the Upinashads, this explains the case for them to contain a soul just as the rest. But still, I'm confused; why me? Why specifically me? Why am I the target they search for the suit? Weren't previous workers not enough or other managers? Maybe they wish to force a metempsychosis for me because it's their way of rebellion in finding out who spring-trapped them into those suits. Do they think I'm the one who locked them into those machines? Is their reason this clouded? With all the workers, how will they find their spring-trapper by this method? This is more manson than I heard of in decades. But is this their revolution? To revolute against the workers, not just me, that enslaved them to this world of animatronics and force them to this myth of paradise? This can't be true. But if it is true, this must be some hecatry within it. This is the devil's work. But this is myth. I don't believe in this nor any of the influences above or below, so all of this is false. And plus, there's plenty mouths around on the superstition that robots or any machine of artificial intelligence will gain soul enough to rebel against man and take over the world. Now I'm arguing off of superstition. People's minds go off in fears to the lunacy of the moon. How weak our minds are and so far from all knowing!
But that's the thing: I don't know. I confuse myself from my philosophy and make only more weakness of myself for my too much in doubt. And none of what I say makes sense anyways and just sorrows me to think I can't figure out these machines. Man is but a flea when he considers his position on this earth! For we have no reason enough to figure out the forces that are beyond our knowing! And this is what scares me, and I must create reasons and stories to cope with the cold logic of darkness around this place. Even the stories I do make find no comedy or a graceful and alicious feat to the ending. But speaking of stories, I-
I heard spooks that seemed offensive to me in this reigning darkness. The cameras showed none of the animals in their place, with the silhouette of Freddy - at least I think Freddy; wait, let me check again. Yes, yes, yes. It's Freddy, It's Freddy. He's in some dark room looking up at the lens with flashing eyes, with Chica in the kitchen turning her head around and around as if she were trying to unscrew her head from her shell, and Bonnie standing in the cafeteria where all the birthday business takes place like a statue, as if she knew I was looking at her through the camera. I don't mind this, I don't mind it at all. I'm not scared, but the patience of this room becoming a silence doesn't help my nervous veins at all. All that's of my ear is the screeching of computer static for these cameras, that sounds more as nails on a learning chalkboard than anything artificial for intelligence. And that doesn't prevent me from attaching wonders to the darkness. The constant flipping of the cameras-
I just remembered, I need to save myself on power. I gave myself a pause and turned the lights off for a bit. But like I was saying, the constant flipping of the cameras doesn't help, because it seems none of these furries wish to leave their spot and return to their riddance. I look at them now and they look as if they all hold unconscious phones between them to share messages on what best way to infiltrate and possess me. One may say I can comfort in the prospects of them remaining in these spaces for the rest of my shift, but I dare argue this: if I leave one eye off them, I might run the risk of them running up on me; and if they run up on me, I'm soon a goner. But this doesn't mean I will be. I know I will be safe, because I know that the manager or whoever that phone guy is is just calling in to make me leave my position so he can acquire this position again. This was probably his position first, and he wants to do all he can to get me to come away.
But again I ask, did I do something wrong to disturb these furries? They make me feel I possess the soul of Orestes, as I was the one who avenged a death by killing another, and bark at me with their silence and closing in on me to regret myself of ever being alive. Maybe they hone in on me because they think I'm the phone guy. This was his previous position, and maybe he did something to disturb them. This is an awful move on his part if he put me for this position for that reason, and just goes to show how ratchet he is as a person. If I do retire of this watchmanship, I'll put all the blame on him and use this as a reason for my opposition for hire. He left me with all the problems he forgot to clean up, instead of him cleaning up and leaving the position better than he found it. For isn't this the rule of the world, from our first birth to our final closing, that we should be brought with purpose to find a mess and leave nature better than we found it? For why do people like him feel like people like me are only birthed to clean up his messes? The lazy fool! A stupid cretin! A deranged halfwit! He's probably the one who had his frontal lobe pushed out, because he can't seem to think his way through his methods. I can't seem to fathom-
I immediately shut both doors when I heard fast steps get louder to me. I watched a replay on the cameras and watched Foxy run down the hall like a Bolt and she was on my right. I guess she was just running, and laughing like a child for play since she isn't able to do that during the day. She knocked on my door with her hysterical laughter, but my heart's racing on my body's track gave no field to let her into this finish line. As we speak, with my hands produced of sweat and shaky for me to repeat a sentence, I hear the deep sated feelings of laughter like a hyena subjected to some killing mysteria of delusion in the wild. I still have the doors shut, so I'm not unscared and not ungrateful that I'm protected by these jerichos called doors. I believe-
The lights flickered back and forth, and that mysterious marionette mask made that shape again, disappearing and reappearing before my eyes, when I looked around to figure out why the lights were flickering. I looked on my device and saw that I was low on charging, around twenty-three percent, but it didn't seem to go down too fast so I tried to use this as reason to untight the gordian knot of my nerves. But no use. The-
The lights stopped from flickering, but in exchange of this comfort the doors came up. There must of been a malfunction, because I didn't press any button to make the doors go up. But as soon as my intentions were set to find a breaker panel to trip it back into place, I heard the same wizard-paced running from the depths of the pizzeria, and went back into my office and curled up like a scared and unbirthed fetus. The same hyenaic laughing followed it, and I froze from my mind's scarcity and became subject to anything that followed this trap; but my arms thought best, and pushed the buttons for the doors down to protect from any ghostly influence that could come running through those doors. I heard the knocking. It grew louder and louder, and I feared from the other noises of creaking and shoving this deranged creature of Hecate would have some special way of getting through the door again. But eventually it stopped, and the character gave up.
No doubt this was Foxy again, and I checked the cameras outside my office and the replay and saw the fox trying to be mechanic to get into the doors. But wait a minute, how were the doors released before? Was it from a malfunction of this pizzeria? Was it from the devices of this office battery saver option? Or was it from the influence of Foxy through the wiring of this joint to trip the coding of the doors and bring them up? These options only bring a sorrow to my heart and a heaviness to my mind. If I answer these questions now, I feel I may vomit unwashed contents all over the floor, as my mind confounds me with dizziness in doing too much questioning on this matter. I can't even think straight now. I leave the doors up now to save power, but I know I could hear violent footsteps at any minute. These precious seconds can cost me my life. I saw the sharp hook Foxy had as replacement for its hand. I don't want to risk my life in this fox confusing me for play with that thing. I guess I'm-
I'm sorry, I can't do this. I don't care if all the power goes off now. I had to shut the doors. How can you possibly work and be man when a vile standing duck is looking over you through the window knocking on your door? Her bib made it worse since it screams 'Let's Eat!' on it when I turned on the lights to check the knocking. I thought the knocking was a subconscious replay of my mind, in the likes of an annoying song that repeats in your head after you're finished with it, but in looking up from my paragraphs I saw it was Chica under the shadows of the hallbulbs. I turned the lights on her, but this didn't make her go away. Her mouth was open disproportionate of her jaw as if she was ready to speak some pig latin to eternity. I wanted to hear her speech, but I decided not to listen, and resorted to my unmanly nerves to shut the doors. Now after sometime I have the doors opened and lights to check if Chica has gone away. I check the cameras and it looks like she's back in her place with the rest of the animals, with Foxy peeping like a Tom again through the curtains of the Pirate Cove place. But anyways, I'm better off taking my anxious ribs off this subject and distract me with something else. I feel everso lonely in this darkness that only begats more darkness that no one can possibly get me out of. I only have one hour left of my shift and I only wish to allow my writing to give me dreams. The animatronics probably understand how the night shift is almost over, so they won't come to much intensity in the breaking of dawn.
I just remembered my birthday was just the other day. Not that that matters to today, nor to anyone else for that matter, since no one came to my birthday party I threw and I had to spend it by myself. I threw it in secret away from any family because of our religion. I've been wanting to break out of it for sometime because I wanted to know what it was like to actually have a birthday; you know with friends and everyone singing the special songs of happy birthday, and everyone around you smiling and toasting to your favors and health, all for the sakes of you and you only. And growing up poor and constantly moving only prevented my furtherance for even having a glimpse of what a party was like to invite friends to. But now that my mom and I are a bit well off, but with my family still under these torahus constraints, I felt this was one of my rebellious takes that I thought I could take rebellious to throw my own party; but it only sacrificed itself to a comedic seinfeld and show when no one showed up, with a lady asking in the room I rented out for the party if there was some sort of conference going on and a collegiate girl of around my age trying to whisper her laughs under her breath, giving a little comment that sounded like 'he's trying to invite his nerd herd' when she walked passed me with her friends. I didn't have room to cry, since I was with the nihilism that I was born for this world's stage to grow bells on my feet to play for mockery. I thought I could relate it here…because, why not? I could care less of a good story at this point, and only write for this journal that is for myself. I'm selfish for a reason, since no one seems to be selfless to me. Well, at least this fatalist job can seem selfless to me, and surrounds me with all the cakes and ale and fun times a kid can possibly have concerning his disposition. I can imagine myself a kid again, surrounded by all the pizza I ever wanted and the dreams I never had! But this is all a mystery, as now I'm the man I've become from the child I once was, and there seems no work nor method in me returning to that state. But how I wish I could turn back the clock to those times! No responsibility! All the freedom at my feet! My eyes bright for another day! Injuries healed after a septday! But Time. O Time! Why must you woe us to adulthood? Everyday ahead grows with another sorrow. O woe! O! Woe is me! Woe is my heart! As I grow and find wisdom, I seem not to return to childness!
Forget this. I make a fool out of myself. I know I'm predetermined to be a fool, but why must I make it worse? I'm sorrowed and know I'm fated, but there's no need to indulge the philosophy of Calvin. Forget it. I just remembered I have bigger fish to fry: I'll return me to the continuation of Sextus Tarquinius and Lucretia Act Two from all this woemanship: regardless of the form, regardless of the structure. If no one else cares, why should I? This is my dream to indulge, with only Calliope and that other muse for history to guide my right hand. This is my journal and my practice, and my verse only gets-
Why bother explaining. Here lies my verse:
Scene: Lucretia's room in Collatium. Lucretia sleeps soundly in her bed behind curtains. Enter Sextus Tarquinius
SEXTUS
I've teared these walls of mine desire and enter
The four-square chamber that sleeps my love
From me. The son of Dawn is close to coming,
As far-reaching arms of Apollo
Do sneak to this bed, with all fair royals
Away of this lovely kingdom to bare
The sights of Lucretia beneath their bosom.
I smell Elysium in this room: they roam
A dream of nosegays and awaken
The napping passions of my heart. My blood,
Abundant streams, give a wash to my cheeks
And drown my visages to complete my flesh.
Where's my Lucretia? The product
Of mine mind's eye? I see the floors, the towels,
But no cases that lay a Lucretia.
Ah! these veils! Behind them, I'll shall meet
The instrument to my pleasure! But,
As I before these veils, a shadow doubts me
And waves battle within me: reasonable
Arms shoot violent desire from approaching
My mind's fort to insurrect me from virtue,
Though reinforcement of Will comes with force
And advances haste on undefensed Reason.
Reason is strong, but Will has Hell on his side
To burn loose any doubt from mine passions.
My heart! Let me forget my soul's battle
And take peep of this Thalia in the bed.
He draws the curtains
What a muse! O! An ivorious face
Made for the alabasters of heaven!
Thy naked breast, two plumpous & healthy doves!
Thy hands, smooth and uncalloused made for
Happy endings in a lover's embrace!
Thy figure, twisted as our statues graces!
Thy legs, voluptuous grapefruits, ready
To be eaten as peaches from their ripe!
Here lies a naked angel of all desire!
Mine naked arrows of Cupid start me with love;
How can I hold back? My Will has broken
Reason's fortress, and run with little wisp
To burn down any contents that have no flames.
I must embrace her once with a-
Lo! My mistress awakes. Let me arrive
As a shadow before I display
My full and present surprise.
Sextus hides under the bed as Lucretia awakens from her nap
LUCRETIA
Do my ears deceive me for sound? Or did
I awake from the noise of my dream? I had
The most nightmarous dream Hades could conceit;
For it began with Apollo as a youth,
And becoming blind to Venus son's arrows
He enrapturates with love on the first
Nymph that walks two feet. He goes, chases her
And finally comes away and alones
Herself. Here's where nightmare tells its tale:
For I'm replaced then from a mere director
To player as the nymph, and hear vile calls
From this loose boy in the forest I hide;
But from some suspicious force I couldn't run
For the best of me, and saw branches come out-
Oh, maybe I shouldn't depict its matter.
Its explicit image brings shutters to me
And believes me I cheated mine husband
For directing the picture. Why must the
Heavens forsake me to such a portrait
That the follies of Hades drew? I control
My art, but witchy forces surround me
I have no master over. The mere thought
Is sin, but I had no conscious to it.
O! how the mind wanders! This is a dream.
But even after the dream is done,
I feel as its spirit lurks on, and mine fear
Prevents me from any movement as the
Nightmare. I need my husband. The breaks of dawn
Scare me of-
SEXTUS
O! My sweet! My love! I can't take it
Any longer to endure these cries of fear!
I must protect-
Lucretia heaves herself to scream, but is stopped by Sextus with a hand over her mouth
My love! Please don't holler out thy contents.
Understand me, I am Roman. Please-
LUCRETIA
Yes I remember thee from our dance. This is not thy camp.
SEXTUS
I come as a Roman, with no advances on my rings, but with a heart endrunken with love.
LUCRETIA
Art thou married?
SEXTUS
Only merried with love.
Sextus makes his advances felt, but she pushes him away
Wherefore must thou art cast this veil of rejection? Know not I am an errand to Rome? Know you not of mine ancestry, my father Tarquinius the Prideful?
LUCRETIA
Yes, and know I the tyranny of your kin.
SEXTUS
But aren't I on the same level as your husband?
LUCRETIA
You are not my husband, and only my affections go to him.
SEXTUS
But aren't I a healthy specimen, a nice piece of meat and flesh, able to fulfill your needs when you are in want?
LUCRETIA
I'm disciplined from any cheating passions. My thoughts are mine, and mine affections only go to my husband, your friend Collatine.
SEXTUS
But know you the sorrow that amidst my heart? I'm husbanded to a ghost, and a man above anything, and have no wife to help me when Cupid strikes his golden bows upon me to release my love. I'm alone and wish to love.
LUCRETIA
I understand you, but this is not the way.
SEXTUS
But when I saw thee, I saw a heaven; and no other takes on this soul!
LUCRETIA
There are many smooth nymphs of Rome, or in decayed Ardea or Collatia. I am not the one; you mistake your passion and are blinded by your wills and humors.
SEXTUS
I've made no mistake, and I'm fine. I pursue you to make my dream become reality.
LUCRETIA
Not all dreams are meant to be accomplished: some are left for dead, while some are in the skies, with some just for the passing fancy. We all have dreams, but most are mere delusions, and better if not won instead of violently fought for. You're a handsome piece of game, but my desires are only open for my husband, and I wish not to bait you further to mistake you.
SEXTUS
(Aside) She continues to play me like a fish,
Reeling up for air when I'm thirsting for
An ocean. She invites me with tenders
By saying 'I'm handsome', but shields herself
From taking herself further. What a woman!
A confusing vessel! I should take my leave,
But her rejections makes my desire worse
Wishing me to snatch up what I've set for.
She can continue her walls, but I have
A naked weapon that will be satisfied.
LUCRETIA
Have I upset you? Understand, my soul is clear, and I wish no harm done, and-
SEXTUS
(Pulls out a dagger) We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Either way, I will be satisfied.
Lucretia tries to heave another scream, but Sextus catches her. He then has her in a choke hold with the dagger close to her temples.
LUCRETIA
Please, please! You're hurting me! I wish not to upset you, but I-
SEXTUS
Love your husband? Every woman's word has that phrase!
LUCRETIA
O! Please release your anger and your grip! You're… you're…
SEXTUS
What? I can't hear? Your breath lacks the brevity for airs.
LUCRETIA
O me! Please release!
SEXTUS
Those are my words.
Sextus pushes her to the bed, and gets on top of her
LUCRETIA
No, not this! Get away, you naked fiend!
SEXTUS
You push and reject, and mess my heart from my desires, and become blue because of it. My ultimatum is this: satisfy me to my release, or may this dagger enter the wings of thy ribs and into the stage of thy heart, letting thy lungs receive an encore of thy virtuous blood.
LUCRETIA
I will not abuse my husband's husbandry!
SEXTUS
Thy virtue is nice, but how about this: become my wife, and rule with me with wealth from my father's chambers, or have you and a slave murdered.
LUCRETIA
I will not abuse my husband's loyalty! Kill me, and I'll keep my virginal soul with the heavens for the obedience I vowed to my Collatine!
SEXTUS
You whore! You slut! Sacrifice to me! Your husband is not with my level! And what is this pompous virtue you speak of? If you were so virginal, how came you not one of the Vestals of Rome?
LUCRETIA
I'm… I'm… I'm not a goddess!
SEXTUS
But to me, you are the heavens, and I saw every angel in your face.
LUCRETIA
Please stop these affections! Your sweet nothings abuse me!
SEXTUS
Each Elysium, each nymph of the woods and the seas all divine to bless your face!
LUCRETIA
Stop! Mine affections are for my-
SEXTUS
You're losing consciousness from my hold. What is your decision?
LUCRETIA
Let me live…I want…I want, my hus…
SEXTUS
What is that?
LUCRETIA
I want…I want…
SEXTUS
(Aside) She's in want! She's in want of me for me!
My fullest seduction! Meknows mine will
And it will be satisfied. O my dream!
My indulgements are mine! But she sleeps;
How divine beauty when she imitates death!
She must be on the wine of love as I;
For I still she her whispers trying to voice.
But I won't give an ear! I know her wants!
I'll allow my will to make love of this
And come away my faults with divine bliss.
I'll leave it here for now, and pick up where I left off for tomorrow. Like I said, I'm pretty naive to all the happenings and the endings of the story, but I believe the muses will writ me their whole nine and inspire me with energies beyond my intelligence to finish up the story. We writers are excused for our naivete in our verses. We need not to know our beginnings and need not know our ends, with most of our measures coming from some divineness above that disrupts our reason to have reasons for each of our couplets. And since our sentence comes as a feverish attack in the mind we must write down before it's lost in the babel of our mind's towers. Some of them have meaning, but most of them don't; but look at my story: the dreams of me being displayed through a man of power! How I wish I can accomplish each dream of me that cracks from the egg of my brain's yolk! From it, maybe I would be able to cure the gloomy depression that looms over me! I guess I'll just stay delusional from it, since we're better off with the imagination of tales than succumbing to a ghost of sadness all the time.
When I finish these pieces of Sextus and Lucretia, I will probably copy and paste them to another document; but since I have no plans of releasing any literature soon, nor have any agent barking at my door desperate to release my works, I will just keep it in this deconstructed journal. But anyways, I have a thrice minute to kick the can before I take my leave of this weird place. As of now, I hear no weird noises, but feel a weird atmosphere that I can't seem to poke at to get its center. I check the cameras, and every animatronic looks like they're in their desired place. In my office now, the lights seem fine, I cool on power, and all pictures around don't seem to distort out of their place. I notice something that I didn't notice before: a golden Freddy Fazbear teddy bear in the corner of the office. Maybe the boss put that in here to bring me some comfort. He has dark holes for eyes, just like the one in the picture, and has a lazed disposition. He looks as if he wishes to holler, but some other force other than death prevents him from doing so. I wouldn't mind the soft thing here, but it's a creeping sort of creature, as it glitters as gold; and he-
Alright, the clock just struck six. I'll return to this tomorrow.
Intermezzo
Scene: Office at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. William and Johnny
JOHNNY
So, are we on lockdown or what? I've trained this kid to the last of his nerve, I've made the messages clear, and I've balanced my books with your commands, but these animatronics of yours are getting out of control, and it's on you to make the final decision to whether or not you would to keep this place alive.
WILLIAM
Enough. The animatronics do their jobs; the problem is the animatronics haven't been doing their jobs while Mike was here.
JOHNNY
What? What do you mean? How would you know; you're not there at night. You pay Mike and me to do the job, not those silly contraptions. And how does Mike have any control over the animatronics in their doings? I can only imagine how freaky those animals are getting at night with him as they tried with me. You know, I don't understand you. It seems on most hours you speak to clouds.
WILLIAM
Also, this new hire was close to draining all of the power out of these computers and this office to prevent Freddy Fazbears from opening up properly to have enough electricity for the kids today. You see, he's the reason my babies have been loose swordfish in their movements, wiggling for their home and with an uncontrolled feature that can be used as a weapon, and accidentally…. but Mike's the problem. I swear, on all I love, I have something for him if he ever reaches-
JOHNNY
Wait, hold up, you really going to divert the question at hand and not doubt yourself? I understand what I may have, but have you not heard of the complaints today? All of the tragedies that took place today? Sure, I want to be a part of Freddy Fazbear's, but not after what took place today! You say you care about the kids, but the amount of sorrow we've amount to parents may cost us our jobs.
WILLIAM
That's fine. We'll just go on lockdown and or move to a different location. For there's no such thing as failure, and we all must strive to make our mind's creations prosper.
JOHNNY
That's a way to look at it, but not when we stubbornly hold to the conviction of our animatronics being these divine objects of heaven. Our robots are monsters! Have you heard what happened today? Don't take it from me-
WILLIAM
I won't take anything from you; you're filled with lies.
JOHNNY
Take it from the other workers who were witnesses to the scene today!
WILLIAM
It's all okay. It's all in your head. All your pain and suffering is merely an illusion, just like those kids: their suffering was a mere illusion. For they will be properly stored in a safe place of undeath.
JOHNNY
Maybe it … no. They didn't suffer? You mean when Freddy… or when Foxy. I have no guts to mouth up the horrors. Ah! You're insane! Mashed up with all of your tight convictions, how about coming down to earth!
WILLIAM
I am on earth; it only seems you and this Mike kid aren't in this world because he's so focused on draining my battery than doing his job and you're crying over milk.
JOHNNY
But isn't doing his job checking the lights and cameras? I mean, that takes battery! I once did that and-
WILLIAM
And that's the problem. In my book, both of you are bonafide scrub.
JOHNNY
Don't call him that; he's a rookie and I believe he wishes to shine at his task. I'm pretty sure right now he's at home, excited and dreaming, ready to begin his night shift.
WILLIAM
Hold on, let me take this. Your words aren't yours, yet you continue to give them life. Wait here, I hear a phone ring. Exits
JOHNNY
If only I can tell Mike every inch of horror in this place, and be more clear to the purpose without the fear. But what's the use. Will will just will himself into some thriller, and find a way to listen to the private messages. If he finds them and hears me to his case, I will sure be in trouble. But aren't I a man? Aren't I with the soul to defend my honor against me? Don't I have brains? Nevermind, what's the use. There is a fight in me always, and I'm unmatched for this William. And what of his ideas in alchemy? He keeps talking about it everytime our eyes meet. A golden Freddy? And a soul in one of these things? This guy is a clear lunatic! They may be able to put you in a suit, but how do the kids live? Or are they in an undeath? I've only heard that from Will, but you know how far fetched his ideas get. And how does the kids dying in Freddy's arms have anything to do with it? All of Will's ideas are jumble in my head! I understand he has his idiosyncrasies, but actually following to-
Enter William
WILLIAM
He wants to quit.
JOHNNY
What?
WILLIAM
He wants to quit.
JOHNNY
Heh?
WILLIAM
Are you a mute? Or do you need an aid for your ears?
JOHNNY
Who wants to quit? You come at me vague-
WILLIAM
This Mike of yours wants to quit.
JOHNNY
This Mike of mine?
WILLIAM
Are we on tape?
JOHNNY
I don't see why you're complaining. You wanted to hire him more before anyone else, and you don't even know the man.
WILLIAM
But if he quits, how will I ever get to know him?
JOHNNY
Uhhh…
WILLIAM
You're definitely special. And keep your tongue, you may spit up soon.
JOHNNY
What is all this?
WILLIAM
It should be obvious to you: Mike wants out, and if he wants out, we are one less short of security, and if Mike wants out, he also won't be of any service to my newest inventions.
JOHNNY
So? We can find another security guard mechanic, or whatever.
WILLIAM
But there is no one else.
JOHNNY
You have me…actually, no. I just moved from night shift and this is my last week. I'm not saying you can't have me, I mean like for future ventures or deals, but I'm not the person that can properly help you in the sense of helping for the cause of the-
WILLIAM
Don't ramble. I hate that. Don't do that; stay clear and to the point. You aggravate me, and make my heart worse than it is. But say, you did just give me an idea.
JOHNNY
What's that?
WILLIAM
You said this is your last week. And since this is your last week, I think best for you to be treated in a Freddy Fazbear fashion. I have a surprise for you to send you off properly.
JOHNNY
A surprise! Well, that's-
WILLIAM
Don't think much of it and don't get excited. What do you have to get excited for? I have trouble with you. But I have a Freddy Fazbear surprise for you that'll knock your socks off.
JOHNNY
Awesome. Can I-
WILLIAM
No, no. Just stay here, stay here! and record those messages that you record for Mike, and I'll be right back. Most of the families are taking leave anyways, so I think this is the best o'clock to get our party started.
JOHNNY
Okay.
WILLIAM
Just stay here, and I'll be right back. I have something for you. Exit
JOHNNY
Well, that's nice of him to nice me in this way. I may consider Will different, if he has a gift that is. Maybe he's soft at heart, and his blood gets in front of him to reveal his true waters. But what still shakes me is the art of his words: the daggers used in his verbs, the knives in his offenses, the swords drawn as a conqueror when he came to give word the news of Mike; he must be a certified lunatic as methinks he uses the call of the reaper. I feel a danger within these walls, but I can't escape him: for his influence is too strong, and I risk losing my last hours pay if I take my leave of this place now. And I risk missing out on the gift. What if it is a gift? What if it's a good gift? I hope this isn't a mask for my trouble, as I seemed to catch him stagey with me when suggested of the lockdown and all the work I did for him. I was only suggesting what I thought was right. Not of myself, not for profit, but for the welfare of the souls that dally in and out of this pizzeria. I'm more committed to this career than I should. But I must away these thoughts, as I feel my time is near to finish up these calls. I must be with my work and hope for the best.
Night 4
I'm done, I can't do this. I'm done with this job, I'm done with these people, I'm done with everything! Last night, or should I say earlier today, I heard my nightmares yell those hyenaous laughter from Foxy, and saw me run towards an endless silk road of nothingness, where no light shone nor darkness proved reign. It was nothing, but this visage is something hard to describe on mere words alone. For there was no darkness, but this doesn't mean the contrary was lightness. For it was nothing, and more in the spheres of approaching death I was running towards than anything else. I envision this will be what the afterlife conceits: a dark matter that is neither filled with darkness or lightness, but all that contains energies of the invisible: a nothingness we won't be able to perceive by the senses, with only the word 'dark' helping us describe the utter nothingness of this being. My dream held the perfect nihilism, and abandoned all hope to the hell I was approaching that not even Dante could paint with verse. But continuing my dream, my running began to slow, and I was hefting my way to a sprint while the hyena-like laughter was getting louder and louder around me. I then grew to a complete halt, with the laughter at its highest pitch to the point its tune was inaudible from the overloudness but still deafening to the ears, and began to see shadow-like Goliath figures with a glow in the eyes that all walked towards me. I had no swords, no slingshots, and I tried to run away, but I was pasted to this dream's concrete, and began to cry out of unmanly desperation. These figures got closer and closer, while the laughter continued, and began to jail me by my hands and feet, and locked me down to the ground. Their grip upon me was cold, and felt more of metal than any being of peace on this earth. I couldn't decide their faces, but all of the shadows began to push, shove, and kick me, while I continued my cries into this nothingness. I was then extended wide having my body make an X on the ground while the other shadows began to congregate around and began to spill out my insides, by seeming to open my chest, unlock my rib cage, and release the contents of me by pulsing my heart, tearing my lungs, and sipping my blood. But the odds of this laid not for me to die, but instead continue my alivement to endure the horrific pain of what these shadows were doing to me. I was powerless from their grip, and had no strength because of my overwhelming sadness, and the pain grew so much I couldn't bear it. The repetition of releasing my heart and sucking my intestines continued to the shadows' satisfaction. I cried and tried to ask for them to stop, but my neck fell into my throat and I lost any apple to make a ripe note out of my tongue. They all laughed at my weakness, and my ears were bleeding from the black noise of laughter I protected not my hearing from. And as the waves of the nightmare repeated through the night, on the ground trapped of these shadows laces I saw a light gleam out in the sky from the bitter hopelessness of this possession. It begged for me to call for it, but it eventually went away as I denied, in the lucidity of my dream, that this light was actually light and had any influence on these invisible beasts that harm me. I then woke from the nightmare in the puddles of my sweat, and slept not for the rest of the day.
Immediately after this experience that was close to trauma, I called the offices to speak to my manager. Each artery of me was excited with violent and quaky nerves, and I wanted to call in but someone else picked it up who was called by a said William Afton, who hitherto I am still unaware of, who said the manager I wanted to speak to is busy recording a message for his night shift worker. I told him that I was that worker, but this William told me he still couldn't get anyone else on the phone. I grew in an anxious fury and yelled at this man to give me a manager to tell them I was taking my leave of the company. He seemed to take a great offense to this as this William left a cold and deathful pause before hanging up.
I thought it best to apologize when this William gathered his emotions. I didn't want to get him on the wrong foot, because this William fellow may be someone important to the company if he has the audacity to pick up the staff's phone. But to gather myself before making another fool of myself in nervousness, I thought it best to try to take a nap. However this nap proved futile; for I was soon disturbed by the constant chimes of imessage and viral calls. I woke up and saw that I received a text from an unknown number of a picture of a pixelated purple figure with an abnormal grin on its face with, what looked to be, a yellow badge on his chest while holding a curved object that looked more or less an ancient sickle. I took nothing of it, because I get texts from unknown numbers from some cellular disturbances in the skies that makes my phone receive other messages that are in my vicinity but not intended for me, but I received several voicemails afterwards from the same number at a psychopathic rate I was tempted less to check them or call the number back. But by my cat's curiosity, I came to listen to the voicemail as it spoke these words:
"Hide if you want; it didn't save others, and it won't save you."
My heart, twice, had an attack. Fear consumed me to vicious shivers I couldn't cover for warmth or hide for confidence. From the tension I threw my phone across my room and accidentally cracked the screen; from the act, I grew me to a frustrated sadness in knowing I need a phone to live a 21st century life and couldn't risk breaking it, but in knowing so that if I were to have my phone the looming curiosity will only lead me to check my creepy voicemails, and would be better off broke. But after debate with myself I went over, to my dread, to pick up my phone of death and heard the others:
"You are not spared; you are not saved." "Suffer, like all those who fell before me!" "I will make you suffer, and suffer like the others." "Fear is scented on your breath." "Your flesh isn't what sates me, it's your fear." "Your fear will stomach you." "Gotcha. Ha!"
They all seem to come at such a penetrating speed I felt dizzy for substancing all the vocal abuse. Who was this guy? What was his meme? What did he want? Was this someone random or someone I knew? Did this man mistake me for someone else? Why come at me like a looming creep if you don't know me? All of these doubts were merely left to question. The messages came in like an online troll whose main mission is to put on a mask of masculinity through a screen, talk trash and decay others in a game. At first I thought to take nothing of this cyber-like bullying because most of these trolls usually hide their cocky tongue when they have to face walking outside their house. Nonetheless the comments left a stain on my spirit when I tried to conceit myself to some mettle about them. I locked my door to my room and dared not to walk outside of it. I felt as if this killer was right outside my door and ready to strike at any minute. I could've phoned the police, but how can I phone an officer when I'm an officer myself?
I didn't want to work on my Lucretia because I felt as if I would lose the dream of it and was stuck on working on it at work, but to distract myself and release the petty emotion I felt in me I worked on Lucretia. I hesitated plenty, as the looming thoughts of that bully who called used invisible knives to cut at my conscience, but I continued forward in my write. I must apologize to myself if my dream amounted not the way I wanted, but we writers have plenty of unconscious influence that marks our works, and I wanted to finish the work regardless and not have to sleep with it again. I will copy and paste it here so I can have it aligned with my entries:
Scene: Lucretia's room in Collatium. Lucretia is unconscious, while Sextus is at the door to leave
SEXTUS
Apollo is at his full height to eye what I have willed. My deed is complete and I feel released, but what have I done? Have I, really, sacrificed myself to such base emotion meant for the slaves of this earth? For what? For some pleasure that comes here to then come away? I have defiled an angel, that was more virgin than our seven seas, and now feel Regret looming me, like the furries that plagued Orestes from his kinly revenge, to be ridden of mine own heart to not sin a spirit that is worthy of heaven. But who will believe my innocence? That I was taken by a will broader than me? But aren't our gods governed by these same passions as it was written? From Jove to his countless mistress, Apollo and his fevers, to Ulysses, and even- ay, I shouldn't doubt myself this way. Mine actions are mine own, and mine eyne are papyrus to mine images I stitched to them. I thought myself a God, but I am mettled as a human. Reason has won my mind's war, as my Will mars from violent attack of reasonable argument against my satisfaction. My dreams were only for fable, and I lost sight of my blindness. But why do I speak? My flesh is musty and is in need of a cleansing, far away of this ground and above this earth. I can't endure myself as I'm witnessed to the horror my shadows have become. I'm better off swimming Cocytus rivers than standing in this camp. I must go, I must hide, and come away of this powerful life I've been warped by. Here I exit. Exits.
Lucretia gains consciousness and looks out the window
LUCRETIA
Why must Apollo cast his far-reaching arms
To try to hug the earth in happiness?
His arms are perverted, as he witnessed
My soul exchanged for a devil in me
I had no arms for to shield me from this youth.
Mine husband never checked on me to see
If I was with hap, and I feel betrayed
By the man I was honored to love.
I'm a woman, and so as chaste to him,
I long his protection, but was without it.
He knew me here, but where was he?
But alas! maybe my like was unworthy,
And he knew me impure from our vows.
Maybe I was not the loving space for him,
As he spends mettle in war and not home.
My conscious trips me, and travels to spheres
I was once avirgined to, planting darkness
In my dust and withered flowers on my graves.
Though I had no consent to his deeds,
I still consent myself to my husband
And for not abiding by him in this deed;
Methinks I'm not worthy as his woman
And must end me before anyone does.
As Roman, I'll run upon a blank sword.
But, I'm better off to plunge the depths of me
With my hand to help me choke with mine blood
To remember myself worthy for death
Than what I was dealt with for this life.
Where's the sword? I need a sword.
But wait. Hark! someone enters…
Enter a maid
MAID
My dear, what are all these high laments I listen for outside this cabin?
LUCRETIA
Alas! I've been wailing shadows!
MAID
Have you your tonics?
LUCRETIA
(Aside) She heard the whole tragedy! O! she knows my affair! But I must confess myself before anyone else lies with me. But wait: methought a most malicious plan- ah! My mistress indeed, have you papyrus and some ink? I wish to document a violent tale.
MAID
What is this? Art thou with thy humors?
LUCRETIA
I have a humorous tale for you. Get thee some scripture and come with it to make writ! On! With haste!
MAID
(Aside) Humorous, though violent? Violent, though humorous? A laugh from a killing, and a killing in the laughter? What sort of foul and fair game is this? But if it's note she wishes, her desires are with me.
Exit maid
LUCRETIA
There are no tools to commit me to Hades.
Let me look further-
Ah! The instrument to recure all sorrows!
A dime piece, a fine dagger; this will do.
Its prick will suffer me to my end
And pluck out each organ's heart from pumping.
I've dreamed honorable for this, and now
I'll receive my fate; I will cut my strings
From continued life the gods wished me face
To release me from my mind's daggers
With disobedience I made mine husband
While on his leave. He would none of me,
And will find no virtue in defilement;
O Shame! There only cries woe in my heart!
I have no eye for myself, and see dust
As my pigments. I have no recovery
For this, except for this one thrust that shall
End all- AH! (she plunges the dagger in her stomach)
Enter maid and two servants
MAID
What are these- What! Lucretia! Our vestalia! What makes Lucretia kill Lucretia?
LUCRETIA
It's better this way. I'm a sand to all the world's hourglass in time. I'm nothing of this earth, and was a dirty peasant from the start.
MAID
What are these words? What are these states? Your husband- well, thy husband is away. Though thou committed an act like a Roman, woe will find thy husband's heart when he heeds this sorrow! Why? What are these deeds?
LUCRETIA
Have you that papyrus and ink?
MAID
Yes; what is your message?
LUCRETIA
Give writ to an apology to my husband, for disobeying a woman's nuptial vows and marring my spirit with a Hycranian devil.
MAID
Apology? Who is this devil that marred thee?
LUCRETIA
Without consent, that Sextus-
MAID
Oh awake my dear! You speak of that Sextus Tarquinius?
LUCRETIA
That Sextus- ahh, a shadow comes over me. But I speak of that Sextus, who has defiled Lucretia: innocent and to the skies Lucretia. For he came at mine darkest hour and came away of my cherry pieces and lover's affection, though I consented not to his demands and rejected his advances. He spoke sweet nothings, and threaten to kill me and a slave if I didn't sleep and marry him. But this was against my duty, and I offered my heart only for him to insert that naked weapon of death that sends all men to the afterlife; but instead, from his anger and delusions, he confused mine open bosom to his desires and inserted another naked- oh, let me not relate the thought! I'm too embarrassed… and I… I feel faint. I die as a Roman for the sake of my husband, as I defiled the law and honor I've given to him. For methinks I've chosen desire over death, and I now swim with the guilty shame in this sea of pleasure. For it is my fault, and I wish you to relate this, fret by fret, so the measures of my heart will collide with the sound of the truth. I do this for my husband, and I hope- thus dies Lucretia.
MAID
Lucretia! Lucretia! She sleeps with death. This hour has been clocked with hate and sorrow. Woe beyond this world! Too much woe! O! why must sadness attack us at this time of such fluxations? The world is burning, and peace seems to be at another appointed time. O! I came to tell her of that we just got message of that Sextus killing Sextus of the same caliber, but here we have her follow as Lucretia kills Lucretia. Why did she fell ashamed, for she went out as a Roman. But methinks from the small meat she did feed us, we can conduct a good meal for our letter. The truth is here: Sextus Tarquinius has abused our lady Lucretia from her virtue and chastity, and serves now no blame for his doing. Sextus came here, spoke his tenders, defiled her, and came away without reason for mind. He killed himself as the Furies tortured him, as they do with all who have no plan before their revenging will strikes. But this Sextus is a part of a bigger issue: our Roman state has endured enough of these uncaged beast, from his proud father to all those who serve a part of the Tarquinius kin. They believe they can take over, pillage us, and defile our souls to meet their needs! Wherefore must we endure this trouble? Are we animals, or are we man just as they? No longer shall we have to put up with this belligerous tyranny! May we protest the virtue of Lucretia, the sinnish traits of Tarquinius, and hold a conspiracy against this monarchy! Let me give writ this letter and message it to Collatinus and her father lion-minded Spurius; my friends, get thee messengers, and send our people hot for conspiracy to revenge the death of Lucretia and dethrone this Tarquinius government!
Exeunt, scene, cut. This is all I have for her, and I plan for nothing else. After writing this, I felt a deep shake within my body, a gloomy fear I can't run from. The story did well to hide my sorrow, but now that it's finished, or at least what I want of it finished, I was released of its dream and must succumb to the depressive reality that awaits me. I tried napping again afterwards, but this left no use, as the only thing that streamed my mind was those killer voice messages, with that purple pixelated image burned into the inside of mine eyelids. And in the unconscious air of my room, I felt I had to be with my wits and at all eyes to aware any approaching force that could attack me, as I couldn't bring down the sense of wandering kamikazites and shooting murders were near me.
Hours later, without sleep to my rest and my mind now plaguing me with schizoid images before me, that I have no understanding for them to decide if they are a part of nature or a part of my mind's coining, I'm again stuck at this pizzeria that scares to the death of me. I can't even leave if I tried to because this trick-or-treat company can't even get its own workers to pick up the phone, and have to resort a random, like a William Afton, to help them with the phone. What kind of mess did I get myself into?
Well, since I have nothing else to do, I'll just do my job. I'll transcribe the message I received for tonight here but then get straight to work, because I fear if I do too much writing I will be caught me this purple guy or the person who sent me those voicemails.
"Hello, hello? Hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day 4. I knew you could do it; just believe in yourself and you can get through anything. But hey, listen, I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow. *banging* I'm not saying that I don't want to send you a message. That's, that's not what I'm saying at all. I just *banging* It's-It's been a bad day here for me. I didn't do anything wrong, but that's the thing. These creatures have been getting really nutty, and malfunctioning like crazy. I saw Foxy earlier today, by accident of course, cut a kid's throat with his pirate's glove. This was clearly, uhh, *banging* clearly by accident because the kid was too close to his sharp parts. It's just like playing on the road: you can play there, but there are certain times and areas you would want to avoid. There was also an incident, clearly by accident of course, where Freddy was hugging a child, but hugged him a little *banging* a little too hard that it caused him to suffocate. We even heard Freddy say 'Hi' and 'My Friend' as if some spirit of Gabriel was speaking down to the kid with Freddy. But anyways, this crushed the kid's ribs from the amount of force and the metal of him, but I guess this means we always should be cautious when having too much fun at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, right? Um, umm…*banging* But yeah I felt this was too far of a malfunction for us as workers to not do anything about it. I mean…uhh *banging* we, umm, we already have enough people complaining about how the pizzeria is unsafe for children and not family friendly as it markets itself to be, and blah blah. So I-I suggested *clears throat* I suggested that, to the managers of course, that we should put the place on lockdown in order to revamp the entire *banging* the entire place and make sure those animatronics are working properly. Yeah, *banging* I regret myself of doing that, now thinking about it *banging* because uhh… this may have rubbed our supervisors the wrong way. My intentions weren't to offend them, but since this was my last week, I thought I'd suggest something of value before I leave. *banging* And yeah, about an hour ago they told me they ran it by the owner, but he said *banging* he said… he got a bit shook up, and he said that he appreciated the criticism, and will take it, but he said that he has unfinished business to take care of before that can happen. He also wanted to give me a gift today, but I still haven't received it. *banging* That owner man, he freaks me out. But uhh *banging* I-I'm kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you *clears throat* uh, when I did. I don't have much advice for you today, but let this serve as reminder to always check those lights, check those cameras, always *banging* always close those doors, and try to conserve power. Because right now *banging* right now, uhh *banging*. Let me make this quick. Uh, hey, do me a favor *banging* maybe sometime, uh, sometime tonight- it doesn't have to be right as soon as you hear this message, but maybe sometime could you check inside those suits in the back room? *banging* I'm gonna try to hold out until someone checks. Maybe it won't be so bad. I'm not suggesting that it will be bad, but *banging* Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there. I never been there myself, so I guess that will be for you, right? Ha. *banging* I'm tired of this banging; let me open this door, it may be the owner with my gift. *chime plays* You know …*deep moan* oh, oh no – AHH! *noises followed by screech and static*"
Why this man wasted my time with his verbose verses, I'm without answer. He talked of the building on lockdown, but I didn't know what this meant, because if it were on lockdown I wouldn't of been able to get in this joint. There's a time left for my shift, but this idiot wanted me, God knows why, to check those suits in the backroom. Did he think those suits held some sort of mystery? Or did he want me to check the back rooms so I can get set up to be abused? My duty is to sit in this office and serve as a guard for this entire place, and I don't leave this area until my shift is complete. But since I felt a sorrow in his voice, and other curiosities lurking in me, I decided to check the back room just for the checking sake.
I exited on the left door of my office, but found the shadow of Bonnie sitting there statue just staring at me down the hallway, so I hesitated ruining her acquaintance and reentered the office and went out the right end to avoid any trouble. The lights were humming their terror, posters in the hallway had their fun on them; and further down the hallway as I walked, I saw childish, Basquiat-like drawings pasted on the wall from past birthday parties that entered fear into my heart. I mean, they were probably cute in the mornings, but at night they were a terror, and these little grotesqulings and images did none to satisfy my heart. I shined the light on all of them, with all of their miniature and unskilled paintings of darlingness poking fears within me. At a moment, I heard echo a child Hello down this hall, but I saw no flesh to meet my flashlight, and thought I might of passed a kid who was locked in from the previous day. I heard Hello again, and continued to search and search the source of the innocent cries as nerves attacked my chest with no answer found to help me to peace.
I made it to the back room while on the exhaustion of myself from trying to find this ghostly child who kept breathing Hellos to the air. Once I made it to the back room, the persistent Hellos seemed to cease, and I came to conclusions that the Hellos were only the loud whispers of my mind of a voice I seemed to produce as a child, and my unconscious was only recurring that to make up the night. This seemed a satisfying tale, but it was mere myth: I opened the door to the back room, flashed my flashlight, and met my eyes to the horrors of blood scattered in discriminating rivers over the floor. I hastened myself to find a light switch, but there was no hope. I lost control of my knees and my arms held no armor to resist any shaking; as I make journal of this my body makes spasmic cavortions just trying to reoccur the chronicle. I dropped my flashlight, and it mixed with the blood. I wiped it off on me, and tried to control my pickers and stealers in holding and directing the light. I heard the Hello again, and it was louder, and waved the light near the door. Saw only the invisible. I heard the Hello again, now of an ear's inch and with more vigor in the tongue, but I couldn't find the other fleshly component.
"Hello."
I tried to focus me and find the source of the blood.
"Hello."
Closing in my light with the blood to search for the source, my light found a withered up and dead Freddy Fazbear suit lying spread across the floor with blood plunged around its metallic mantles.
"Hello."
But this couldn't be the source of the Hellos? No.
"Hello."
I looked over my shoulder, shone my light, and saw silver eyes staring down at me from the 7 foot animatronic Freddy that looked more of a shadow than a playful bear for fun. I heard that soulless Hello again though I didn't see a lip move on the puffed muzzle of Freddy Fazbear. I screamed my lights outs, as this basilisk in metal stoned me from my steps and continued his stares studying me. I shouldn't of screamed, but it's easy what I should or shouldn't have done now away of the events compared to being in medias res; but I still shouldn't of done it, as I believe I disturbed these witchery spheres of this world even more for displaying fear.
With still in my horrors, I ran out the room and slammed the door behind me, hoping Freddy wouldn't knock it down from his seeming unbearable strength. Running down the hallway, with my wits burned with angst and the shivers of misery rivered down my blood, I saw that shadow of the marionette figure in front of me, and swiped it away hoping the fearful fantasy would go away. But these violent swipes to away this dreadful and ghostly shape only amounted to folly, as it seemed the face of the marionette was inside of my eyes, like a floater following every twist and turn of my vision, and couldn't escape it unless I killed her by swimming my pupils in a Lethe-like fluid or absencing her from my imagination. But how can I forget such an image that's so ingrained with horror to my mind's eye?
The grotesquement eventually left me, but it was exchanged with another horror: for in hitting away at my mind's phantom, I ran into that animatronic duck Chica right in front of the window of my office and watched, as she was fixated staring into my window and twitching her head like a maniac away from his substances. Her metal had the temper of an ice-brook and was sharp as some sword from Spain in the amount of cuts and bruises left on my forehead and the other naked parts of my flesh. Dracula couldn't have left more horrific marks. And it was here, I tried not to make my discovery heard while it was felt, and tried to sneak around this object of a jabbarish and tall height while it turned its head in such slow motion to look for what hit it. I crawled around Chica's legs to enter my office, and when I was made safe and sound, I shut all the doors and began write of this entry.
I have not enough mettle to master my fears within this darkness; my heart is numb, and I'm pale as a forsaken wight waiting to be burned to create a Golgotha. I violently shiver, though the only coldness around me is in spirit. I've disturbed these fiends without my own knowing, and I believe my time is coming where I must say goodbye to this world. But how can I say goodbye when I'm only just started of it? And how can I say goodbye when I can't make myself to a proper exit? First, I can't even quit because I can't even get a proper manager on the phone to take my notice, and second, if I try to take my leave now before the sweet-coming of Aurora, I will most likely be trapped by mystical shapes and these possessed and fiendish animatronics that will give me more mourning than I can take after one night. I can't take this. This is terrible for mental cases…
The cameras look fine, but in each inch in discovering a room, I become spooked at the slightest essence: am I seeing shadows or is that Freddy walking? Is this an image or is that Chica in a closet? Is it me or is Bonnie giving a death stare to the camera lens? Is Foxy in their proper place? Why is Chica looking at the camera with such an antarctic stare and her mouth open? Why are all the animals looking through the cameras with death in their eyes all at the same time? These questions served only to doubt and deconstruct my sanity. I felt shocks in my heart from each and every plaguing method that acrossed my mind, and now fall into more sorrow and woeness depression has no word for. My soul has become blacked and I have no knowledge for safety except for these up and down doors and unbatteried lights. I seem to grow only have eruptions for anger now, since I seem not to be able to solve the mystery of my sadness.
Why did this imbecile of a manager want me to check the back room anyway. Did he want me to get spooked? Or did he know that I was going to get spooked because he knew Freddy was going to be in there? And what about the body? Did this idiot know that that was back there? Or is this the reason why this manager wanted me to check the back room, because he knew someone was going to be stuffed into one of those suits and wanted to pin the murder on me? Is that the reason? And if so, is that how this place is still in business? It's not the boss's fault, but the workers who do their best to oversee the place when the boss is probably playing golf on a trip to Maple Valley? Am I really putting up with this? I should leave a note for the manager, whoever sees it, telling them I'm walking. I can't stand this, and I can't stand my own mind. I seem to…oh, whatever. I won't be able to communicate my annoyance with this business, and will probably still be forced to work this shift because they have no one on the back end to cover my shift. Could they at least move me to day shift? at least helping me be around fellow sapiens as me in this pizzeria so I won't feel as if these animatronics are closing in on me? And so there could be more witness to the dangers of this god-forsaken place. I'm starting to think-
The lights just went out, and the doors just went up from the loss of power. Now I'm finished. Now I'm screwed. The only light I have is off my cameras and the lights from this journal entry. I dare less to look upon my peripherals to see whatever lurking shadows may creep in the night. I shake, I shake terribly. I have no one to save me. Not even my own mother can save me from this trap. Oh no… I thought- no, yes- I hear violent thumps of feet down the hallway. I'm not looking down there, I'm not looking down there, I'm not looking down. They grow louder. What time is it. It's almost six, it's almost six- I have time; but what if I don't have time. I write as if my life depends on it, as it may well depend. They grow louder and louder. Are they getting faster? My heart throbs in its over pumping, and my chest feels so tight I may fall on the floor. My mind is scared unto dizziness. I should just write-write anything, write anything that will cure the pain away. Write and write, and try to think positive thoughts. For it's only in my mind. It's only in my mind. It's only a fantasy. It's only a fantasy. It's only a- oh no…
Night 5
Only habit of making daily, or shall I say nightly, entry makes me want to journal tonight. I'm near the end of my shift now, but if it were any other argument other than habit I wouldn't have persuaded myself to be with my write; for I am too depressed, too dispirited, too disgusted of myself and all that confounds this earth, with all life included, and could care less if I heard a Mephistopheles or any other angel of death whisper in mine ears to tell me It's Time to approach me to the gates of Hell and to the coffins that lay with the grave. For it seems he already does it so, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's ready to take me now. I recount now my thoughts and opinion before I exit my shift in case no one is here to save me from the creeping death I feel in this tense air of night.
Concerning yesterday night, I was close to not making it, out of this office and out alive. For as soon as I stopped, with all my power out and the only light coming off my computer, all thumps of metallic feet stopped. In the distance, I heard a loud cry, that sounded of a toddler crying more screams and screaming for cries. I never knew such horror could exist upon these existing plains. The earraped screech was unbearable, and I thought it would end on the raven of nevermore. I wanted to find the source of this screech, to potentially save this poor godforsaken child in whatever trap it was in, but the terrible sound was so loud I had to hold my ears and shut my eyes that prevented the all of my movement. Eventually the scream died, but the abruptous nature of the scream bethought me of the lost kid I tried to find earlier that night and believed me the worst. These animals have killed a child! I thought. I wanted to make haste to find this kid, but I was at no use to my nervous limbs.
My depression worsened as, being a man at heart, I was without my powers to be able to protect the child under the hands of these enemies, and from the fact I heard all of this action and I had no strength to even do anything about it. I placed my hands within my palms to cry till my sockets were without their eyes, and in my mind tried to rationalize my way out of this vile misery: it wasn't a child, it was just a scream. For no child could of been here. All children are with their parents. No child is locked in. But, I did hear a child saying Hello in the hallways. Was that the same child? But the child made not his presence felt. I searched and searched for him, but was with no use in finding him. But was there a child then? I saw none, and only heard the Hellos when I saw Freddy towering over me. Was it all a part of my ill imagination? Did I hear the voice birth from mine unconscious?
There was no way out of this method of doubt, and it only made me worse about myself as I tried to use logic to justify my inaction. But this wasn't it to torture my conscious with terror. The screech was followed by another bit: to my left in the office, at the door I saw silver eyes glowing in the dark staring at me playing some sort of music box music. The music was child-like, and sounded of some creepish and slowed down take of a classical Bizet piece through the bells, but I saw death in the pupils of these silver eyes that flashed at me and felt the lyres in the songs had no happy endings. These silver eyes had no shape, and was mere ghost to my affections. I tried not to look at it, but felt if I didn't look at it this phantom would kill me and possess my soul with mysteries. Luckily the clock struck six, and I heard the sound of childish hoorays come from the clock chime, because I couldn't take this confusing darkness anymore. I ran through my right door and tried to exit the building through the emergency exit. For some reason, a sense of justice struck my bones to leave the building in the correct way, by unlocking the front doors and shutting and closing it on my way out. And this is what I did, but with horses in my heart and my throat looking for oxygen. I trembled the keys when I got to the door, and when trying to open the lock, at a sudden that hysteria of that music box was sped up and seemed to have some connection with all of the circuits around the pizzeria, because the sound of the Toreador March sped up and malfunctioned to play at its loudest yet in this arcade, with all the lights to come on and all the contraptions of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria coming alive to make their fun. The merry-go-rounds in the back went off, all the games turned on and blasted their intros, while all multi-colored lights flashed to add more to this kaleidoscopic nightmare. When I got the handles of the lock and was outside, I thought about going back inside to see if I can shut everything off, but I forcibly erased the thought from my reason to escape this Epiales-inspired grotesque cave of wonder. I wanted to go home and sleep. I left assuming those noises would stop, because the managers probably care less on who stops them. I mean, they're stopped now.
Going home, I should've eaten, but I didn't. And as a matter of fact I didn't eat coming into my shift today. This was stupid, as hunger adds to hysteria; but I've been so nervous that I feel any content I try to stomach my body will only churn it to vomit. And I should've eaten because it would've probably made my Sleep sleep. I didn't even have a wink for peace since I saw those glowing and silver eyes stare back at me every time my lids touched each other. I was afraid and couldn't keep my anxiety under control. I was alone and felt I had no one to relate to the perplexities of my soul. I mean, who would listen? Who would believe me that there's someone, phantom-like, out to get me, and I have no name to attach to the ghost? Who would believe me when I tell them a random man threats me messages saying You are not spared; you are not saved? Who would believe me if I said that I assume this same man who sends me these messages has set up the animatronics I work with to kill me? Who would believe me when I told them that this same man has connections to these animatronics and will try to shove me into a suit under the justification they think I am missing my very own Freddy Fazbear suit? What therapist will believe that? What other guard will believe that? I have my own skepticism, and if my skepticism is shared in those who contemplate and conceit our world, with folk going about denouncing belief as it is, I know no man as I would believe me when I relate my horror, and would suggest me nicely to be put in a home. With all the reason I hold and the knowledge I've accumulated, I have no argument to persuade any of these earth's mysteries that serve behind the shadows our natures, even though I know within me I've experienced these horrors for myself. I am alone to this experience, and this utter loneliness only shutters my spirit when I realize I have no voice to babel out these atrocities.
Is it too late for a miracle? I'm not asking forgiveness, because I know I did nothing wrong. I'm too good to do nothing wrong! I'm not a sinner, and I know I'm without faults. Mine intentions were only to write, yet my roads in getting there only cursed me from a good life. I know I've been with angry words, but remember me: I have no friends, no lovers, no vain purposes. For if there becomes a miracle of me out of this mess, I know there is a God. But if not, then there isn't, because I said so. For isn't He able to prevent evil? Prevent me from any harm? If not, then He's not omnipotent. But if he's able to do so, why isn't he willing for me? Is it because I'm selfish? I'm arrogant? Conceited? Too smart of my own good? No! It's only because He cares nothing of-
Oh what's the use of explaining myself. It's too late for a miracle now. And plus, during my nauseous turns of sleep last night, I decided to play on my phone until my shift arrived, but this enjoyment was cut short as I saw lots of missed phone calls from the same random number from yesterday. He gave another wave of terrifying voicemails that reminded me of my smallness and the idiocy I've made of myself in getting me in this tragedy. The caller confused me, as he said I suck and I am the one to blame for wasting useless power and I shall pay. Who was this person? Obviously he knew I worked here at the pizzeria. It couldn't have been one of my managers because I have the important ones saved on my phone. And I know the messages aren't from my man who leaves messages here in my office: he guided me through these horrors and I'm known to his tongue. But this unknown knows I work for the pizzeria. Is he a super fan? Is he a superfan of Freddy Fazbear, and was offended by me keeping the lights on? This would make sense, because our times are possessed by a great number of superfans, who fangirl over grass growing and get offended if any mistake is inflicted on the popular idols they worship. These people are the worst, and get emotional by the slightest spite. But whoever this person is should remember not to be so emotionally invested in Freddy Fazbear, as plenty of nature's follies will inflict mistake and spots upon these animatronic idols and take them out of that heaven of perfection he projects them as, making him see them as robots with miscircuitry and this pizzeria with flaws and not a garden filled with pleasures all the time. And this person shouldn't be so triggered in trying to the point of bringing me down for me to soon drink bleach for my health. People really need to get over themselves.
I threw my phone away, but my curiosity and lack of attention to settling my fears made me repeat my actions of getting my phone and scrolling to find who this unknown was. I knew I wasn't going to find this person, yet my obsessive compulsions thought before me and thought scrolling was best for my fears, even if it led to even more doubt and the more fear.
I got another message from this unknown member, but instead of a purple pixelated image, I was sent text of a cute figure with a gothic nature, that showed a picture of some creepish yellow rabbit with its left ear bit off, with a shell of skin as if it has been marred through war and time, staring through the camera's lens with cyclopic-wide glowing eyes as if he was reading the heart of my soul. I know nothing of this yellow rabbit. It seems foolish to get hung up on a yellow rabbit, but any unknown influence coming from this threatening number calling me to wreck my life is accounted fatal on my end. It may just be some hacker from Russia trying to annoy me, but how would they know my phone specifically? And if it is a hacker, why bother me? And if the messages are so specific to me supposedly keeping the music on and wasting power, how can it be from a Russian caller? I was once confident, I was once secure, but why shouldn't I worry upon the slightest things? All in all, whoever this person was is close to marring my conscience to its last crisp.
I put my phone up and laid shaking in my bed looking up at my ceiling. All I did for the time being was look up at my Nebraska poster with trees of innocence swaying in the still life. I imagined myself in its Elysium display, and tried to cope with the overwhelming horrors that terrified my soul. I didn't want to do anything, and thought it a lot safer to within myself to this bed instead of fighting the monsters that may kill me in the night of my job. I wanted to quit my job, but I had no one to tell my notice to. I wanted to die, yet had not the instruments to conduct such a masterpiece of death.
And with all my fearful doubt, I decided myself not to go to work today. It seemed the most reasonable decision since I was getting messages from an unknown who knows I'm working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, and who knew, by some length of the imagination, the lights and music were on indiscriminately of the time by my previous shift. And from the fact I was enduring death threats by this same psychotic conscious, it reasoned me best to not even approach the building of Freddy Fazbear because of the unknown influences that lurk around it that could potentially get me killed. I felt within my comfort zone and in my safe space upon this decision, and smiled for more comforting days to come in being jobless. However my mother saw in our humble abode's airs that I was not out of bed and not getting ready for my night shift, so she yelled at me from downstairs with such a fury I had no choice but to get up and go to work. I tried explaining how I'm receiving death threats and random vulgarments in picture, but my mother's only response was You're not going to baby you forever, you need to become your own man; but the thing was I didn't know how to become my own man in this situation, since I was also without a father near to help me accomplish this feat and knew my mother wasn't testamented to this challenge, but this is neither here nor there. I continued to argue with her, specifying the death threats I was receiving, but she took it as some idiot was trying to get into my head. I told her he knew I was working at Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria, and knew that during my last shift the arcade was malfunctioning. She asked me if I told anyone about the incident and I said No. She asked who made the pizzeria malfunction? but I didn't respond because I knew she wouldn't hear me out. She then proceeded to put all of the blame on me by saying If you didn't tell anyone about the lights going off and the music loud without your control, that's on you because you were the last one to leave and lock up the place, I mean the animatronics couldn't have done it, right? I had no response to this, and so she said It's all your fault because you didn't even try to tell anyone about it and left it for the other day shift workers to fix it. Do you think that's a good look for Freddy Fazbear Pizzeria? she asked, but I had no response. She eventually won because my reasons were short, as well as something in the air, I know not what, spirited me to succumb to the fate I was unconsciously destined to in continuing my job. I was weak from my mother's contentious arguments, but I followed her order and went to work.
As I write now, my ending hour is getting closer. I didn't have any messages today, other than this message that spoke random science from different sources in a disorderly fashion. After checking the cameras and the lights, and seeing nothing early on in my shift, I forgot my fear; but closer to now in checking the cameras and lights hours later and seeing Foxy out of her cove, Bonnie hiding in a closet looking up at the camera lens like a monstrous fiend, Chica standing in our dark kitchen as if all was well and ended well, and Freddy standing as a ghost at the end of the hallway with glowing eyes, I shut all doors and kept all lights all to potentially shoo them away and keep their devilish influence away from me, and could care less now if this dissatisfied them and shuts them of the power. I have no crucifix, nor garlic, no wild roses nor ashes made from the mountains to protect me of this land beyond the forest, and have no God and have lost all geniuses that can guard me if the power does go out. Tonight, I enjoy not my creation, and believe I would've been better off if my mother forgot nuptials and had no begetments of me. For I am a bug in creation, and a fool to this existence. Even if I do survive this night, what's the purpose? Slaving my hours for a blue slip? Slaving my hours so I may be horrified beyond-
Sorry, I hear banging on my door. I was close to letting the door up, but luckily I didn't. The banging persists, and my heart races at the speed of light, with the photons banging the drum of my ribs. Who is- Well, I see Chica staring at me on my right window with that violent smile on her face and the bib that says Let's Eat! Go away! Go away! I know she can hear me, but she continues to-
And there's Bonnie on my left, with another satanic smile. There's-
Beyond these walls, I hear the same running as I heard one of these days during my work here. It's mostly Foxy. And the screaming. Ah! The dreadful screaming! It sounds like a mother giving birth to an alien! A violent earrape! These walls have no protection against these dreadful screams, and they come even with more force through these speakers above me. Oh me! My end is almost here! If only I can persist on and be free from this dreadful content! I just wish to receive my check and go home, and then I'll be ridden of this place for-
I hear someone outside.
I'm not opening those doors; but wait-
I hear someone, with violent steps more louder than the animatronics steps I heard earlier. I hear a voice.
What voice is that? It has a familiar taste. My heart rushes in fury, and I produce enough sweat to flood myself of mine own excrement. The dread my conscience produces! Let me check again to see if I recognize the face.
The camera shows an unfamiliar object. He seems to be another worker here, since I saw keys in his hands that he put in his pocket. I'd never seen him. Maybe he's the owner. Maybe he just wants to check the place because he got same complaints from that psychopath I got death messages from. I don't know; maybe I should call for him, but I'm too afraid to open the doors to let him in. I'll just call him from my office-
What an idiot I make of myself! I yelled from the office, and this supposèd worker came with a vicious haste, like a serpent approaching his rattish prey, and banged on the door like a beggar for food on his last stomach's growl. He scared me from the violence in his knocking, and when he yelled Open the doors! I recognized the voice upon a whim. It sounded as that William I talked to the other day. You will pay! He screamed. I caught him looking at me through my left windows, and he appeared in some yellow animal suit without the mask.
"Hide if you want; it didn't save others, and it won't save you!"
The repetition! The voice! This William was the messenger!
He worked here too? Why haven't I met him? He definitely wasn't the phone guy who gave me messages here. He was somewhere. He probably ended his labors already. But who is this William? And why is he dressed in such fashion? The kids don't come out late at night in this pizzeria. And if this William guy is the same psychotic messenger, why was he so offended over the lights and me losing power? He should be more offended at himself for not keeping his bills in check and having those animatronics in their place from malfunctioning.
I didn't ask nor tell him any of this. I left any answers for doubt; for when I crossed eyes with him, a piece of me was given up to a ghost, as he looked at me through mine left window with a coldness that pierced through me and killed all warmth that gave health to my flesh and bones. Why did he hate me? What did I do wrong? I tried doing my job to the best of my abilities.
My end is almost near. My shift is coming to a close. I'll watch out the cameras to make sure this William doesn't do anything-
My eyes must be deceiving me, and staging a play than giving me a reality. Are my eyes stuffy or do they present a clear image? For I'm illed with wits, so I must be musty with my sights; but from working this wonderland of childish games and innocent playthings, my mind is confused of truth from its consistent deconstruction in this period. Through the cameras, I witnessed this William gather all the animatronics to a circle, as if they were under some trance, dictating to them some order as if he were some Mussolini to his party with constant fist-thrashing, Roman salutations, and vein-popping to the reds of his throat. The watching of it through the screen sent an attack up my spine, that stopped me not from shivering in the heaviness of these airs. After William's dissertation, he put on his custom hat which resembled that withered and jaundice-yellow rabbit he sent me earlier through text, and sent the animatronics out, and to my office, as I hear them now approaching me as I document the whole of this scene.
I only have a little longer before my end. Have they checked the clock? It's close to six! I'm almost finished! Permit me exit, and I can then be in their hands! Just not now!
I wished someone would have believed this if I would've told it to them. But who would believe me, who believes in nothing, an existence that is so far from our own natural way of being? If you wish to persuade someone upon your beliefs, you must believe them yourselves, otherwise you'd-
I hear them closer. It is almost time. My shift is almost over. I hear them banging on the door again, but I know not the loudest: the knocking of the door, or the knocking against my chest. Both of them blind my ears of the sound of my eyes. I must write in vicious haste to complete me. It's almost time. My time is only a few minutes. The clock hasn't struck for my exit, but I desire to leave in sudden. The endurance of this unconscious torture is unbearable and I only wish to cry because I have no one to listen to me of this experience, other than this screen of paper I document me to. I see William's yellow rabbit mask smiling at me as Satan upon Hell's open gates leading apes unto him, holding a suit as he looks me through the windows. Chica smiles with her bib Let's Eat!; Bonnie smiles like a jack in the knife; Freddy smiles with a microphone; Foxy smiles with the sickle in her hand with blood on the mind. All of these pieces-
It's almost time. The clock is about the strike. I feel my end is near, and when my end near, I will be free, as the birds, as the hawks, as the ravens of nevermore. For I will be free and jobless and without the stress of life and in my own safe space. For I need not the dread of a job as this, for life brings her own troubles. I'm close to be making a mess of myself from the constant knocking. But if only I hold-
I can't hold on. Ah! Ah! Help! Help! Help! Help! I know my fate! I'm not going in that suit! I'm not going in that suit! I'm not going into that dreadful thing! Would someone hear me? I fumble my phone in my hands, and everything is dark around and the doors are open and the air is tense and the air is cold and the air is tense. I fear all wonders of the world. I hear nothing except for darkness and the rush of my blood into my ears! Oh help! Help an innocent boy! Help! Please! I have no one to express my concern to as a man of this world! Who do I trust? Who do I go for help? I can't find my phone! All I hear is darkness, and now the slow movement of a music box being wound up. I care less to look at my peripherals. I'm not looking, I'm not looking. For I will write, as writing is my cope, as writing is my life. My life is writing and my whole soul is writing and writing is as writing was as writing was for writing for the writing in the midst of writing for writing to keep up my writing for the writing of the writing for major writes for the right write for the right of writing of righting of writes for the write write-
All is silence, and the lights flicker. I hear them no longer. Did they escape? Do they scare me no more? They scare me no more! I am free! The clock strikes six! I see the far-reaching rays of the sun! How beautiful! How sweet his charms! I am free! It is time! I will see roses! I will find the cross! Everything will smell as heaven! I am free! I am free! For it is time! It is time! It's time! It's time! It's time! For it's time, it's time; goodbye gentleman, goodbye sweet ladies; goodnight, and goodbye to you all. Goodbye, and good rid….
EPILOGUE
Scene: A Saturday Morning. Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, in the office. Enter Worker and William
WORKER
Hey Will. Are you working today?
WILLIAM
No; I just came to take care of some business. These animatronics have been acting funny again.
WORKER
Well, I'm scheduled for the day shift. Hey, how's that Mike, uhh, Mike Smitzerlizz doing? Did he last our five days as the security guard?
WILLIAM
You mean Schmidt? Oh, he was doing good, but didn't you hear what I told you last time? He wasted useless power and had all the arcade going off when it came to opening for the next day.
WORKER
But you know that probably wasn't his fault; it was probably all the circuitry in this rundown place not following its own instructions properly.
WILLIAM
Did I ask for your opinion?
WORKER
Maybe you need it, because maybe you wouldn't have to lock down and move to a different location. Like, what the hell, an animatronic slicing the back of a kid?
WILLIAM
It was actually his throat.
WORKER
How does that make it any better?
WILLIAM
No matter; we had to clean up the evidence anyways. And with this Mike kid, I needed him fired because he spent way too much time writing on these computers instead of checking up on our animatronics.
WORKER
How do you know that? You don't have any cameras in the office?
WILLIAM
Yeah, but I have cameras in my eyes; and you can see here, that he's been wasting away on Google Docs and not his work! He also smelled bad, like rammed oysters fried on skunk.
WORKER
Oh, did you tell him this morning? It's a shame. He could've been a good addition to our new location if we broke to him the news before you fired him. He's actually one of the few that has endured a good five days. But was that your business? To fire him?
WILLIAM
Yes.
WORKER
But where is he? I still see a car; and I know that's not mine, and I know that's not yours because you don't drive a Nissan. And-
WILLIAM
And?
WORKER
Nothing. But where is this new Fredbear, or Fazbear, you've been so obsessed with?
WILLIAM
Here my friend! Look: golden Freddy! A golden Freddy!
WORKER
Whispers would be more appropriate for this time of day.
WILLIAM
A new and improved Freddy! With a gentle soul of kindness all the kids would love to play with! This will put us back in business!
WORKER
Are you sure? And why is it all spotty with stains? You say it's new, but it's covered in-
WILLIAM
You ask way too many questions. How about you get us this place cleaned and move everything to prepare the trucks.
Exit Worker
WILLIAM
This is what I have been waiting for! A golden Freddy! A proper Freddy. A good Freddy. One with intelligence, but one that's to slave under my will. A masterpiece of the ages! I found the perfect flesh and prepared him to his last supper. His flesh is gone, but his soul will live on. For my methods and test of the transportation of the souls have come to a completion. My methods of doubt are no more, criticism of man cannot fool me, and my alchemy has now its best feat. This intelligent Mike was on to me, but he had it coming to him; he should've left while he had the opportunity and not let the pride of his intelligence get him under way. For I was able to diabolicate my best of plans, use my pirate Foxy, my hendrix Bonnie, celebrated Chica, and the master of all Freddy to penetrate the office, get him by his blind spots, hold him against his wills, and forcibly shove him into my creation I've been so possessed with in creating. Blood was everywhere, and his screams were needles in the ears, but getting him into the golden Freddy was my purpose, and it had to be done. It had to be done. It just had to be done. This business is my life, and the happiness of the kids is my only proper obsession, and I believe it is my calling from the stars to do all I can to heaven a smile on their faces, regardless if my actions are overboarded to my shadows. I took it upon me to do the all I can out of my deportment to make this business, my soul, amount to my pleasures. And once the kids see a golden Freddy, the smiles on their faces will be like honey, and the parents will want to continue their payments to display of this show. I-
WORKER
Hey, can I see that Google Doc that Mike left? He seemed like a, uhh, smart guy when we talked to him and I would be interested in what he wrote in his time here.
WILLIAM
Ah! Why would- well, like I care. Yeah, go take it. But I don't know if he has his password saved to the computer. Go back to work- (Exit Worker) but yes, for the end of Mike Schmidt? For there is no end, but a new beginning: a death transported into, not a life, but a new undeath, a new Golden Freddy.
Fin
