Hurricane, Utah, 1993

It was late afternoon, on a dark, cloudy day, as Hellboy plodded across the empty parking lot. The asphalt was a faded shade of gray, and weeds were starting to spring up from between the cracks on the outskirts of the lot. The painted white lines that divided the parking spaces were almost completely faded away. His hooves made a distinctive clopping sound as he approached the building. It was a modest size, even when compared to the other buildings in the strip mall, and definitely showing its age. There were subtle cracks in the plaster exterior and the windows were so caked with grime that no amount of washing could ever remove it. He stopped just short of the sidewalk and looked up at the large light-up sign over the door. Depicted on the sign were a cartoon bear, rabbit and chicken. The bear wore a top hat and bow tie, the rabbit held an electric guitar, and the chicken carried a plate on which sat a cupcake with eyes and two buck teeth. Hellboy raised an eyebrow at the silly cartoon characters. His eyes drifted down the sign to read the name of the establishment, written in neon letters:

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

Hellboy shook his head. It might not be the strangest assignment he had ever taken on, but it was up there.

He approached the door, but before he could reach for the handle, it opened to reveal a middle-aged man. He was somewhat portly, with a round face, a receding hairline, and a thick mustache across his upper lip. His eyelids hung heavy over his eyes, and his brow was fixed in a perpetual slouch, looking as miserable a man as one could imagine. He wore a purple polo shirt with a subtle star pattern, and over the right chest was a sewn logo depicting the likeness of, presumably, "Freddy Fazbear" himself. Hellboy hazarded a guess that this was the manager. For a moment, the man's eyelids and brow raised before slouching back into place.

"I don't suppose you're the applicant?" he asked in a nasal voice.

"That's right," Hellboy answered. He held up the newspaper clipping. "Says here you've got an opening for a nighttime security guard."

"Of course. Yes, we're happy to have you. Come in."

The manager led the way into the restaurant. Hellboy's first impression was the strong scent of lemon air freshener. Very strong. He had expected to hear the excited shouts of children running and playing, but upon entering, he found it to be strangely quiet. They passed across the dining area, which seemed to make up the majority of the floor space. It was well-populated with tables and chairs, with each place setting including a set of utensils, a napkin, and a party hat. And yet, there were very few guests present. Three families sat and ate their pizza, looking as if they were consciously seated as far away from each other as possible. The parents appeared unenthused, making hushed conversation with one another, and at least one teenager distracted himself with his portable CD player. All of the children were in the arcade, located to the immediate left of the entrance. Past the arcade were the men's and women's restrooms, and beyond that was a pair of double doors with round windows, probably leading into the kitchen. To the right of the dining area, Hellboy saw a small, round side stage with the curtains drawn and a sign reading SORRY!—OUT OF ORDER. Immediately in front of him and to the far rear of the dining area were two hallways. It was here where the manager was leading him. But Hellboy stopped in the middle of the dining area as he got a good look at the central show stage. The dimly-lit stage was inhabited by three large animatronic figures depicting the animal mascots from the sign outside. But while the mascots had appeared cartoonish and friendly-looking, the animatronics were decidedly not. Their heads were unnaturally large, and their mechanical joints were painfully obvious. Even from the distance at which he stood, he could make out the filth and grime accumulated on the fur of their body. They stood still, half-slumped over with their eyes closed, as if trying and failing to convey the illusion of sleep. It was definitely creepy, but far from the worst he had ever seen.

"Have you ever been to a Freddy Fazbear's Pizza before?" asked the manager.

"Never heard of the place," Hellboy replied.

"Never heard of it? Where have you been for the last twenty years?"

"Abroad."

The manager led Hellboy down the east hall. The gray and checkered walls made the hall appear narrower than it was. The corners of the ceiling were covered in cobwebs, and a few electrical wires hung from the ceiling panels. The place was definitely sketchy-looking. No wonder they were hurting for a security guard. Who would want to work in such a dump, especially in the dead of night? At the end of the hall was an open doorway into an office. It was a small, claustrophobic room with the only windows looking out into either hall, and an open doorway on either side. He could see no doors or hinges; maybe there had been doors at one time. It was a strange design choice, to be sure. The manager cleared his throat as he readied his clipboard and pen.

"So, Hellboy, is it?"

"That's right," he answered, trying to adjust his seat without causing it to creak.

"The World's Greatest Paranormal Investigator. I would've never thought that I'd be meeting you, much less interviewing you for a job," the manager mused as he wrote on his clipboard.

"Funny how life works out," said Hellboy dryly.

"So, then, what brings you to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?"

Hellboy shrugged. "Well, I guess I'm just looking to make a little extra cash on the side. Doesn't interfere with my day job."

"You're still working for that—bureau of supernatural activities, or something?"

"Or something."

The manager sighed as he set down his clipboard. "Look, let me be honest with you: we need a night guard, and we need one now. Our only other candidate is…not ideal. If you're serious about this job, I can get you set to start working tonight, midnight to 6 AM."

"I always was a night owl: can't imagine a better job."

A wave of relief passed over the manager's face. "Perfect. Let me show you around."

The manager proceeded to walk Hellboy through the pizzeria, showing him every point of interest. The west hall supply closet was just outside the west door and was where the cleaning supplies were stored. There seemed to be an unusually large supply of detergents, hydrogen peroxide, and bleach. Were the guests really that prone to causing stains? After leaving the west hall, they arrived at Pirate Cove, which was apparently the name given to the side stage. The manager's only remark was that it was out of order. He did not dwell on it any longer and kept moving, leaving Hellboy to wonder why it was named "Pirate Cove," despite lacking any kind of pirate theming. As they passed the show stage, the manager pointed out the backstage door as the entrance to a maintenance room where animatronics were serviced. However, he would not be able to see the room during business hours, since passing behind the animatronics would interrupt the guests' experience. Besides, he assured him, the security camera inside the room was working just fine. Across from the dining area was the arcade, where the few children present spent their parents' money, converted into tokens, to play the outdated arcade games. The children stared at Hellboy with wide eyes and gaping mouths. He turned up the collar of his trench coat to avoid their gaze. On the way to the kitchen, they passed the men's and women's restrooms. There was that strong smell of lemon again, though it was stronger from the show stage. They stepped through the kitchen doors, allowing them to observe the few employees at work. None of them looked older than twenty years, and all of them looked like they would rather be working anywhere else. One by one, they all stopped and stared at the big red guy as they became aware of him. It seemed that he was the most interesting sight that they had seen all day. The manager had to prompt the curious teens to return to their work before leading Hellboy back to the dining area.

The tour ended at the show stage. The manager must have timed their arrival, for they had no sooner reached the stage than the animatronics sprang to life, giving Hellboy a mild start. They made sure to stand just off to the side, so as not to impede the guests' view of the "performers." They were singing a silly song, introducing themselves and their various character quirks to the handful of guests. Their movements were stilted and jerky, and their jaws opened and closed completely out of sync with the lyrics they were supposed to be singing, like a bad ventriloquist act. But most unnerving of all were the eyes: large, glossy globes, with unnervingly small irises and pupils, that seemed to float within their black sockets. They looked like undead versions of the characters they were supposed to depict.

"Our star performers: Freddy Fazbear, Bonnie, and Chica," said the manager. "They're the ones who are responsible for bringing the magic of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza to kids around the country. I'd encourage you to say hello, but you don't want to distract them while they're performing."

Hellboy cast a pitying glance on the man. He spoke as if he were trying to introduce them as old friends—and doing a poor job of it. No one could pay that manager enough for playing along with the so-called "magic" of the failing restaurant.

"So what do you think of ol' Freddy and the gang?" he asked.

Hellboy looked them up and down as they sang their terrible song and jerked back and forth in a crude approximation of rhythm. Their eyes were so vacant. He suddenly caught a whiff of something foul, causing him to crinkle his nose. Was it the animatronics? They certainly looked dirty enough. He did not like the idea of having to babysit these theme park rejects, but he knew he would not be here for very long. All he needed to close this case was one week. Five nights, really.

"I think they're freaky."

"We all do."

…

Night 1

12:00 AM

Hellboy sat in his little office, struggling to keep his necktie from strangling him. He felt silly wearing the restaurant's security guard uniform: purple button-up shirt with matching cap, black necktie, and black slacks. It was a good thing that Abe, Liz, Kate and everyone else at the bureau were not there to see him. He knew he looked ridiculous wearing such a garishly-colored outfit. It did not help that the uniform was one size too small, fitting too tight around his shoulders and neck, but there was no helping it. Taking the wireless flip-open monitor from off the desk, he leaned back in his creaky chair as he scanned through the various cameras throughout the pizzeria. If the place had appeared unpleasant during the day, by night it was positively unsettling. There was something creepy about seeing these spaces—spaces where one was accustomed to seeing people—completely empty. Worse yet, the few lights in the restaurant that were left on did little to dispel the darkness, which seemed to swallow up every room he observed. Somehow the animatronics on the show stage looked even creepier than usual. The way they just stood there, powered off, unmoving, was nothing short of uncanny.

Unsettling though it was, Hellboy was not so easily frightened, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. Flipping down the monitor and setting it back on the desk, he stretched out and yawned. To think that he had only taken this crappy job in order to investigate a potential haunting. For the past few years, the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense had received scattered and conflicting reports of paranormal phenomena surrounding Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, but nothing conclusive enough to warrant opening an official investigation. When the restaurant's last security guard very suddenly left an opening for the position, the B.P.R.D. decided to finally send someone to check it out—and that someone was Hellboy. He had intended to poke around before his shift began and see if he could find any evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, the manager had hurried him through orientation before sending him on his way, expecting him to return for his shift no earlier than midnight. It would be much easier if Hellboy could be straight with him, but at the same time, he did not want to needlessly alarm anyone, especially if the rumors turned out to be false.

Already growing bored, Hellboy took note of the two buttons on either wall: a red one labeled "Door," and the white one labeled "Light." The manager had not brought them up during orientation. With nothing better to do, Hellboy ventured to test them out. He pressed the red button and a heavy metal door slammed down with a weighty thud. Hellboy jumped back in surprise. He pressed the white button and a light in the hallway flicked on. The longer he held the button, the longer the light remained active, flickering incessantly the whole time. With his curiosity satisfied, he pressed the red button and the door raised back into position. His eyes glazed over as he began to nod off. Letting out one more yawn, he concluded that there was nothing more to do at the present time.

"Guess I'll catch a bit of sleep before checking things out," he said to himself. "Wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out something's haunting this creepshow."

Hellboy settled into his creaky seat and let himself doze off.

…

Hellboy's eyes fluttered open. He blinked as he came back to his senses. Had he heard something from somewhere in the pizzeria? He peeked his head out the door to look down the west hallway, but he could see nothing. The meager light at the end of the hall impeded his view of the dining area, which appeared as a black void. He flipped up the monitor and read the time:

12:30 AM

He had not been asleep for long. Repressing a yawn, he began to cycle through the camera feeds, searching for the source of the sound. The few lights that were still turned on were so weak that anyone could be hiding in the shadows.

"Probably some punks looking for a thrill, breaking into a 'haunted' restaurant," he muttered to himself. He paused his search through the cameras as he rose from his chair, flashlight in hand. "Guess I'll give 'em a scare before looking the place over. If there's anything paranormal in this dump, I just want to find it and get out of—"

Suddenly, Hellboy froze in place. His yellow eyes darted to the monitor. The camera feed had stopped on the show stage. He gazed at the image in stunned silence. Was he seeing things? Was his tired imagination playing tricks on him? He returned to his seat as he frowned at the display.

"Where's the rabbit?"

One of the animatronics was gone. The bear and chicken were still onstage, exactly where they had been all day, but the rabbit was just…gone. Hellboy switched to another camera feed before switching back, wondering if the cheap, static-wracked cameras were messing with his perception. But it was no trick of the cameras: one whole animatronic figure was missing.

Hellboy leaned back in his seat and scratched his head. It did not make any sense. What could have happened to that animatronic in so short a time? He had only been asleep for half an hour: that was not nearly enough time for vandals to break in, remove it and carry it out the way they came. Even if it was, there was no way that they could do any of that without making a sound. Besides, who would want to steal such a ratty animatronic? There was no way those things were worth stealing.

Unless it had not been stolen.

There was that sound again. Hellboy was getting impatient. They must still be in the building, he thought to himself as he resumed his search through the cameras. He would be damned before he lost his job, and the opportunity to confirm or deny the hauntings, over some (possibly) stolen merchandise. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere around the show stage. He flipped to the backstage camera. What he saw caused his heart to skip a beat.

"What the hell?"

It was not unruly teens that he saw on the camera. Instead, it was the rabbit, standing in the doorway, completely still. The meager light from the stage silhouetted the bulky figure. Hellboy squinted to try and see through the static. It almost looked as if its lifeless pink eyes were staring up into the camera. Hellboy was unable to look away from the uncanny sight.

"That can't be normal," he remarked.

Before he had a chance to consider what was going on, the display on the monitor filled with static. Hellboy tapped the monitor, cursing the cheap equipment. When the feed returned to normal, the animatronic was gone. The backstage was empty, filled only with spare animatronic heads and other assorted parts. They sat on the shelves that lined the walls, looking like the decapitated heads of the victims of a horror monster. Sitting on the worktable in the middle of the room was a naked mechanical endoskeleton, giving Hellboy a good look at what the robots looked like beneath the fake fur.

Hellboy slumped into his seat, frowning in confusion.

"What is going on here?"

Just then, he remembered something that the manager had mentioned during orientation.

"Where'd he say I could find those training tapes?" he wondered to himself.

He rifled through the cluttered desk drawers until he found a tape recorder and some tapes. He picked up the tape labeled Night 1, popped it into the player and pressed Play.

Nothing happened. The spools of the cassette were spinning, but there was no sound.

All of a sudden, the high-pitched ringing of a phone erupted from the tape recorder speakers, filling the office and causing Hellboy to jump in his seat. It took all his willpower to restrain himself from crushing the player in his right hand. The eerie atmosphere of the pizzeria was making him jumpy. From the speakers crackled a soft-spoken, affable voice:

Hello? Hello, hello? Uhh, I wanted to record a message for you... to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm... finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact, so... I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you: there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine! So... let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?

Hellboy was immediately conscious of the man's nervous tone. Why did he sound so evasive?

Another noise seized his attention. It was just some high-pitched organ music, presumably from some attraction meant for the kids. The playful tune contrasted sharply with the vacant state of the restaurant. Unwilling to wait for the recording to end, Hellboy flipped up the monitor to look for the missing animatronic. It was not long before he found it, standing in the middle of the dining area. The dim overhead light shone down on it, revealing it for what it was: a big, dumb, ugly mechanical puppet. Hellboy was only half-listening to the stammering, stuttering voice coming over the tape recorder.

Uh, let's see. First, there's an introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read. Eh, it's kind of a legal thing, you know. Um, "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza: a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life…"

Hellboy was growing very annoyed with this phone guy's slow prattling. Did he have any useful information to give?

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it! Tell me why the figures are wandering around," Hellboy growled at the tape recorder.

"…Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovery of damage or if death has occurred—

Hellboy immediately stopped what he was doing. He stared down at the tape recorder.

"What?"

—a missing person's report will be filed within ninety days or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced." Blah, blah, blah...

Hellboy sat in stunned silence. He could not believe what he had just heard.

Now that might sound bad, I know. But there's really nothing to worry about.

The camera feed devolved into white noise, rousing Hellboy from his daze and obscuring his view of the dining area. Predictably, when the feed returned, the rabbit was gone again.

"Crap."

Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No! If I were forced to sing... those same stupid songs for 20 years, and I never got a bath? I'd probably be a bit irritable at night too. So remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children, and you need to show them a little respect. Right? Okay.

" 'Quirky'? What does 'quirky' mean?" he wondered aloud. He did not like the sound of it.

So just be aware: the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uhh, they're left in some kind of 'free-roaming mode' at night. Uhh... something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long.

"So this is normal?" questioned Hellboy, skeptical of this claim. "How advanced are these buckets of bolts, anyway?"

Uhh... they used to be allowed to walk around during the day, too, but then there was The Bite of '87. Yeah... I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?

Hellboy blinked in astonishment. What was going on inside this restaurant? How was none of this national news? How was this company still in business?

"Now concerning your safety: the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uhh, if they happen to see you after hours, probably won't recognize you as a person. Th-They'll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now, since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to... forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit.

Hellboy chuckled in disbelief.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Um, 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. So you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. 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, heh. ...Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up…"

"You're goddamn right, they don't," he growled under his breath.

No one—not the manager, not the B.P.R.D.—had mentioned anything about the job being this dangerous. If this was not an official investigation, there would be nothing stopping him from walking out. No amount of money was worth this nonsense. Had this been the fate of the former security guard? No wonder the position had become so suddenly vacant.

But hey! First day should be a breeze; I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uhh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power.

"Wait, what? 'Conserve power'? What do you—?"

Alright. Goodnight.

"Wait! What do you mean—?"

With a muffled click, the tape recorder fell silent, leaving Hellboy alone in the dark office. The only sound to keep him company was the persistent droning of the desk fan (had it always been so noisy?). The air was uncomfortably still. Hellboy remained in the same position, staring into empty space.

It was some time before he heard a sound come from the left hall. He tried the west hall and west hall corner cameras but found nothing. Remembering the buttons on the wall, he pressed the light button, giving him a brief illuminated view of the hallway through the window and open door. It was empty. But he had definitely heard something. How long had he been just sitting there when he should have been watching the cameras? Looking at the camera layout on the monitor, he noted that the Supply Closet was in the west hallway, and it had its own camera feed. He switched to that feed, only to find the rabbit standing there. It stared straight ahead with that lifeless stare.

Hellboy shut the monitor and let out a deep sigh. As he rubbed his tired eyes, only one thought was on his mind: this was not what he had signed up for. This was all kinds of illegal. But even if the restaurant were put out of business, that could hardly be expected to stop the alleged spirits from continuing to haunt the property.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hellboy thought he saw something. The hallway was pitch black. He reached out to touch the light button. The rabbit was standing in the hallway, staring at him through the open doorway.

"Son of a—!"

Hellboy slammed his fist down on the door button. The thick metal door slammed shut as the hall light went dark. Hellboy's chest heaved with every desperate breath. A minute passed as he slowly recovered from the scare.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He flipped open the monitor and saw in the corner of the display a power meter that he had previously failed to notice. He stared in disbelief as he saw the power drop from 86 percent to 85 percent. The door was draining power, and fast.

"Conserve power. Right," he grunted.

He knew what he needed to do: he needed to open the door. He listened for the animatronic rabbit at the door. He could not hear anything, but he would have to take that chance. He opened the door and turned on the light. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. His brow furrowed into a scowl as he beheld the time on the monitor screen.

"Five hours to go."

…

5:55 AM

Five percent. Hellboy only had five percent power left. His brow was covered in sweat as he searched for Bonnie on the cameras. He had been keeping a close eye on the rabbit, who would just stand in place for many minutes at a time before moving again. Two more times he had made his way to the west hall door, and two more times he had the door shut in his face. The door and camera had been consistently taking a toll on Hellboy's power. Too late did he realize that he could not afford to use his cameras unless he was confident that Bonnie had already moved. Just five minutes to go. He was so close to the end of his shift, and then he could get out of that place. But would the animatronics even let him leave?

This disturbing thought was interrupted by a new sound. He flinched as he listened for it again. There it was again: the sound of metallic clattering. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

"What now?" he sighed, returning to the cameras.

The noise continued from somewhere in the distance. Hellboy had a bad feeling of what to expect. He looked at the show stage. His premonition was confirmed. Through gritted teeth, he muttered:

"Great: first the rabbit, now the chicken."

Only the bear remained onstage. Somewhere in the restaurant, a second animatronic was wandering around. The noise continued. It seemed to be coming from the east side of the restaurant: maybe the kitchen? Hellboy did not remember finding Bonnie on the kitchen camera. He flipped to that camera feed, only to be reminded that there was no camera feed. The display was black, with a message reading CAMERA DISABLED—AUDIO ONLY. Hellboy shook his head: he was not even surprised. The clanging noises were louder, seemingly confirming that the noise was indeed coming from the kitchen.

With nothing to see on that feed, Hellboy cycled through the cameras. When he arrived at the backstage camera, he was immediately met with Bonnie's face. It was right up in front of the camera, staring that dead, unflinching stare. His eyes were no longer pink, but instead an abyssal black, with white pinpricks in their center. It was not just staring vacantly into the camera: it was looking at him.

"Jeez!" cried Hellboy, jumping back and slamming the monitor shut. He forced himself to calm down. He did not care what that phone guy said about their servos and their free-roaming mode: there was something unexplainable about their behavior, and he was willing to bet that the explanation was the alleged haunting.

Just then, something on the monitor caught his attention. The power meter reading dropped to 0 percent. His heart sank into his stomach as he realized that he had kept his monitor on too long.

From one moment to the next, the screen went black. The lights began to flicker, much to his surprise and dismay.

"No, no, no, no!"

But it was already too late. The power went out with a long, low mechanical droning that petered out into silence. Hellboy frantically tapped the door button, only to be met with a hollow clicking sound. He was left alone in pitch darkness. His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for something, anything. He wanted to rummage around the desk for the flashlight, but he was rooted in place. What was left of his rational mind reprimanded him, an agent of the B.P.R.D., for letting himself be so affected by some stupid animatronics. He had fought ghosts, zombies, wendigos, chupacabras, aliens, and even demons, and here he was, afraid of some crappy cut-rate robotic figures in a family restaurant? It was ridiculous.

Suddenly, the silence was violently interrupted by the sound of a music box playing. The tune sounded familiar: the "Toreador March," was it called? Suddenly, Hellboy caught sight of something that would turn the blood of even the most hardened of B.P.R.D. agents to ice water. Peering through the open doorway was a pair of large, illuminated, flickering blue eyes.

Hellboy sprang to his feet. He raised his fists, though he could not see them in the oppressive darkness. He did not give a damn about the animatronics or his job or even his original mission: if those mechanical freaks came any closer, he would not hesitate to cave their heads in.

But just then, he heard a new sound: the chiming of a grandfather clock. His eyes searched in vain for the source of the noise. It was coming from behind. He turned around to see the display of a digital clock upon the wall. It was the time clock that he had used to punch in at the beginning of his shift. It seemed to run on its own battery power. The clock chime ended, followed by the comical sound of children cheering as the digital face changed to display the hour:

6:00 AM

Hellboy turned around to look through the doorway. The eyes were gone. Slowly, tentatively, he crept to the doorway and peered down the hall. The faintest hint of the light of dawn was beginning to enter through the glass doors to the right of the show stage. All three animatronics were onstage, as they were meant to be. They showed no sign of their nocturnal activity.

Hellboy's heart was still pounding like a jackhammer. He felt parched: there was no saliva in his mouth.

"Goddamn," he muttered.

…

"What are you doing?"

The manager looked up at Hellboy, who stood onstage with the animatronics.

"Just looking to see how these figures might disassemble. Beneath all the lemon scent, these things smell awful, like something died inside of them. I'm not exactly hurting for time in the night; if somebody can show me how to take them apart, I can try washing them out—"

"Let's just forget about that," the manager interrupted. "Anyone caught tampering with the animatronics will be fired—and that includes you and me. Sorry, it's not my rule."

"Sure thing," Hellboy muttered.

That was a close call. He had just managed to pocket the EMF meter moments before the manager stepped through the doors. In the brief time that he had to himself before the morning shift arrived, Hellboy had the opportunity to scan the place with the device. The results were off the charts, confirming his suspicions: the animatronics themselves were haunted, all three of them. It was cold comfort to have the answer, but the real question was how he was expected to deal with them. He had exorcised his fair share of ghosts, but with such strong readings, he was doubtful if anyone short of a priest or professional exorcist was capable of banishing the spirits. If they had unfinished business keeping them in this plane of existence, then maybe he could help them pass on naturally. Ideally, he would try communicating with them, but judging by last night, they were too aggressive for communication. For the time being, he figured it would be best to just watch them, learn their behaviors, and see if he could learn anything about any deaths associated with Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.