Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roaring flame scorched the checkered walls.

Silver stars hung from ceiling tiles glinting gold through umber smoke. Echoing laughter, cacophonizing, lifted over the sound of groaning foundations and beams upholding the building, withering to ash by the second as licks of heat consumed them. Neon leaked into the air from shattered tubes, curtains catching fire fluttered on backrafts of smoke, and wires sparked as their innards frayed out from their melting casings.

My nails dug into matted, grainy fur, and I lifted my soot and tear-streaked eyes to stare into hers. Magnesium-white starlights gazed back. Her arms wrapped around me, and as my legs tingled with warm numbness, I knew it would be the final time I got to feel her embrace.

So I held her.

Even as the world collapsed, I held her, because it had to end this way.

My eyes were chained to the clock.

I was one of two-dozen knee-bouncing, pencil-tapping, lip-gnawing seniors dredging through their final period—forever. Mrs. Heywood was kind enough to throw on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but all eyes had left the screen no later than five minutes ago. Some scanned the hall through the ajar door for their friends who had been let out early. Some took the time to fit their things neatly into their backpacks for a swift, polite escape. And some slaved over the second hand.

I chomped the inside of my cheek as it passed 6. Zippers and pencil cases clattered around me, the screeching of chairs and gathering mull of chatter bringing the air to its boiling point.

My body buzzed with anticipation. The hand passed 9.

I drank in my breaths. Come on… I mouthed my inner narration, hoping the bells would grant my silent psalm. Let me out.

It clicked to 11.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

—BRRRIIINNNGGG!!!

I launched up from my chair and to my feet, swiped my pencil and checkbook into my backpack, and swung it over my shoulder unzipped. Cheers and whoops echoed from the hall, high-fives and can-crushes punctuating snare drums against the chorus. 

Mrs. Heywood called over the cacophony, “Alright everyone, have a great summer! Stay safe…” her voice was swiftly buried in the cackles and cries of her class, though a few of the kinder kids stopping to give her a high-five or handshake seemed to make up for it.

I grabbed my denim jacket from the back of my chair and hung it on my arm, wriggling through the swath of seniors to push my way to the front of the floodgates. 

That was, until, an arm crossed in front of my path.

I turned to look up from Mrs. Heywood’s sleeve, who met me with a cocked brow. “Will I be seeing you next year?” 

She smirked knowingly, and I grinned back. 

“Afraid not,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders to adjust my backpack. I held my hand out for a shake. “Thanks. For everything.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she clasped my palm. “Congratulations. Don’t cause too much trouble out there.”

“No promises!” I winked and released her hand, half-skipping through the emptied room and into the hall with a final wave over my shoulder.

Mrs. Heywood sighed and placed her knuckles upon her hips, muttering, “That kid is going to burn this town to the ground…”

I slid out into the hall, rushing as quickly as I could while weaving between cliques and couples marching side-by-side, until at last skidding to a stop in front of my locker. I grabbed the lock and dialed in my code, swinging it open to unveil a flourish of papers. I sputtered against what was easily a notebook’s worth falling onto my head, my instinct-shut eyes blinking open just in time for me to reach out and catch one of the fluttering pages. Blank on one side, I flipped it over to read… “DYKE”.

The snickers and snorts of a gaggle of boys prompted me to lift the lined page and turn around. “Wow, this is so original. I mean, I am just beside myself right now.”

One of the boys grinned, “More like beside Kevin’s mom!”

Kevin, presumably, turned to his buddy and smacked the boy’s shoulder. “Dude?!”

I crumpled the paper and grinned, grabbing my motorcycle helmet from the locker’s top shelf. “You got that right.” I stuffed the paper into my pocket in exchange for my keys and pulled on the helmet, shut my locker with a farewell knock, and strode off into the crowd.

“Act slick all you want,” Kevin shouted my full name, “...you’ll always be a girl-faggot piece of trailer shit!”

I stopped.

The string of words hit like a freight train. I put my tongue in a vice between my molars, rolled my shoulders, furrowed my brows, and tried to play off the stutter in my stride. That was, until a brick’s worth of weight cracked against my helmet. I whipped around, finding a dented, unopened Pepsi can rolling away from my feet. The boys doubled over as I stared at the white-labeled aluminum, grateful for the hordes of hollering, carefree graduates shrouding my dignity.

Mine now, dipshit.

I dropped to a squat and snatched the can, jumping back up and holding it over my head in trophy; though my facade had fallen.

I spat with all the venom in my soul, “Kiss my ass, fucktoid!”

I hated to admit it, even in the seclusion of my own mind, that they got to me. Even worse, I saw on their faces that smug, victorious satisfaction—they knew they did, too.

I rode down the dead, blistered highway to the gas station just outside of town.

The asphalt had bleached gray under decades of sun, paint worn to dust, and chunks missing from the shoulders occupied by weeds and sand. The dim, yellow street lights glared against my visor as I passed beneath, dodging potholes and wide cracks with the ease of muscle memory. It only took hitting each one and a couple of tire replacements to learn. 

Wendover sat in a wide, flat valley. It was a checkerboard of diners, casinos, and empty lots, rolling dunes of scrap-littered sand growing taller the further you rode from town, and mountains that seemed like no matter how far you drove, you'd never reach them.

I checked the road for oncoming traffic before cutting over the dull double-yellow, pulling into a pump by the station, and shutting off my bike’s engine. I flipped the kickstand and hopped off, huffing as I lifted my helmet from my head. The world was unmuffled, soft winds and the clang of a slow cargo train echoing off nothing but distance. 

My brows furrowed as I looked down. There was a dent in my helmet, square where the can had hit. I ran my gloved thumb over it, pressing into the dimple. My lids lowered as heartache closed in from two sides: grateful to be gone, damned it happened at all. I swallowed, set the helmet atop my bike handles, and walked around the pump as I pulled off my gloves with my teeth. I foraged through my pockets with my free hand for cash, switching when I degloved one to release the other from its leather constraints.

I managed to cough up 5 just over dollars. “Excellent,” I sighed out under my breath and stepped into the mart.

“Evening,” the teller, Clark Ramirez, said my name with a sleepy smile.

He was an older gentleman, maybe 50 or 60, subtly tan with a full moustache and kind eyes. I’d been coming to this station ever since I’d moved to Wendover as a toddler, and as far back as I can remember, he’d always been the cashier, and never aged a day since.

“Hey, Clark,” I grinned half-heartedly and looked over his shoulder to point. “Could I get a pack of Pall Mall menthols and put the remainder to gas?”

Clark nodded and turned around to the glass cabinets behind him. “You got it. Anything else?”

“Nah, thanks.” 

I looked down to organize the bills and coins in my hand for him, though paused. In the corner of my vision, stacked beside a change jar, a bar of red and yellow text heading the side column of that week’s newspaper caught my eye. It read: NOW HIRING, and went on to list around a half-dozen businesses.

“...Actually, how about a paper, too?” I lifted the newsletter and set it on the counter along with the cash.

He turned around and set down the cigarettes. “You got it, miss.”

He took the money, the register opening with a sweet “ka-tching” sound as I grabbed my items with one hand, and waved goodnight to Clark with the other.

I was only able to fill my bike up about half a tank. 

That was alright. It was plenty to get me home, and get me to whichever job would take me the quickest. I paced around my motel room, a small, dingy floor-level unit at the Super 8. Phone in one hand, newspaper in the other, and cigarette hung from my mouth, I dialed each number in that paper from cover-to-cover. It was night now. The sky was a green veil of clouds reflecting the halogen lights of the parking lot below, a wispy cloak of smog having settled upon the slumbering valley. 

I sighed as I glanced at the clock. Nearly 11. Few and far between, only the casinos and pharmacies were picking up now, but I tried every number regardless. If there was any shred of hope I could get something tomorrow, I would take it. These jobs all paid the same, anyway—as little as possible. 

Flipping to the back side of the paper, a red and white checkered ad caught my eye first: Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza: Hiring Security, Servers, and Freelance Engineers* CALL: [435]-555-0814. Uniform Provided. I set down the paper and dialed the number into the motel phone’s keypad, sighing slowly out of my nose as I waited for it to ring out to the terminal tone.

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, how may I be of assistance?”

My eyes bugged at the live voice, and I straightened myself from the slouch I had unknowingly slumped myself into. “Hi! Hey, I saw your ad in the paper. You’re still hiring, right?”

The voice on the other end of the line was smooth, low, and accented. “That’s correct.” Though she didn’t speak with the warmth I had expected from a children’s establishment, she certainly nailed the charm and whimsy. In fact, it was quite soothing—like slipping under anesthesia. “I assume you see the open positions before you?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

She paused. “Do you have any engineering or robotics qualifications?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Security, then. When can you start?”

My jaw fell slack. “Uh—” Well. That was quick. “Tomorrow!”

“Part or full-time?”

Laughter bled into my voice as I bubbled, “Full, yeah, as much as you can give me!”

She paused again. “821 Florence Way, Suite 800. We’re in West Wendover—Nevada side. Visit the management office tomorrow at 6, expect to work a 12 hour shift. I’ll give you your uniform and instructions there. Good night.”

I dug the receiver into the cartilage of my ear as I held it between my head and shoulder, fumbling to grab a pen and scribble down the hours and address into the margin of the newspaper. “Thank you so much—have a good night yourself, Missus…?”

Click.

Any breath I’d gathered died in my throat, mouth remaining open as my eyes darted back and forth about the room as I hung in the dial tone.

“Huh.” I set down the phone and sighed, a smile curling my lips.

Hands on my knees, I stood from the bed and walked to my window, shutting the shades, and flicking off the lights. It seemed I had an early morning tomorrow, and I knew the excitement would keep me up at least another two hours after settling into bed. Best to get all I could. I walked towards, then flopped onto my bed, groaning as I melted into the spongy mattress. I wriggled beneath the covers and scrounged between the sheets for my tattered, well-loved childhood plush. I pulled him from the polyester labyrinth and smiled.

His fur was matted, dull, and stained. The sheen of his plastic eyes had been scratched away, one ear worn down until it was so threadbare the top half fell off, and the little lilac ribbon tied around his throat had been lost to time long ago. To a different home.

But I loved him.

I loved him, and he was mine.

Panic roused me from sleep the following morning.

I didn’t set an alarm.

I pushed up from my stomach and snatched the clock from the nightstand, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as I read 5:59. Jumping out of bed, I snatched my keys, slipped on my boots, grabbed my denim jacket from the top of the lamp’s shade, and flung open the door, slamming it shut before pelting for my motorcycle. I hopped on and jammed the keys into the ignition, gritting my teeth as I turned… and it stalled.

“No, no, no!” I snarled and tried again, then again, and again, and again, and again, and—“Oh, fuck it!”

I swung off the seat and retracted my keys, throwing on my jacket as I began to sprint. I knew I was going to be late, but it was a small town, maybe a mile across, and I could spot the bridge dividing Utah and Nevada from school. If I ran fast enough, I wouldn’t be that late. 

My breath shredded against the morning air. Fingers went numb. Feet shattered in pain between the concrete and un-padded soles of my boots. But I ran. I ran past the gas station, the power yard, the summer-hollowed high school, and under the bridge. 

“2… Florence Way… 1280 Florence Way?…” I huffed until I found the cross-street, giving up on the numbers as I rounded the turn.

I’d figure it out. In fact, I’d seen it from the highway before. A giant neon bear on the front of a building was hard to miss—and there it was: Freddy Fazbear in all his peeling-vinyl glory. Thank god—thank Freddy! Gasping for air, I gave one final push into and through the parking lot before slowing my steps and jumping the curb with an exasperated groan. I grabbed the door and pulled it open, panting for breath as I shambled inside.

It was dark.

And luckily for my sweat-sogged, ragged-lunged self, dead empty.

I grabbed my knees and doubled over to catch my breath. “Lord above…”

“You’re early.”

I snapped my neck to the source of the voice. To my right, a doorless room read “Management” above the frame.

Crap.

I sniffed and stood up straight, combing back my hair. “Hey, boss! Just in time, right?”

“You’re early.” I realized only after the statement that she had repeated herself.

“I… I am?” I stepped closer to the doorway to peek inside, and my heart dropped through the floor tiles.

The woman sat with her feet on the desk and legs crossed, twisting a capped pen between all ten of her fingers. The circles under her eyes were as deep a violet as her button-up, hair dark as vantablack tied back behind her head. Silver frames sat beneath her bangs, shielding bright fluorite irises from the glare of the static-strobing monitors before her. Her features were sharp—from jaw to nails, even the tips of her cupid’s bow and corners of her gold name tag reading: Willimena A.

Woah… hot.

“I, uh…” I clasped one clamming hand around the other. “I worried I was late, my bike broke down and I had to run—”

“You’re scheduled seven days a week for the night shift,” Willimena corrected.

My brows shot up as high as they could. “Really? Like, every every night of the week?”

Four walls every night. No more rent. No more housekeeping tossing my place. No more meth heads and on-the-run serial-murderers for neighbours. No more bed bugs and achy backs and bleach-stiffened sheets.

“Yes,” her indifference didn’t sound to be that of irritation or lack of care—simply matter-of-factness.

“Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air. “Oh man, you’ve like totally saved my whole ass, here!”

“Language,” She snapped, hauling her heavy eyes from the shackles of the monitors to meet mine. 

My heart jumped out of rhythm, crackling sparks like a dissipating firework trembling down my spine at the sight. I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle, hoping my eyes sparkled with enough apology through the lightshow of pure, unbridled glee. Though her gaze remained sharp, her lip twitched into the subtlest of smiles. Unfettered, she curled her long, slender limbs from the desk and sat up straight, grabbing a thick packet of paperwork and twirling her pen into the space between her middle and index knuckles. 

She held them both out to me. “Sign at the bottom of the last page, and you’re hired.”

I took the stack and pen from her hands with a grin, eyes slowly glazing as I skimmed over the first page of legal-jargoned disclaimers. I ain’t reading all that. I flopped the heavy stack over and uncapped the pen, a final paragraph just before the signature line hooking my attention: No outside food or drink. Staff members are granted 1 free personal pizza or large slice per every 7 hours clocked in. Higher quantities will be subtracted from the respective week’s paycheck.

I grinned as I signed. “This is awesome…”

I capped the pen and handed the packet and ballpoint back to Willimena, who adjusted her glasses and pursed her lips as she read my signature and printed name over. She repeated it back to me slowly, musically—and it had never sounded so good.

“Can I take the day shift too?” I chirped.

Willimena’s face dropped.

I widened my grin. “...Please?”

Her lip twisted sourly as she glanced over her shoulder to the cluttered desk, humming a groan as she thought. “...You’ll have to fill out another packet of paperwork—”

“I’ll do it!”

Tilting her head to the right, she swiveled her chair in the same direction and flicked through a few stacks of papers. She paused halfway through a pile, then slipped a packet from the stack, and handed it to me along with the pen. I eagerly took it and flipped to the back once more, just as hastily signing my name.

“You don’t sleep much, do you?”

I glanced up to her, my grin softening. “Errh… nah. I run just fine on around six hours.”

Her lips curled wider than I had yet to see. “Neither do they.”

I raised a brow and handed the papers back to Willimena. She beckoned me inside the office with a wave of her hand before taking the papers, setting them down on the desk, and hunching forwards. 

She lifted the pen to a monitor and tapped the screen. “Do you see them?”

I crouched down beside her to get a good look at the video feed. A mechanism whirred as the video panned, unveiling a lineup of three characters: a purple rabbit, Freddy Fazbear, and a yellow bird.

My brows knitted, heart shot with aching nostalgia for my own childhood. “...They’re wonderful.”

She turned her head from the screen to face me, the tip of her nose not more than two inches from mine. “You have to protect them.” The motion sent a soft breeze to my face, her scent laced into the draft. Buttercream. Old vinyl record sleeves. A faint chemical burn. “Can you do that for me?”

My cheeks singed. “Of course.”

She held my eyes, searching. They flicked about my gaze, tiny, rapid movements like mechanical calculation. They stopped dead-center of my pupils. She stood from her chair, and I rose to my full height, to which she only ascended higher. I gulped. At this distance—lack thereof—I had to crane my neck back to meet her eyes.

“Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated,” She said, offering her hand for a shake I quickly accepted. It was brief. She stepped around me, continuing to speak over her shoulder as she walked away, “You’ll do well with the children if you keep your mouth clean.”

I strode out into the hall. “Yes ma’am—thank you! Ma’am…” I bounced ecstatically on my feet as she fully turned her back to me, dismissing me with a wave of her fingers before clasping her hands behind her back.

I faintly heard her hum, “Mmhmmm…” from down the hall, the sound spindling into a slow, merry tune.

The building went silent. 

I got to hear the faintest shudders in my breath, where my lungs paused to allow for a heartbeat. It was deafening.

Then, one by one, the fluorescent panels above twinkled to life, and a roaring symphony swelled. The stage lights cracked on, and the animatronics convulsed to life.

I nearly flinched out of my skin at the punch of stimuli, though any fear I had gained was swiftly diminished by unadulterated, awe-stricken wonder.

Freddy lifted the hand that held a microphone to his mouth, head snapping to and fro as he exclaimed, “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza!” 

And his eyes locked onto mine.

Chapter Text

They were beautiful.

The symphony was short, a brief routine to calibrate the animatronics for showtime, I assumed. It was a sweeping—glittering sound, even, easily fit for a merry-go-round. Every joint in the robots moved in a full rotation without sputter or malfunction, their eyes, shoulders, elbows, wrists, their necks, torsos, and ears. It was a flawless, perfected animation.

And when the music came to a swelling close, they snapped straight forward, and shut their eyes. I gasped.

Just as quick as the previous song ended, however, a new, modern synth-y tune came to fill the silence and re-ignite the band. The lights strobed on, Freddy’s eyes clicked open, and he lifted his hand to wave, ears wiggling as his ever-fixed grin seemed to somehow widen. The other animatronics followed suit, each and every movement perfectly on beat to the music. Now, they truly looked alive.

The purple rabbit then caught my eye, his red bowtie glimmering darkly under green light. His head tilted side to side on beat to the song, ears jittering upon impact of the servo’s halt just a moment before bouncing back into place. He winked and strummed his double-pronged guitar, and opened his mouth to sing backing vocals for Freddy.

The bird’s beak then opened to sing, too. That drew my focus to her. Pink-frosted cupcake—with eyes, confoundingly—in hand, she turned her head and body side to side at the waist, filling in the jamboree’s choir alongside the rabbit. The candle of the cupcake pulsed with light to imitate a flame, its orange glow shining off the holographic confetti on the bird’s bib reading: ‘LET’S EAT!’  

Breath caught in my throat, I stepped forward a tile. The song they sang was one I hadn’t heard before—perhaps an original commissioned just for the restaurant. Jaw slackening by the second, and eyes wide with childish wonder, a laugh bubbled from my throat. I couldn’t help myself. 

I grinned and ran up to grasp the edge of the stage, gasping softly as the twinkle of lights passed over my face, and bathed the characters before me in hypnotic, swirling hues. The animatronics stayed stalwart ahead, intent on entertaining their invisible crowd.

But I felt in my chest I’d stood here before, and they had turned their heads to look down at me once. Not here , not in this room—but in the same situation. Some time ago, some time in another life, just as awestruck and giddy, but so much more innocent. Whole. Pure. Unfiltered. Unangry. Alive.

Freddy sang, “ No one hears a word they say! Has the memory gone? Are you feelin' numb? Not a word they say! But a voiceless crowd isn't backin' down! When the air turns red with a loaded hesitation! Can you say my name? ”

I wondered then as I stared up at them, the reality of the world crashing back down with a single thought: why did I have to die as a child?

“Your uniform.”

I flinched to look at Willimena, who stood beside me with a stack of clothes in her arms. They were a light, powder-blue shirt, dark gray corduroy slacks, a ballcap reading “SECURITY”, and a golden, gleaming badge weighing atop the entire ensemble.

I smiled ruefully and reached out both arms to take the clothes. “Thank you.”

The expression in Willimena's eyes was unchanging as she stared into mine. “You feel for them.”

“Yeah,” I sniffled, “I could’ve sworn I went to a place like this when I was a kid.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you remember where?”

“No…” I shook my head, the world before me blurring as my mind’s eye faded to static. To nothing. “...It was so long ago; far away.” I sniffed and shook my head again, returning my mind to the present and laughing, “Man, if you told me there were people in there, I’d believe you!”

“Oh, we used to do something like that,” Willimena replied, beginning to nod and tap her foot in time with the music. “At another location.”

“Really?...” My brows knitted. “I would have loved to see that. Uh!—” I turned to gesture at Freddy and the band. “Not that this isn’t great!”

Willimena placed her hand on my shoulder. I practically snapped my neck to look at her.

She smiled. “Your emotional investment will be of great aid.” Willimena leaned in as she squeezed my shoulder, eyes crinkling. “It seems you were a lucky hire.” She pulled back, her hand sliding off my shoulder as she turned around to walk away. “Go get changed. We open at 7 O’Clock.”

My entire petrified body was buzzing. “Yes, ma’am,” I spoke around my irrepressible grin.

I had commandeered the largest stall, happily humming Freddy’s tune as I pulled off my shirt. 

I hung it upon the stall door, followed by my belt, then only after I had unzipped and slipped off my boots, my jeans. Grabbing the uniform slacks, I hopped up onto one foot and lifted my leg, the tighter fit of the uniform demanding extra maneuvering to put on. 

My balance wavered, and I felt myself lean past the point of no return. “Woah— fuck! ”

The lock of the stall clattered as I slammed into the door to catch my fall, a growl escaping me as I wrestled to fit my leg inside the pant.

“Dude, is someone banging in here?”

I lifted my head to the unfamiliar voice. “What? No!” I set my unclothed leg down to regain full balance and peeked out through the gap of the stall.

A young woman stood in front of the sinks, a shaggy, dark reddish brown mullet veiling her face mopped the bathroom floors. She wore a copy of the uniform I was currently attempting to pull on.

I combed back the hair that had fallen into my eyes. “Who the hell are you, huh?” I huffed.

“Uh, I work here.” She emphasized the sound of her mop by dragging it harshly against the wall’s edge. “Who the hell are you? ”

“I work here too!” I spat back and lifted my leg to fit into the pants once more, which this time, slipped in with little ease in comparison to my previous attempts.

The woman continued as I slipped on my shirt, “ Tch . Not for long.”

I raised a brow, the pace of my shirt tucking slowing down a beat. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” I zipped the pants.

“You suckers rotate in-n-outta’ here like clockwork. Me?” She pointed at herself with her thumb. “I’m for real.”

I rolled my eyes and slipped on my second boot. “Yeah, real big ego. You work at a kid’s microchain in the middle of nowhere.” 

I threaded my belt through the loops and buckled it, snatched my cap, badge, and old clothes, and opened the stall door. The woman winked and tilted the mop handle towards me. 

“And you work here, too.” She dropped it.

I caught the handle with a scowl.

“Later,” She wiggled her brows and walked to the bathroom’s exit, grabbing the door’s edge to pause for a final coy line, “Or not.” She at last slinked out of the bathroom.

I huffed and threw on my cap. “Asshat…”

I tucked the mop into the bathroom corner in as orderly a fashion as I could manage.

Having folded my clothes, stacked them in the security office locker, and aimlessly adjusted minute details—rearranging balloons into the order of the rainbow, tugging tablecloths into perfect symmetry, rotating party hats to… some conclusion—it was at last time to open.

“This will be your post,” Willimena instructed, gesturing to a tucked-away corner of the dining room. 

I raised a brow at her word choice, smirking as I gave a salute. “Aye-aye, drill sergeant, sir.”

Her lids drooped, mouth twisting into a sour frown. 

She continued, “If you get bored, restless…” She made a circular motion with her hand. “...go for a lap around the room. Don’t take your eyes off of anything, or anyone of concern.”

I grinned and straightened my posture, lifting my arm to salute yet again. “Yes, ma’am.”

“ Just— ” She tensed, her shoulders arching. They fell with a slow sigh. “ Willimena .”

“Oh, come on. How about Mena?”

“No.”

“Willie.”

“ Absolutely not. ”

“Will?”

She pinched her nose bridge and screwed her eyes shut as she hissed, “If you cannot muster a word over two syllables, you can refer to me as Afton privately .”

I raised my brows and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. “Privately, you say?” I exaggerated a purr.

Afton stared at me another long moment. 

I glanced away. “...okay, how about non-privately?”

“Willimena.”

My lids fell. Back to square one, I thought.

“But I can’t muster a word over two syllables.”

Her eyes narrowed to sharp slivers, and she crossed her arms. A tight smile strained her lips. 

“Do you know what I have no tolerance for?” Willimena asked.

“Good sense of humor?”

She leaned in, slowly . “Smart-asses like yourself who think they’re god’s gift to comedy,” She murmured, voice low in her throat. Her smile fell along with her eyes, which raked me over head to toe. “You’re better off quiet.”

A flush so red and full of sting flooded my cheeks, I thought I’d been slapped. “I d— I—” I stammered. Pathetically . Swallowing, I physically shook my head and blinked to reset myself. “Yes, Mrs. Afton.”

She folded her hands behind her back, smirk returning. “Miss,” she corrected. “You’re getting there.”

My jawbone clattered to the floor. I watched dumbfounded as she turned around on her heel, hips tilting with each step of her waltz between tables, humming as she pinched balloon strings and ran her fingertip over tablecloths for dust.

“Did you make any microadjustments…?” She questioned me by my surname.

“Um. Yeah, yeah I did. Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be.” She looked over her shoulder, green eyes flashing violet in the colored spotlight’s reflection. “Do it again.”

My head exploded. “ Okay, ” I winced with the force of a deflating balloon.

I lifted a thumbs up to distract from the near-buckling of my knees as she turned fully back around, but the sight of a pleased smirk on her lips failed to escape my vision.

God almighty, this woman will be the death of me.

The day carried on exactly how I had expected. Doors open at 9, a slow trickle of families arrive, and increase in frequency by the hour. Simple; and lucky for me, the entertainment wasn’t half bad. It helped to have people-watching for a guilty pleasure. Especially when the people were older kids screaming at Atari machines.

“Hey.” A row of fingertips tapped my shoulder. 

I turned my head to look at who I expected to be another security guard, only to find that woman from the bathroom staring back. I gritted my teeth to not scowl. Fantastic. This janitor chick again who thinks she can boss me around like— I glanced down to her nametag. It said “Jaime Fitzgerald | Assistant Manager” .

Oh. Well, shit.

She continued, “You’re on break, newbie.”

I gulped, bug-eyed and pale-faced. “Thanks.”

She smirked—knowingly—and lifted her hand from my shoulder to over-exaggeratedly pat it. “You’ve got 30 minutes. I’ll cover for ‘ya.”

Speechless, I turned around and headed straight for the kitchen. 

I hurried down the hall and helped myself to entry of the kitchen, expecting—and excited to—flash my hat and badge at any one of the cooks who might have questioned my unfamiliar face in being there, only to find it… empty.

My brows raised. Well, they must be on break, too.

I don’t know if I could have imagined anything stranger than that. I walked around the room, a few dim, flickering overhead lights illuminating the room. Towards the back, however, a deep, orange glow emanated from a few rotating cases of pizzas. I walked over to them, of which there were about a half-dozen, each containing 30 or so pizzas of various sizes, toppings, and amount of slices remaining.

I breathed in and repressed a shake of my head. That explains the ‘no modifications’ rule plastered on every menu. Opening a case, I grabbed a plastic plate from a stack nearby and took a slice. I shut the case, gave a few pleased bites of the slice, walked back out of the kitchen, and found myself in the hallway with nothing to guide me from here. I assumed taking a table from the dining room would be frowned upon, Willimena would not be pleased to find crumbs in the office, and the floor… I glanced down, and hygienic was not a word that came to mind.

I looked to my left to see a second set of restrooms—maybe, last-ditch effort—and to my right, a plain set of doors labeled ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY—DO NOT ENTER’ . I pursed my lips and turned on my heel towards the doors. I gave them a gentle shove, and found them locked. Not too surprising. Luckily, I had swiped the keyring from the office. That was surely for me.

I tried a few keys, making it just past halfway on the ring before turn, click . The door sunk into the room, and I pushed it open. It didn’t squeal high at its hinges, it groaned, deep and low, as though shuddering throughout the entire building. A stale chill washed over me.

I stepped inside, observing the surroundings for a place to settle down and dig in. Some defunct and smashed-screen arcade cabinets lined the far wall, and slumped adjacent to them was a heap of yellow. Freezing panic washed through me as I looked into its eyes, my mind sending me into a screeching halt to let it finish buffering the sight before me, like imagined movement in peripheral vision. 

It was an animatronic. A lifeless one, old and tearing at the edges of its seams, tingeing slightly green with age, or mildew, or both. A rabbit, but unlike the rabbit on stage. This one was more slender, boxier too. It had an upper row of teeth, felt nose, four fingers excluding the thumb, and a few buttons hanging off its chest.

“What are you doing in here?”

I gasped, a skin-melting tingle rushing up my nape as I skidded around to face Willimena.

Her voice wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t amused either, however. Complete neutrality, and the fact I couldn’t read her unsettled me more than if she had been outright irritated. Coils of dread ensnared my spine. 

She was backlit, her entire front half cast in blackout shadow, but the smirk in her voice was potent enough to visualize when she said, “ Boo. ”

“ Ha-ha, ” I furrowed my brows, pressing a hand to my chest as I breathed in deep to quell my racing heart.

“You shouldn’t be back here.”

I gulped and looked back at the empty suit. “That’s not anyone on stage.”

“No. It’s been passed from location to location for salvaging spare parts. Or, it would have been if we didn’t antiquate the technology.”

I took a bite of my slice, speaking around it, “Too creepy?”

“Too dangerous.”

My head whipped to look at the suit. 

I swallowed my bite. “...how?”

“It’s no matter anymore,” Willimena spoke low and quiet. “He’s at rest now.”

My brows knitted as I stared into the hollow eyes of the yellow rabbit, its slack jaw and tucked-in head certainly giving the appearance of sleep, or death.

“You may eat in the office.” Willimena stepped inside and placed her hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me out of the room. “Just mind your crumbs.”

I smiled. Knew it.

“You’re not…” I spoke as she shut the room’s doors behind us. “...mad at me or anything?”

She pointed to the sign above and locked the deadbolt with her own set of keys. “You are an employee, are you not?” She turned to me and gave a firm, but true to her word, not upset look. “Stay out of this room. It’s a safety issue.”

I nodded to her, and she held my eyes until she was sure I understood, then a little while longer. Satisfied, she turned away and exited the hall, returning to the dining room. I figured I better do the same and snake my spot in the office before anyone else; if there was anyone else.

Back in the dining room, I maneuvered between tables and flashed smiles to doting parents and the children joyously celebrating their own or another’s birthday. The smell of burnt candlewicks stained the air. Glittering confetti clung to the floors. All were having a happiest of days—all but one.

A young girl cried in the corner, red in the face and tears streaming down her cheeks, her head tilted up towards the ceiling where a yellow balloon had risen out of reach.

My heart crushed at the sight.

I turned my trajectory without a second of hesitation, set down my slice on a nearby table as I slowed my pace, and approached the young girl. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” I cooed, grabbing a chair from the table I’d set my plate on and scooting it into the corner.

She barely opened her eyes when I walked past, inconsolable sobs only further battering at her chest. I climbed up onto the chair and leaned over an arcade machine, stifling the profanity I would have usually spewed if it weren’t for the swaths of young children as the chair wobbled beneath my now one-footed balancing act. I swiped at the plastic ribbon once, twice, thrice, and at last with a final, risky heave, caught hold of it.

I sighed in relief as I landed back on two feet, and stepped down from the chair. “Here you go.” I smiled as I squatted down to be eye-level with her, and held out the balloon.

She clung around me in a hug, nearly tipping me off-balance.

“ Woah!... hey, hey…” I patted her back and dropped to a knee for balance, my brows knitting as she refused to let go. “You’re alright… where are your parents?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head again and croaked, “ They dropped me off… ”

My eyes widened. “They aren’t here? In the building?”

The same nonverbal head shake a third time.

I was at last given an opportunity to pull back from the child when her vice-grip softened. “Do you know where they are? Their names?”

She was young . Maybe four or five; so, when she shook her golden curls a final time, I couldn’t be surprised.

I sighed and scratched my head, looking down at the edges of the tiles for answers. “Alright, kiddo, why don’t you stay with me until they come back for ‘ya?”

At last, a nod.

“Okay.” I stood and grabbed a few napkins from the closest dispenser, then knelt back down to wipe her tears and snot. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Leanne.”

I smiled and crumpled up the napkin. “Alright, Leanne. How’s about some pizza?”

She grinned, the light of a thousand stars reflected in her dark brown eyes turned to comet-tails when she nodded.

I reflected her expression and took her hand, laughing as I led her to the kitchen to get a slice of her own, “That’s the spirit!”

Glancing over my shoulder, I considered taking my own slice with me to get a more secluded table, but Leanne had become the one leading the charge toward the kitchen. Whelp. Let’s just hope some glue-sniffer doesn’t swipe that. With my head over my shoulder, I gave the room a final scan, and the glint of two domineering eyes snagged their hooks into mine. Willimena stood on the opposite side of the dining hall, watching, arms crossed, a hat of her own shadowing her gaze from the patrons. The glint in her pupils should have been impossible beneath the brim.

I met her eye, and she held my stare a beat too long before smiling in response.

It was the cusp of sundown when Leanne’s father arrived.

Nearly 7 P.M., Jaime had advised me to head home at 6 to catch some sleep before adjusting to my nocturnal schedule, but in no universe would I have the conscience to abandon the child which had clung to me. He entered the building with an off-kilter gait, his neck snapping to and fro with wide eyes.

“ Leanne! ” He called, voice cutting through the chirpy pirate-like tune that played over the speakers.

Leanne looked up from the paper plate she drew on. He was skinny, had a hoodie on under his leather jacket, and sported a short-buzzed haircut. He waved for her to come to him, to which she instinctively began to scoot off the bench. But she paused and turned around.

“Bye,” She muttered, her eyes near-entirely pupils as she stared up at me.

My brows knitted, and I forced a tight smile for her. “Not quite yet.”

I stood up with her and walked her to her father, who eyed me with a peeved-to-say-the-least glare.

I nodded to him as I approached. “Hey, your daughter was here alone all day. Did you know about that?”

The leather of his jacket squeaked when he crossed his arms. “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

“I do.” I furrowed my brows. “Next time, you or another guardian will be staying with her, and if she’s back here again unsupervised, someone’s gonna be getting a call.”

He stepped forward, and I stood my ground.

While he looked me over, I kept my eyes steady on his own blue pair. His pupils were blown and jittery, and in my peripherals, I saw the shadow of his sunken cheeks, his teeth grinding behind scabbed lips.

His eyes lifted back to mine, twitching back and forth. “Leanne, come on.” He grabbed her hand from mine and whipped around, pinching his nostrils to wipe them as he stomped out of the building. 

Leanne turned around to look at me, her wide, sad eyes brimming with tears once more as she pointed at me.

“Daddy, the plate—”

“We’ll come back for it tomorrow, okay?” He assured her.

My shoulders slumped in relief. Or maybe false hope. He could’ve lied to appease her, but that wasn’t the feeling I got. He had to dump her somewhere while he got his rocks off, I knew that damn well. 

I took solace in that it would at least be with me.

The sky was still light, even at 8 P.M.

A pink ribbon dusted the horizon, glowing with the last of the sun beneath the gray-indigo dome capping the world. I sat on the Super 8's parking lot’s asphalt, gnawing at the butt of a stamped-out cigarette with my brows furrowed. I wrenched at the engine of my motorcycle, sweat beading my hairline and rolling down over my lids. I wasn’t a mechanic—nothing close. Best I knew was kicking the air conditioning unit back on, and briefly converting to christianity while I prayed for my guerrilla methods to pay off.

I wiped my forehead, and with it, the curl I had hung between my eyes with a sigh. I looked up to the cloudless, starless void above, the outline of the mountains carving shadows into the atmosphere, and the space between where the grains of sand touching the sky met those blowing across the lot; restless.

Moving out of my room wasn’t an uncommon event.

It was not moving back into another one that felt strange. I had packed up my clothes, toiletries, and rabbit plush into my duffle bag, along with the catalogue of memories I had gathered over the last two and a half years. 

Leaving that trailer, walking the night through the winter desert with nothing but the boots on my feet, salt trails on my cheeks, and the same duffle over my shoulder bearing contents identical to today—only, I had swapped my Teen Spirit for Degree between then and now. Then school: the hell that was the remainder of my junior year, a second junior year spent scraping by with odd jobs, pumping iron, and forming my persona, and my terminal senior grade. I found then that the more I laughed along, the less I was laughed at, and the less I glared, the less things there were to glare at. Maybe it was all psychological—or maybe my actions did change the actions of those around me. I wasn’t sure now, and wasn’t sure I ever would know. And that was alright.

I sat next to the bag, scrounging at the bottom of a Chinese takeout container with a plastic fork. There was nothing but sauce, noodle fragments, and bits of cabbage left. Stalling, I acknowledged in my head. Change, both an essential and ever-present part of my life, and how I hated it with every fibre in my soul.

But press on. Be strong. Burn it down to move on, if you have to.

I stood from the bed and slung my duffle bag over my shoulder, tossing the takeout container into the trash, and walked to the door, lifting my hand for the knob. But I hesitated. I shook a sigh, and glanced to the desk on my right. Upon its corner sat the Pepsi can, still unopened, still matching a dent with my helmet. My brows twitched into a knitted scowl, eyes narrowing beneath them. 

I breathed in, and snatched the can.

I stepped outside and kicked the door shut behind me. Without a falter in my stride, I grabbed my bike helmet from the seat and slipped it over my head, took the motorcycle by a handle, and marched it beside me. I trekked slow, heavy, absorbent of the night surrounding, counting the heartbeats I pumped into the craggled earth with each step. I recalled my spirits, shells, and regrets, then bathed them in my achievements, joys, and hopes. 

On the other side of the sun, I had retraced these steps in the opposite direction; from Oasis, some 30 miles northwest of Wendover. Despite the weight of warmth, and how it clogged my nose on its way to stick to the insides of my lungs, this night was a rift into the past. To that frozen, cloudless midnight pilgrimage.

I’m 16 again, wandering roadside, both fuelled on and held back by my shaken spirit, disturbed in the purest, most etheric way.

I crossed under the bridge bordering West Wendover and made the turn.

Freddy’s neon sign was alight despite the late hour of near-midnight. The place shut down at 9, cleaning crew scrubbed the restaurant from 10 to 11-whenever-they-finished, and I came on at 12. Meandering into the parking lot, the building was different at this hour. Off—literally, of course there was limited light, but the off switch of life had been flipped, too. Empty lot. Empty windows. Empty bodies.

There was one lingering fragment, however. Jaime.

I saw her through the yellow glare of the lot’s sole floodlight first. She must’ve caught notice of me by the sound of my footsteps.

She looked up from where she half-ducked into her car. “Woah… motorcycle, huh? You’re really leaning into the tough girl look .”

I stopped and glanced down at the bike. “Oh, well… more like it’s cheaper than a car, but…” I flipped up my visor and winked. “I look tough?”

Jaime rolled her eyes. “You look like you’re overcompensating. Pretentiously. ”

“Ohh…” I raised my brows and pressed my hand to my chest. “Well, good thing I have you to protect me, then.”

Jaime raised a brow. “You’re alone tonight. Didn’t Afton tell you?”

“What? But it’s my first night! She’s real uptight about her rules, wh—how the hell am I supposed to know what to do?”

“Yeah…” She shrugged. “Sucks to suck, dude.”

I furrowed my brows. “Thanks, Jaime.”

“You’re welcome,” she spoke under her breath, focus shackled to rummaging though her glovebox so much that my sarcasm didn’t seem to register.

Or, she didn’t care.

I sighed and walked past her, kicking out the stand for my motorcycle and propping it up before settling my helmet upon the seat. 

“ Aha! ” Jaime exclaimed, slamming her door shut and walking around to the driver’s side of the car.

She slipped in, rolled down her windows, and from the cassette player came Judas Priest’s “The Hellion” at an ear-shredding volume for the hour.

I grinned, having to shout over the sheer decibelage, “ Priest? Excellent! ”

Jaime whipped her head over her shoulder to look at me. “Oh, shit!... You’re the real deal!”

I spread my arms out and clapped them back against my sides. “Is that surprising information?”

She shook her head and rolled up her window, but in the side-view mirror, I could see the smile plastered on her face. I laughed as she drove off, the sound falling to a hum as her headlights disappeared behind the surrounding foliage. 

I turned around and continued on towards the building, my energy renewed. Approaching the doors, an uncharacteristically cold wind swelled over the building. I twitched against the gooseflesh dotting over my exposed skin, and pressed my palms to the flat, golden handles of the pizzeria’s double glass doors.

That hesitancy halted me again. The hesitancy against change. I recognized it—I always did, and that was what halted me an extra second longer. Just what would change my life, I always knew, because I was always in control of the shift. I was the plotter, executer, and deployed. Yet this time, there was no origin. None that I recognized.

I shook my head once to knock out the thought, thrust open the doors, and dove into darkness.

Chapter Text

The air went sterile of oxygen the moment the doors shut behind me.

There was only silence. Stillness. It felt as though I had made a wrong turn down a road untaken, or opened the wrong door to a room yet to be seen. Or a road or room not meant to be viewed. The shadows played in the corners of my vision, swirling.

I stepped forward, the bottoms of my shoes clicking deeper than I thought they would. But there were no other sounds to combat them—no bodies to muffle their reverberation. Those irrational, childish, “fear of the dark” prickles upon the skin begging you to look over your shoulder, urge your feet to sprint as fast as they could, and scream for help overwhelmed me. This should be the safest place on Earth. Who would set out to commit armed robbery on a kid’s pizza place? Maybe some rowdy teens, but I was a rowdy teen, too. Even match.

It’s not a material fear—this is supernatural.

I shuddered. Other people I could handle. That was flesh, and flesh always has a way of falling apart. But the spiritual was always touchy ground for me. Superstitious, and not-to-be-toyed-with ground. There was a time in junior high where some girls from my class brought a ouija board into the bathroom after one of their grandparents had passed, and I walked in on the seance. They knew me well enough to ask me to join, and I knelt on the floor beside them, placed my fingertips upon the planchette. And when it dragged, my blood ran cold. I snatched my hands back, and it stopped. It stopped too quickly, I had surmised in my child mind, for it to have been any one of the girls. I felt a weight cling to me for weeks. I even went as far as throwing away the clothes I had worn, and I still felt stained—like it had made its way into my skin where it couldn’t be scrubbed out. I could hear about flesh. I could see and feel and clean up my own flesh without flinching. But ghost stories? Ghost stories still made me tremble and tuck my sheets over my nose.

I was grateful for the warm glow of the security/management office bleeding into the hall once I rounded the corner of the lobby, my steps quickening to reach its steady heat. I grabbed the doorframe and swung myself inside, huffing sharply and slamming myself into the lockers. I grabbed at them to ground myself, gulping down my rising panic as I melted into the comfort of light.

You are absolutely beyond ridiculous, I chided myself.

Sighing, I rapped my fingertips along the steel lockers behind me and looked over the desk. It was cluttered, charmingly, with bill piles and paper cups and Freddy’s trinkets. A replica of the bird’s—Chica’s, I had learned their names earlier that day—cupcake sat atop the rightmost monitor. Behind the leftmost, a poster reading ‘CELEBRATE!’ with the working band mid-tune. And stuck upon the center screen, a sticky note scribbled upon with sharp, cursive-esque lettering. I dropped my duffle bag and stepped forward from the lockers. Squinting, I swirled around the flaking office chair to settle upon it, and scooted forward to read the note.

I plucked it off the screen and leaned back in the rickety chair as I read: ‘Lock doors behind you. Do not unlock them under any circumstances. The emergency alarm will activate. —Afton.’

I raised a brow as I read it. Brief as ever. Thank you, Princess Charming.  

A blaring ringing sounded from the desk. I shot up from the chair with a gasp, clutching its arms as I whipped my head around to find the source of the sound after it ceased. Another ring—the telephone. I swallowed and glanced at the clock. Midnight on the dot. It could be Afton; she would be this punctual.

I brushed off the papers covering the telephone and picked up the handle, lifting it to my ear. “...Hello?”

“ Hello? Hello, hello? ” An unfamiliar voice came.

“Hey, yeah, hey—”

It continued without pause. “ Uh, I wanted to record this message for you, to help you get settled in on your first night. ”

Oh. A recording.

I rolled my eyes and set down the phone with a sigh, twirling around in the chair to lean over and unzip my duffle bag. I smiled at the contents. On top were two things: the Pepsi thrown at me by that kid on the last day of school, and my rabbit plush. I took both out, tucking my plush beneath my arm and keeping the soda in my left hand as I swiveled back to look straight ahead, and pressed the button on the lower left of the monitor to activate the feed. It whizzed, flashed blue, then came to a steady hum, fizzling into crackling static before dissolving to show the main stage.

Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica stood still as when I had first seen them. Not lifeless—idle. Waiting. Holding a silent dirge for their vacant audience. I paused a moment, my brows knitting and lips pursing as my heart ached for the machines.

Don’t worry, I thought and cracked open my can of caffeine and sugar, leaning back in the chair and propping my legs up upon the desk as Afton had. I swigged the soda and sighed softly out of my nose, cuddling up with my plush tucked just beneath my head as the muffled sound of the telephone message filled the room’s silence.

I’ll protect you.

I don’t remember when I had fallen asleep.

What I woke up to, however, immediately burned itself into the deepest crevices of my mind. The shadow cast itself over my face, and my lids fluttered open to view the silent disruption. She was all eyes.

I choked around a gasp and sat up from where I had sunken into the chair, scrambling to get my bearing. I snapped my neck to look at the silhouette. Willimena stood with her arms crossed, backlit by the morning sun, my office’s light having shut off on an automatic timer.

“I’m sorry, I—” I stammered, pressing my palm to my forehead.

“Where did you get that plush?” She asked.

Monotonous as always.

I swallowed, brows knitting as I sorted through my brain for an answer. My plushie’s face pressed into my side as I shifted. 

“Oh—” I lifted him up and turned him slowly in my hand. “I don’t remember. I’ve always had him.”

Willimena hummed and offered a hand in asking. “Does he have a name?”

I blinked up at her. No. I never gave him one. He already had a name, printed onto the cloth tab clipped from beneath his tail, but I didn’t remember it.

I handed her the plush. “Umm… Oswald,” I made up between a croak and a squeak.

Willimena raised her brows as she looked over the plush, lifting the flop of his intact ear. “Such sentiment…” she murmured quietly, too quiet to be for anyone but herself.

I glanced from side to side. I had certainly gathered that she possessed a certain strangeness by now, but her current demeanor exceeded any previous encounter. She wasn’t flat or cold. She was empty.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said my name. “I’m sorry.”

Unease crept into my chest, ensnaring my lungs.

I breathed faster. “I shouldn’t have dozed off.”

“No. You need your slumber.” She crinkled her lip. “We’ve been restless.”

My brows furrowed. What in god’s name is she on about? Willimena was unmoving. She searched my eyes, wide and trembling with sole adrenaline prying my lids apart. I felt my throat tighten.

My lips parted to speak, but nothing I could have said would have been without accusation. What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that? What the hell is wrong with you? Willimena held my plushie back out to me. I nothing short of snatched him back, clutching the rabbit protectively to my chest as I eyed her, watching for any twitch or flinch that could become violent. But her next move was smooth, deliberately so; the way you’d reach for the glovebox when pulled over to assure the policeman you didn’t have a gun. Or while lying about not having one.

Willimena continued as she reached an arm behind her back. “I found this on the bathroom floor just before opening yesterday.” From her back pocket, she retrieved a crumpled paper.

My heart dropped to my ass. It must have shown on my face, because her next expression was a smirk.

“ Moooooorningggggg! ” Jaime’s voice cut through the silence, calling from the front doors.

Willimena whipped her head to look over her shoulder, then turned back around and leaned down to hand me the creased ball. Her expression hit me like a freight train. Warmth. Maternity. Affection. Stars glittered in her eyes, parenthesized by deep crows feet, and the most golden, pure, sunshine grin adorned her face. 

I was breathless.

She winked and whispered, “I won’t tell.”

My gawk only exacerbated. “You wh—”

“Shh.” She pressed the crumpled paper into my hand and pressed a finger to her lips.

A chuckle shook her chest, but there came no sound. I huffed, a smile curling my lips as she slipped out of the office. She held my eyes—and without knowing, my heart. It skipped as time slowed to a halt. Just I and her, peeking out from the doorframe, offering me that which I had yet to know.

Dare I call it that just yet? She vanished behind the doorframe. The clock of the office ticked. No, not yet. Not yet.

I sighed and melted into my chair, clutching the paper with both hands. It was still warm from her bodyheat. My cheeks began to sizzle, and I sniffed, shaking my head. I already knew what the paper was, but I just had to unfurl it to confirm the fact of it. Taking one corner, I uncrumpled the lined sheet, and sure enough, written on it in full capitalization was ‘DYKE’ . I swallowed as my flush returned.

It must have fallen out of my pocket when changing into my uniform. Fuck. I breathed in deeply and crumpled up the paper again, tossing it onto the desk. Willimena finding it was better than some kid or parent—maybe.

“Hey.” I looked up to see Jaime with an open box of donuts enticingly wiggling her brows.

I grinned. “What is this, a peace offering?” 

I lifted my hand to take a donut, and she shut the lid on my knuckles.

“Quid pro quo. Let me have a look at your music stash.”

I huffed and lifted the box with my wrist, taking a donut and chomping it between my teeth to hold it as I bent down to open my duffle bag. Jaime chuckled as I rustled through my bag, and tucked between my toothpaste and a roll of socks was about eight cassettes held together by a fragmented rubber band. I lifted and held them out to her, to which she promptly flung the donut box onto the desk and took the stack.

I watched as she rapidly sorted through each tape, eventually gasping, her wide, brown eyes bugging out of her head.

She grinned and popped up with an Anthrax cassette. “Can I have ‘Sound of White Noise’?”

My face fell. “You break it, you buy it.” 

“ Yes! ” She pumped her fist into the air “Dude, thank you!”

“Don’t get used to it,” I attempted to put my foot down, but the elation on her face was too sweet to scorn. “...I’ll hold up that ‘quid pro quo’ arrangement.”

Jaime held the cassette up to the light. “Uhhuh. Yeah, we’ve always got leftover cake in the back since we don’t let people toss ‘em. It really jacks up the trash bill, take as much as you want.”

My brows raised high. “Well—thanks!”

“You got it, man. Hey—” She clapped her hand to my shoulder. “Help me open up. Two’s better than one.”

I smiled and stood up from my chair, polishing off the last of the donut with a nod. She left the office, I in tow, and I fell into step beside her. It’s good to have a friend in here. And… whatever Willimena is.

The day was rough from the start.

There were no less than eight parties happening at the same time, the mulling swaths of people an indissoluble sea of limbs forming a single, writhing mass. I squinted when something would tick me off—a potential tussle between kids, that a crying child being dragged by an adult was their parent, making sure the teens didn’t get too rough with the arcade machines—or each other. But most of all, I looked for Leanne.

I didn’t trust that her father would be truthful about bringing her back today, so I didn’t bank on that promise being a guarantee of her appearance. But I hoped for the best outcome, anyway. I held her paper pal between my fingers, turning it gently by the edge in idle stimuli to stave off my nerves. 

Jaime waltzed over, mop in one hand and slice of pizza in the other, her head bobbing to the tune of the song on her walkman. She pulled the headset off, and I could hear the gnashing of guitars and thwacking thrum of drums bleeding out from the speakers.

“Enjoying yourself?” I smiled.

“Are you kidding?” She leaned in and whispered, “ This shit rocks. ”

I snickered and raised a brow. “Yeah it does.”

“Here,” Jaime held up the plate of pizza. “Now take off, if you work another minute you’ll have grounds to sue.”

I took the plate and smiled, brows knitting in gratitude. “Thanks Jaime. See you in a few.”

She fell on the wall and crossed her arms. “See ‘ya.”

With her watchful eye on the dining room, I turned away from my post and walked down the hall, taking the first few bites of the slice. I slipped into the security office and plopped into the seat with a spin, sticking my leg out to touch the desk to halt myself. I kept my eye on the monitors as I ate, gaze flicking between screens in idle rotation.

A knock came from the doorway. 

“ Mm— ” I turned away from the screens mid-bite to find Willimena at the door.

She said my name softly, then gestured for entrance. “May I?”

My cheeks flooded with blood, tingling like soda fizz.

I nodded and scooted back to make room for her. “ Mmhm. ” I chewed quickly and set the plate down, turning my attention to Willimena as I swallowed.

She leaned on the desk, and in her hands she toyed with a plushie of Bonnie. She opened her mouth to speak, and I heard the breath taken in for it. But she faltered. There was a pause. A long pause.

She at last spoke, “I frightened you this morning.”

Her gaze was cast to the floor. Silence, again.

“It’s alright,” I murmured, looking up at her from where I sat.

“Well… in case it wasn’t…” She looked up to meet my eyes.

Mystifying, beautiful green, blinding as emeralds in display cases reflecting fluorescent mall lights.

She held out the Bonnie plush to me. “...I figured Oswald would want a friend.”

A pang of guilt drove itself through my heart as I looked into her eyes. Do you want a friend?

Tears flooded my waterline as I took the plush from her. “...Thank you,” I whispered.

I stared down at its big, bulging eyes and cheeks of purple fuzz set above a red bowtie. It looks like it’s been stung by a hive of bees. The thought made me snort, and the swell of my cheeks prompted one of my tears to fall.

Willimena’s thumb swiped against my skin. I gasped silently and flinched my head to look up at her. Her eyes were locked onto mine. A second tear fell from my opposite eye, and slowly, cautiously, she lifted her other hand. I didn’t contest her motions. She lifted her hand higher, higher and searched my gaze still for hesitancy or repulsion until there was no more space to close. She wiped away my other tear.

I stared at her through my blurry vision, her parted lips and sunken cheeks, the dark violet encircling her eyes, her long, pointed nose, and black as night hair. God, she’s beautiful.  

Willimena pulled back her hands and breathed in deeply, her chest puffing with the motion. Emotion played within her eyes that I couldn’t decipher. I held her gaze, watched as it shifted, studying each difference in dilation of her pupils.

She cleared her throat and put on a smile, standing from where she leaned upon the desk. “Enjoy your break.”

I think my stare might have gotten under her skin instead of the other way around.

“Thank you, Willimena,” I said, holding the plushie to my chest.

I felt it pulse upon my heartbeat.

She paused in the doorway—then tapped a finger to the inside of it. “You’re welcome,” she spoke softly over her shoulder and left the office.

The half hour that was my break felt as though it dragged on for eons.

I walked back to the dining room, still contemplating the thoughts—or thought, singular—which had stretched out the time: Willimena. Her demeanor. Her little movements. Her way of speaking. She seemed nervous. Afraid, almost. My brows furrowed. Of me? What for? That couldn’t be right. Then of what? I want her to open up to me. I've seen her kindness seep through the cracks and pool as pure, molden gold before me. I saw it just this morning.

A chorus of children and adults alike resounded from the dining room, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Leanne!”

My eyes widened. Leanne. Paper pal in hand, I smiled and picked up my pace for the dining room, turning the corner with a gleeful flourish. I made another one or two paces before stopping dead in my tracks, joyous grin shattering.

It was standing there.

And it was wrong. The suit from the back room. Tattered. Worn-down to the metal bones within. It shouldn’t have been standing there, but it was, holding a pink and white frosted sheet cake. Its eyes were looking right at me. 

Human eyes.

“Happy birthday to you!” The party’s chorus swelled.

And the candles blew out.

Chapter Text

HELLO EVERYONE, I am so so sorry for the lack of updates, I've had a boatload of life smothering me [both good and bad]! I finished a just-shy-of full-length original story which put me in need of a writing break beyond August, started my new semester of college which came with all kinds of settling ins and frankly, mishaps, did a book signing and had a screening of one of my films at a local film festival, and JUST as soon as I sat down to write... horrible period. 

SO, what does this all mean?

I am alive, I have NOT forgotten about this fic or my beautiful wonderful lovely lovely lovely readers <3, and expect a chapter sometime next week if not sooner!

I thank you all so very much for your patience with me. I love you all.

See you on the flip side,

-Skinnxr

Chapter Text

So sorry again to disappoint you all with just having one of these, but I'm not doing well at keeping my promises, and I don't want to give anyone false hope. I'm not feeling great, and I don't want to put out something that isn't good on time as opposed to great but a little later [and I hope and pray you all agree]. AGAIN, I AM NOT ABANDONING THE FIC, I love writing, it's one of my many passions, but I'm just in an overall slump with life at the moment.

Thank you all for being so kind, understanding, and patient thusfar.

I love you,

-Skinnxr

Chapter Text

It waved its hand toward itself in luring.

Illusion, calming, it subdued even me in its mannerisms. Pied Piper in gold, leading a procession of children behind him, trailing. They skipped, held the hand of the child before them in glee, hair freely swaying from where it framed lively, rosy-cheeked smiles of incomplete sets of teeth. The room went dark, gasps cacophonizing from the crowd. Dim colored lights swirled, invoking hallucinogens upon the crowd, distorting them, their jaw-slack faces twisting in the dark. Contorsion. Mutilation. Rot.

The neon sign above the stage rimmed in golden bulbs like a billboard on the Vegas Strip came alive. They read: 

SHOWTIME.

The room’s spotlight honed in on Freddy, who lifted his hand to wave as he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, put your hands together for the one, the only, Freddy and Friends Jamboree!”

The lights came back on, and the rabbit and children were gone. Leanne was gone.

Gleeful screams and applause drowned out the ambient whirr of the building’s ventilation systems and buzz of fluorescent lights. My heart stuttered out of rhythm. My mind blurred and burned, alight on with panic alarms. I stood on fire in the middle of the churning room. The crack of a snare drum pulled me from my trance.

Save them.

I ripped the soles of my boots from the tiles and ran for the security office. Thundering down the hall, I grabbed the doorway as I skid into the room to brake myself, and flung into a crouch before the monitors. I grabbed the mouse and clicked, cycling through each feed, searching… and finding nothing. The corridors were empty. The party rooms were empty. All was as it should be.

“You alright?” Jaime’s voice came from my left.

I shook my head. “No. Some—someone took some kids.”

“Took?” Her voice came sharply next, “Don’t let anyone leave. What’d they look like?”

“They were wearing that costume from the spare room we’re not supposed to go in, the yellow one.” I didn’t look up from the monitors as I spoke, my cycling clicks having taken a rhythmic pace. “The rabbit the, the—” I gasped in sharply. “I didn’t see where they went, it was dark, then they were gone.”

When I at last lifted my gaze from the feed, Jaime had vanished. Freddy had moved on to a new song. Time was already up.

My heart throbbed sporadically in my chest. My breaths shallowed. I knew how quickly disaster set in—how once its claws sunk inside, it was a flicker between then and its teeth cracking down upon and shattering the skull of its victim. How unchangeable that was, even if survived. How mangled you’d be.

I knew.

I’d known a long time.

My face screwed into a deep scowl. I’m not going to sit here idly. I launched myself up from the office chair, slamming it back against the lockers before careening out of the room and into the hall. The back room. If he took the suit from there, that’s probably where he led the children. Racing between tables in the dining room, I shook with surging adrenaline as my steps were slowed by the swirling masses of children crowding to howl in glee at the animatronic band. I huffed, my throat tightening in panic as I maneuvered as quickly as I could through the swaths.

I looked up from the sea of children to the bright, yawning white square of the hall that led to the kitchen and back room. My retinas singed against the harsh light, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I had to save them. Pressing forward, and tears now blurring my vision, I trudged, waded towards the light, my arms outstretched as though I could claw my way closer.

Then an angel crossed my path. She blotted out her silhouette in the center of the square frame, and she saw me.

“Willimena!” I called.

From the doorway, she rushed forward. I huffed out as I breached the crowd, and she caught me by my clambering arms.

Afton squeezed my biceps in assurance. “Jaime told me what happened.”

“The rabbit!” I gasped, “The mascot, the yellow one you said not to touch, he went to the back room, he must have taken them back there!”

“No, no,” She cooed. Even in the darkness, I could see sweat beading along her hairline and dribbling down between her brows. Her pupils were trembling—flickering back and forth like writhing malware. “I was in that room. Nobody came by but Jaime.”

I gasped in, my breaths ragged with trembling. “Then where?!—”

The world flooded with yellow tinged light, and I was smothered in pure, deafening silence as Freddy’s song died in his throat.

Jaime’s voice crackled over the amplifiers after a harmonized ‘awwww’ of disappointment from the children, “Attention guests of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, we are locking down our facility at this time. Please exit the building calmly and carefully, and wait outside for the arrival of law enforcement. We thank you for your cooperation, and will issue refunds and reschedulings accordingly.”

My shoulders tensed at the delivered script. Tears stung at my eyes, but the ducts had run dry. My throat was bubbling with a sob ready to breach and wail like I would have when I was a toddler.

“It will all be alright,” Willimena’s voice came.

No, it won’t.

She said my name and pressed her knuckles to my chin, guiding my face to look up at hers. “It’s alright. We’ll find him.”

But as the shock of the houselights returning dissolved, and I could make out the features of Willimena’s face, I could see clear as day: there was a panic in her eyes, too. 

She shook herself from her own state. “Go. Help everyone out, make sure nobody leaves the lot.”

Willimena squeezed my arms, and I breathed in sharply, nodding quickly before breaking from her clutches. And god, it ached to do so. I turned on my heel and breathed in, calling for any lingering parents or stray children to make their way outside.

The sound of police sirens wailed distantly, further muffled by the walls of the building. The doors swung shut behind the onslaught of patrons parting the glass, and as I reached to push them outward, another pair of hands pulled the steel handles. 

“Leanne!” Her father shouted into the building. His eyes snapped to mine in the doorway. “Where’s my daughter?!” He spat in my face, grabbing me by the shoulders.

I shrugged him off with a sharp jerk of my shoulders. Rage. Red raging so bright around his crystalline irises. In the scabs on his neck. Raging in my blood, simmering at the thought of that red fire raging upon the candles before blowing out, leaving nobody standing where Leanne did but smoke.

“You weren’t watching her,” I spoke nearly at a murmur; and that rage boiled over. “You weren’t watching her!” I threw all my body weight into his chest, sending the man stumbling backwards and down to the concrete outside.

The crowd gasped, and it was the last sound I heard before the screeching of sirens consumed my every sense. They tore through my skin as my knees scraped against the pavement to kneel over Leanne’s father, burst open my knuckles as they cracked against his cheek. Then the dig of nails clawing just beneath my eye, the bite of my own teeth upon my tongue piercing through the flesh. Arms, wrapping around my ribs and cinching them, sealing off my lungs as I was hoisted from my straddling of another’s chest.

“That’s enough!” An accented voice sneered into my ear, overriding the sirens.

Willimena pressed my back to her chest as she dragged me away from Leanne’s father, who scraped his heels upon the ground as he scrambled to get back on his feet. I sobbed. Despite the efforts I’d put into saving my tears for bathroom stalls and motel walls, here I was. Out in the open. Crying my aching child heart out before a crowd of faceless strangers. Just eyes, boring into my chest.

I wriggled. I squirmed away from them, and within Willimena’s arms. She tightened them.

“No, no, get off me!” I pried myself from her grasp with a sharp twist of my torso and carried the momentum to barrel through the doors of the pizzeria.

I stormed down the hall, bracing my knees to stay straight to keep me from running. Down to the bathrooms, I slammed open the door and stumbled to the sink, twisting on the faucet for hot water. I pumped the cheap, chalky foam soap from the dispenser on the wall into a frothing mountain upon my palm and plunged my fingers into its pale pink peak, scrubbing out the blood that had dripped under my nails. I swiped the rest of the soap over my palms, between my fingers, and stinging into my burst knuckles. I hissed as I ran them under the faucet to clear the soap’s burn until my nerves were soothed. 

Then I looked up into the mirror. Leanne’s father had dug his nails into my cheek and scratched deep. My lip had split, too, and a red river ran from the slashes in my skin, down my neck, and staining into my pale collar.

I murmured, “Fuck…”

Pulling my shirt from its tuck and up over my head, I set it aside as I leaned down to begin rinsing the cuts on my face. Pumping more soap into my hand to purge out the dirt, and whatever else was under that man’s nails, from where he clawed into me, I brought the lather to my cheek and made circles into my flesh, then down to rub at my lip. It hurt like hell. I rinsed my soapy hand, then cupped both to lift small pools of water to my face. I sighed in relief as the sting receded, and the soothing warmth of the water calmed my raging nerves. I grabbed my shirt from where I had set it down on an adjacent sink and rose to my full height, moving to run it beneath the continuously heating stream.

“Wash that out with cold water.” 

I gasped and jumped nearly a foot off the ground. “Christ!” I looked up from the shirt in my hands and to the mirror, where in its reflection I could see Willimena halfway through the door behind me. I whipped around. “Do you know how to enter a room—not silently?”

She blinked. “The hot will spread the stain.” Her wide eyes, like that of a curious street cat staring into the window of a warm home for the first time and not knowing what to make of it, lowered to their usual sleepy shadow as she stepped fully into the bathroom and took the shirt from my hands.

I gave a little scoff as she did, and crossed my arms over my exposed chest. A flush tingled at my cheeks as I stood there, watching as she honed her focus entirely onto washing the blood from my shirt, seemingly oblivious, or maybe indifferent, to the fact that only a worn bra laid between her eyes and my breasts.

Or her hands. 

Or lips.

“Did he hit you first?”

“Did huh—” I flicked my eyes up from my sudden onslaught of daydreams. “Did he what now?”

“Start the fight? Touch you first?”

“Uhh…” I paused, my next vowels drawn out. “Yes. Yeah, he grabbed my shoulders.”

“Good. You—or I—aren’t liable, then.” She shut off the sink and lifted the shirt, wringing it out over the basin. The water still faintly glistened pink. “It was self defense.” 

I swallowed. “Mhm.”

“Mmhmm.” She echoed back, longer, melodically.

I writhed against the sound. Fuck. Don’t do that. Writhed against the way, and where, it made me feel.

Another squeeze of water splashed into the slowly flooding sink. “Now why did you really hit him like that?”

I paused. It was my turn to blink like a clueless animal.

I sniffed and loosened the cross of my arms, leaning back against the wall as I lifted my thumb to swipe a drop of water from the side of my nose. “He—“

“Don’t lie. You look like you’re lying.”

My brows furrowed. “I haven’t even said anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You got all loose…” another wring of water, then a thwack of wet cloth. “…in such a stiff way.”

I gulped, brows knitting upon my forehead. “You can be real terrifying, you know that?”

Her eyes lifted to mine, so black in the center—lightless. “You’re the first to say so.” She smiled.

“Yeah, probably ‘cause everyone else is too scared.”

Her smile widened, and she chuckled as she turned around, handing me a damp, but neatly folded shirt. “I’ll get you a new one from the back now; stay right here.” She pointed to the shirt, now passed into my hands. “Wash that with half a part of bleach to detergent. The rest’ll come right out.” She lifted her pointer finger to my face. “On cold.”

I couldn’t help a chuckle. “Okay, cold, I got it.”

“Good.” She lowered her hand and opened the door, leaving the bathroom with a sharp turn of her heel.

As soon as the door shut, I fell back upon the wall with a huff. My heart pounded in my chest, and veins blazed with adrenaline. She made my pulse race in every kind of way. 

It was addicting.

I opened my eyes to look at myself in the mirror. Reality came crashing back down to lay before my feet once I met my own eyes, any soothing spell Willimena had put on me breaking as I watched the blood on my face. It pooled, half-clotted and aching to spill over. A twitch of my face would do it.

“And here we are,” Willimena said as she returned, handing me a clean, dry shirt in the same size.

“Thanks… you’re a real life saver.” I took the shirt and pulled it over my head, combing back my hair and pulling it up from the collar.

“Don’t mention it.” She winked. “Come out when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Willimena.”

She smiled and nodded back, her eyes twinkling as they crinkled at the edges—god how I loved the sight of it. She turned away and opened the door, and my body lurched to follow her. To tell her the truth she’d asked for, and every truth thereafter until I ran dry of secrets. But the door shut, and I held my breath, choking them down for another day.

Rain poured down from the summer night’s sky, thrumming against the roof of the pizzeria. The police did their sweep of the building that day, and by nightfall, the property was back in my hands to watch over. They found no bodies. No blood. Not a trace that any of the children taken had stepped foot in the building in the first place besides the word of eye witnesses.

At the end of the day, everyone had gone home. The police from their stations. Parents carrying stacks of flyers headed by the word “MISSING” above a photo of their child back from print shops. Willimena, doing the bidding of the police and gathering whatever legal team she had to wrangle the tragedy at large.

But I was still here. And if I was here, which I insisted upon being, I wouldn’t be here idly.

My flashlight illuminated the swirling, weightless dust aerosolized by the disturbances of the day as I roamed through the pizzeria, squinting away the glare reflecting off silver stars and white tiles. I stepped slowly—quietly. I feared any sound would disturb what lay at rest here, now. This was never my place to guard, and it never would be. As I stepped towards the stage, I shined my flashlight up into the faces of the animatronics stood there. 

It was theirs.

My brows furrowed as I looked up into Freddy’s eye sockets first. The sockets. His plastic eyes had been removed, leaving only tiny pinpoints of silver in their wake. I panned to Chica, and gasped when I found her face turned to look at me, eyeless too. I trembled, staring at her as though that would keep her from lunging. But what about Bonnie? Or whatever out of order piece of machinery that lied behind those purple curtains in the corner? I shuffled back rapidly, giving a stuttered flinch as I bumped into a table and swung my light to illuminate Bonnie’s face. His lightless stare locked onto me, too. 

I wanted to speak out loud. To announce my presence and strength, deter whatever threats I was making up in my mind, filling out the shadows with. I pressed my knuckles to the small of my back in reflex—what I always did as a child, believing that divot in my spine to be most vulnerable to whatever might rush out of the darkness.

I clenched my fist, and like pulling my hand from a magnet, reluctantly brought it back to my side. 19 and still scared of the dark. I furrowed my brows and looked at the animatronics again. They hadn’t moved, of course not. The engineer on duty probably took out the eyes for some kind of maintenance. The robots were stopped mid-show, that’s why their faces were angled center stage.

“Yeah…” I barely formed the word as I exhaled, nodding to myself in confirmation. “Yeah.”

A scream tore out from behind me, and I shrieked as I whipped around, aiming my flashlight forward as the lights of the pizzeria began to strobe erratically. Seizing on the floor lay a golden-furred animatronic, its jaw slack and lidless eyes void of any light. Not even the silver pinpoints of the mascots on stage. Two spheres hung from its sockets by red, wiry amalgams, and they bounced off the snout of the cartoon animal with a spongy pliancy as it writhed. Dark fluid seeped from every orifice of the face and opening between the costume’s joints, its screams growling from deep lows to deafeningly high squeals of agony. The thing jerking and squirming as though being battered from two directions inside was the shape of Freddy, unmistakably, and the yellow hue of that old, dingy costume in the back room.

“IT’S ME.” Spoke not the voice of the animatronic—but Leanne

I threw my hands over my ears to block the horrible sound, but it was no use.

“Stop!” I begged.

“IT’S ME.” Louder.

“Stop!” I cried, tears welling in my eyes as I bore down into myself, curling and twisting as though that and screwing my eyes shut would cease the pain shredding through my eardrums.

“IT’S ME.”

“STOP!” I screamed, and the shrieking silenced itself to the muffled sound of a carnival fanfare and children’s laughter.

My feet were lifted off the floor. I was weightless. 

I opened my eyes, and a sound I hadn’t heard for so long I thought I’d forgotten it rang out above the crowd. My mother called my name.

My tears fell, clearing the blur, and I whipped my head to look at her. She was laughing, polaroid camera in hand as she reset the flash, my father waving to me beside her. I was on a carousel. A tiny, child-sized carousel. I looked down to the plastic animal I had sat myself upon—a little indigo rabbit, glistening under the merry-go-round’s lights. I looked up: parents walked or sat beside their children under warm tungsten lamps, the daylight outside outshining the bulbs into a perfect, white-gold bloom. The air smelled of carpet cleaner, baking dough, cotton candy, and evaporating rainfall. 

“Look at me, baby, look!” My mother called. 

I turned to look at her face, but the center pillar of the carousel blotted her from my vision. I pitched forward to see her sooner, but as I rounded the turn, something else came into view: a stage, and upon it, two figures. A golden bear, and a yellow rabbit. 

“Here,” my mother called my name, “Smile!”

The yellow rabbit.

“Ready?” She laughed.

I stared into its eyes, and in them found a shade that had ensnared my soul before.

“Three… two!...”

Electric green.

Snap.