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You have quite the love-hate relationship with your job. On one hand, it’s amazing! You get to view the Pizzaplex every night, exploring the vast building and interacting with all the incredibly designed animatronics. (Seriously, they seem like they should be human.) On the other hand, however…
Your walkie-talkie cuts in, static buzzing with a muffled voice. Quickly, you stop walking and fish it off of your belt, holding down the button and telling Vanessa to please repeat that, over.
Vanessa’s voice comes through laced with agitation as she says, this time more clearly, “Boss needs you to stay the full night tonight. Something about some teens tryin’ to sneak in, I don’t know. You just can’t go home yet, over.”
…on the other hand, you absolutely hate it.
You have to push down the mounting anxiety that creeps up, more work just being piled right on top of your already sleep-deprived shoulders. Tonight is absolutely not the night, it’s already downright terrible, but you have no other choice to reply, “Got it, thanks for the heads up. Over and out.” (You don’t like the slightly cringy “walkie-talkie talk”, as you like to call it, but it’s a necessity working as a night guard.)
Sighing into your hands, you clip your walkie-talkie back onto your belt and continue walking. Not only do you already have to finish your rounds, but you also have to stay until 6 am, like some of the other night guards. It’s not fair. You were supposed to be done in an hour, but now you have to stay an extra three. God, there goes all hope at getting a decent night’s sleep, you suppose.
As you continue to make your rounds, you come upon the daycare, which would usually be your last area to check for the night. Of course, now you’re going to have to make all your rounds again, and that fact is getting to you. You step past the cutesy welcome sign and into the daycare, thankful that the lights usually stay on around here. In fact, the lights typically stay on everywhere in the Pizzaplex. Which is good, because you kind of hate the dark. (No offense to Moon, of course, you just…can’t handle it.)
And just because you’re on a streak today, why shouldn’t something else go wrong? The universe is taunting you, you just know it, as the lights above you flicker.
No, no, no nononononono, repeats like a mantra in your head as you stop dead in your tracks, right outside the door to the daycare. Not even the jovial music soothes you as, all at once, the lights go out.
This– This is not good, not good, not good. You desperately claw at your belt, fumbling around in the dark for your flashlight. You twist around as if you would be able to see your belt and you want to sob in relief when your hand grasps the flashlight– Except, as you flick the switch, it won’t turn on.
The flashlight clatters to the ground with you right behind it, sliding down onto the floor as tears well up in the corners of your eyes. You’re aware how pathetic it is, getting so scared of the dark, you know you’re too old for this. But you bury your face in your knees, curling in on yourself in a fruitless attempt to stop the shaking.
Your breaths are coming out more in labored pants and, distantly, you recognize you’re having a panic attack. Over the dark.
Salty rivulets cascade down your cheeks as you harshly grip your pant legs, willing it all to go away, for the lights to turn on, something. You don’t know how long you sit there like that, seconds, minutes, whatever, but it won’t calm down and it won’t go away.
You hear a door creaking, but it isn’t enough to pull you from your mind, hardly even grasps your attention. It isn’t until you hear a bell jingle that you force your head up and your eyes open. And it’s… Moon. He’s standing in front of you, watching as you quiver and stare up at him, tears staining trails down your face.
His reaction is relatively quick though, as if he’s made for this. (He is.) He sits down next to you, criss-cross, not touching you but still close. His voice is raspy, just like always, but softer, quieter, as he says, “Poor thing, out here on their own. Should know not to wander in the dark alone, little lamb.”
It’s not meant to be as mean or as teasing as it sounds, but you’re not in the right headspace to be aware of that. Instead, it just sounds like he’s chastising you. Of course, you’re unable to tell him that. Instead, you just let out a small, pitiful whimper.
“Lights out is my time, shouldn’t be running around like this,” the Moon says, his voice lilting up in an almost amused manner. You are not amused. But then his voice shifts, is gentler, and his faceplate twists side to side as he leans closer to you. “So so quiet, quiet as a mouse. Can’t speak, little lamb?”
Silently, you shake your head, no. You can’t speak, can’t get your tongue to lift off of the bottom of your mouth. It’s so heavy. Everything is so heavy.
Moon hums, his hands on his knees. “Poor, poor little thing,” he repeats, reaching out towards you slowly, yet still not touching. “Can’t speak, so scared. Why so scared, lamb? It’s my time, my time, no one can get you, not when the lights are out.”
He’s…trying to reassure you, you realize. He’s trying to help. In his own, Moon-like way.
He tuts as if you’re being silly, like you’re overreacting. (Which you are, you know that.) “Let me help, scared thing. Don’t be scared, I can help. Lights out, I’m here.” His hand is just an inch away as you recognize he’s asking permission to touch you. Of course, he is, he’s programmed for this kind of thing, after all, he must know that it’s important you’re comfortable with it. Which you are.
So you nod, jerkily, still shaking and clutching yourself as the panic slowly starts to subside. A long metal arm wraps securely around your shoulders, pulling you closer against him. He’s cool to the touch, but not in a freezing kind of way. It’s refreshing against the sweat sticking your clothes to your skin.
Moon’s hand rubs circles against your back in a steady rhythm, giving you something to ground yourself with. You focus on the motion as he hums a tune that you don’t recognize; it sounds like something of a lullaby, if you had to guess.
“Silly, silly, so worked up over the dark, so scared,” he says, teases, though it’s lighthearted, as if he’s trying to remedy the situation, make you laugh. And you do, even if it’s just a small chuckle. Either way, Moon seems infinitely pleased. “Hush, hush, little lamb, don’t be afraid.”
You lean further against him as you feel your body start to calm, finally relieved by Moon’s presence and your eyes slowly adjusting to the inky blackness that surrounds you. It isn’t as scary in the arms of an animatronic built to protect you from it.
By the time you’ve stopped shaking and your tears have dried, you find your body so heavy, completely exhausted. You try not to think about how you have to stay overtime despite it, letting your eyes slip shut just for a moment, only because of how much weight they suddenly have.
You can hear Moon humming again, a noise that sounds mostly like intrigue as he undoubtedly watches you starting to fall asleep against him. He doesn’t seem too content with continuing to sit in the middle of the hallway, though, and metal arms snake around you, one gripping around your shoulders and the other winding underneath your knees.
Your eyes flutter open as you’re lifted off of the ground and into the air. You don’t think to let out any noise other than a small, surprised gasp, but you have half the mind to hold onto Moon as he stands and begins carrying you towards the daycare. (Not that he would ever drop you, you’re sure of it.) He’s slow, steady, and his cool arms are securely wrapped around you. It feels…safe. Nice. It makes warmth blossom in your chest despite the cold embrace of the animatronic.
You’re brought inside of the daycare, Moon pushing the door shut behind him with his foot, that little bell of his jingling as he does. The bouncy, usual daycare music has shut off along with the lights– you hadn’t realized that until now. Despite the lingering fear (edged away by Moon, of course), it’s nearly tranquil in the daycare, like this.
Moon sets you down in a corner full of pillows and blankets, letting you splay out onto them in a comfortable position. You slowly, weakly, your body still protesting every movement, arrange the pillows beneath you and lay down against them, your eyelids falling shut automatically.
You hear Moon chuckle above you, a static sound residing from his voice box. “Feeling better, little lamb?” he asks you.
You nod your head. “I am,” you say, voice weak and gentle but finally working again, your throat ceasing to close in on itself in fear. “Thank you, Moon. I…really appreciate your help.”
The Moon would smile broader if he could, you’re sure of it. His unmoving faceplate twists around full-circle, a pleased noise coming from his voice box. “So polite, polite little thing. No need for thanks, no no, just doing my job.”
Your mouth twists down into a small frown, watching the animatronic above you as he leans back on his arms, sitting next to you yet not touching anymore, like he’s shied away, now that you’re calm.
“You didn’t have to do that, though,” you tell him, a bold hand reaching up to cup his faceplate, your palm resting against his cheek. “I appreciate it, really. Give yourself more credit.”
For a long moment, the Moon is silent, staring at you with an absolutely blank look. Did you break him? You didn’t do much, and he deals with kids, how can he really break so easily? Oh god, is this going to come out of your paycheck? You can’t–
Then he’s laughing, suddenly, a staticky and rough sound that lilts upwards in amusement. His very large hand places itself over yours, and he leans his faceplate into your hold. He’s kind of like a cat…
“Didn’t have to?” he asks, glowing red eyes peering at you. You feel your heart do a backflip in your chest with such a look. “No no, had to, couldn’t leave such a poor little lamb all alone, couldn’t leave them by themself. Such a sweet thing, so sweet, shouldn’t you be scared, lamb? You don’t like the dark, it’s frightening. My time is scary.”
It takes you a moment to comprehend his words, but when you do, you’re sitting up so you can be face to face with him, your other hand reaching for the other cheek of his faceplate. “You’re not scary, Moon,” you reassure him. “I wasn’t scared of you, never. I just…don’t like the dark. But you…you helped me. You made it better.”
“Better?” the animatronic echoes, his hands taking yours off of his faceplate and intertwining your fingers. Your hands are so much smaller than his big, cool ones. “Better, better, I make the dark better… Precious little lamb isn’t scared of me, not afraid of me, just my time,” he reiterates, as if he can’t believe it. (He probably can’t. You’ve seen how many customer complaints the Pizzaplex gets because of his… eerie nature.) “Good, good, I’m nothing to be afraid of, sweet little things have no need to worry, not scary, no no.”
You squeeze his hands tighter. “I’m sorry other people think you’re scary. You’re not, at least to me,” you say.
“So sweet…” the Moon murmurs quietly, almost to himself, dipping his head away. “But– But, but, but, little lambs need sleep. So sleepy, small thing, so tired. Rest now, hush, you must sleep.”
Immediately, you start to protest, letting go of Moon’s hands and putting yours out in front of you defensively. “No, I’m fine, I don’t need to go to bed. I still have work to do, and– woah! ”
Moon doesn’t like your response. He pushes you down (albeit lightly, as to not hurt you), making your back hit the pillows again. While you’re still caught up in your surprise, he pulls a blanket up over you, tucking you in.
“Shhh, shhhh,” he hushes you, placing a long finger against his mouth. “Do not fret, little lamb, just sleep. Hush, go to sleep, dream sweet dreams, lamb. I’ll take care of it, yes, won’t get you in trouble, not to worry. Just sleep, sleep now.”
“But I–” You try to sit up, knowing Vanessa will have your head if you just disappear. Moon grasps you by the shoulders and lowers you back down, pulling your blanket back up over you. He’s not taking no for an answer, you recognize.
“Sleep,” he says more sternly, shaking his head side to side. “Sleep, and I’ll take care of it. Need a lulluby? I can sing, yes, sing a nice sleepy song.”
“I’m not five,” you say, turning over onto your side. You’ve made peace with the fact that he isn’t letting you go. (And you are pretty tired…)
“Never too old, no, not for a lullaby,” he says, leaning over you to look you in the eye. It should be unnerving, it really should, but it just…isn’t. Can’t be. You’re that just comfortable with him. “What do you say, little lamb, hmm?”
With a small huff, you relent. Your heavy eyelids slip shut again as you say, “Yeah, alright. I guess it’s fine.”
Moon’s joy is evident as he bounces to be right beside you, bells softly jingling as he sits facing you. His voicebox starts to hum a soothing melody, slow and peaceful. Your body sags into the pillows, letting out a deep breath and relaxing against your makeshift bed. Moon watches, continuing his soft lullaby, as your breathing begins to even out, your tense posture melting away in his presence.
Your mind clouds over quickly, before Moon’s song is even finished, sleep overcoming you. You let yourself slip from consciousness as you distantly hear the humming cease and Moon’s voice whisper above you.
“Sleep tight, little lamb.”