Chapter Text
How do you move on? When you can’t leave the place where it all happened? When you sleep in the same sheets you bled in, you clean the same mug the wolf drank from, and the old man is playing the same record that you heard through the walls when you cried yourself to sleep?
How do you move on? When you can’t escape? When you can’t get on with your life?
Pretend. Pretend you’re moving on.
Time is money. And that wallet isn’t exactly bulging. So you wash your sheets, drink from that mug and dance to Frank Sinatra. Because you’ll learn to live without the wolf, even if his memory chases you. You run, and run, ‘til you can’t.
Sam’s boots hit the ground, kicking up decades worth of accumulated dust. A distant roar of a passing car seeped in through the smashed window, then faded out and threw everything into silence. The building was dead.
The moon offered a ray of its counterpart's light, illuminating the room enough for her to get a good grasp of her surroundings. Although, the unmistakable chemical stench was enough to know it was a supply closet. A teeny one at that. The walls hugged her sides so she could hardly breathe without fear of knocking something over. Her hands, restricted to her sides, fumbled for a door handle. In a blind struggle she finally released herself from detergent fumes and stepped out into a hallway coated in age. With her torch to light the way, she thought no better than to snoop around. Moth-eaten posters clung to moth-eaten wallpaper and so on and so forth. Walking up the hall led her to a set of doors that cried when pushed. With the resistance it gave her, she thought she might too.
She stood on the main floor. So this was where it all went down, she thought. Years ago, this room would have been filled with life, with those creepy '80s animatronics playing music that would be drowned out by the excited squeals of whichever party was currently getting cake from teenage employees who couldn’t care less. Pinball machines would ding every 30 seconds and confetti would coat the room in rainbow. She thought how sick with nostalgia one of those kids would feel if they were in her shoes.
Sam could see a heroin needle on the ground.
This cheesy '80s chain was long past its expiry date. It struck her with some kind of sadness, that all these establishments were set to remain only in memory and in ruin. Hurricane felt like a graveyard.
The chequered floor stuck to the soles of her shoes as she walked through and sat her duffel bag down on a party table. She turned full circle, then another half circle, taking in the absolute state of it all. Decrepit, stomach-churning and perfect to fake a ghost-sighting in.
Not so easy to do all on your own though.
“Hm.”
She pulled her camera out from its pouch and climbed onto the stage. The lens extended its range as it came to life- against all odds. It’d survived all those years in the box with a hefty battery life…impressive! She had missed the feel of it in her hands. It felt so natural, like she was hugging an old friend. No time to reminisce though. She looked into the void beyond the stage and hit record.
Sam’s back in business.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it…!”
That was the world’s worst fake Texan accent.
The torch’s light focused in on the camera’s view. She turned this way and that, then up, revealing the mouldy scaffolding. A smile crept up on her lips. There was her first scare.
“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza..what happened here?” She spun around. “All the animatronics are gone... it’s no wonder.” Why? Beats her. She was making stuff up on the fly. She hadn’t done a single ounce of research before coming here, but it was always on her mind. Driving past it every day for the last few years had made her curious.
“Hold on, I gotta get on the ground.”
She dropped the camera’s gaze to the floor and sat at the edge. She swung her legs over the side and then hopped off, her fingers slipping over a stage lightbulb as she pushed herself down. She grabbed it, then turned and chucked it at the overhead scaffolding. She turned the camera up then, just in time for a wooden plank to slam into the stage. She backed up quickly, forcing a gasp. “That could’ve hit me!” She lied. “Look how shaky my hands are…holy crap! I think something in here wants to kill me.” Bingo. New dumb plot. Vengeful ghosts punishing trespassers.
Sam entertained the camera for a few minutes, cracking stupid jokes and jumping at noises that existed only in post-production. This was far from her best work, she was well aware. She was…rusty.
“I don’t think I should have come alone,” she confessed to the camera as it focused on her boots walking down the hall from the bathrooms. “The plan was to stay overnight..but if I do, I'm afraid I won't wake up in the morning."
Knock knock.
Sam faltered. What on earth? She spun her torch around, but nothing seemed out of place. Just the same old.
Knock knock knock.
This place was falling apart, but that wasn’t creaky scaffolding. That sounded deliberate. From the walls.
“Hello?” She took a step towards the wall opposite the boys’ bathroom. “Anyone there?”
Knock knock.
Sam approached, pressing her hand and ear up against the wall. Beyond, she heard rhythmic, laboured gusts of air pushing through. It got closer, and closer, and then Sam realised far too late that it was not wind.
The wall gave way and Sam landed flat on her ass, camera skidding across the floor. She groaned, starting to pick herself up, only to drop back down to the ground when she locked eyes with it. The thing emerging from the wall, pushing through sluggishly and clicking this way and that. The thing. The rabbit. The robot. The…Sam was gonna be sick.
With great effort, the thing lifted its arm and pointed a shaking finger right at Sam. It might have said something, or maybe it was growling. Either way, Sam didn’t want to stick around and find out.
Or did she?
It was like a blessing from the man downstairs. A real, actual monster. If she had any sense on her, she’d turn tail and get out as fast as she could…but oh, that money was looking too tempting. She reached her arm out behind her and curled her fingers around her camera, pulling it back towards her and sliding back to her feet. She moved like any sudden movements would set it off.
“Huhh…hello..” She glanced from its finger to its unblinking eyes. “You don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt you- yeah?” What? How would she hurt this thing? Fuck. Can’t think.
The animatronic’s head twitched. Then, slowly, its mouth opened, into a great gaping chasm. It felt intimate to stare into it. Sam fixated on it, hoping to hear something; but it snapped shut quickly. Helplessly, she filmed the animatronic as it came closer, an unwilling actor. For a fleeting moment, she dreamt of cracking it open and studying all its old mechanics. Then she wondered if maybe she should book it the hell out of here. It didn’t move very fast, in fact it struggled to get anywhere at all.
“I’m Sam.”
It felt like her mind was melting and she was just parroting small talk that dripped from her brain to her tongue. She was going on autopilot in a million degrees Celsius.
“Can I help you?”
Something clicked then. Not for Sam, but the monster. It jerked back, then its claws raised to its neck. It looked down at her.
“You…help..me.”
It tapped its throat. It sounded like it had a horrible frog in its throat, but it didn’t know how to clear it so it stayed that way forever.
“You…cam…ra…go.”
“What?”
“C…Camera. Off.”
“Oh. Oh!”
It felt like a bad idea. Maybe if she died she’d become an urban legend and this film would be her found footage. Should she really risk it? In the interest of the stronger party, the film ended.
“I’m sorry, I’m just- freaking out-” Sam looked up at the impossibility in front of her, worrying she might collapse if it spoke again.
It barked- no, laughed then, throwing its sharp head back as though this were the first and greatest joke it had ever heard; only there was no joke and no reason to be laughing. “You…freaked out?” Something about the tone it took on felt condescending. "Imagh...imagine how..." It all quickly faded into a monotonous growling. It was like being only semi-fluent in a language and attempting to hold conversation with a stranger- only this stranger would likely snap her neck given the chance.
The closer it came, the more Sam could make out just how damaged it really was. Silhouetted scars tore open its chest, exposing the metalwork beneath it. Beady, white pupils stared at her through raccoon eyes, and grew only more intense when it looked down at her shirt.
“You're an animatronic engineer.”
She paused and followed its gaze down to her work clothes. They clung to her damp skin, only adding to her discomfort.
"I am..yeah."
It took one step closer, and then another until it loomed easily over the woman. Sam could smell a horrible waft from the suit. It stunk like rotten fruit. An Involuntary hand shot up to cover her nose. Every part of this thing invaded her space and her legs had suddenly become locked into place.
"Let me be clear...Sam, was it?" It didn’t stop for confirmation. "You seem like a sensible woman...so don't run off. I need assistance." It lifted a claw, making Sam jump. It landed on her shoulder like a giant weight, and finally she realised that she had no choice in the matter.
"I need to be fixed."
*
Sam followed the rabbit through the hallway back into the party room. It trudged around all misty, as though it were reminiscing. For a robot, it moved rather lethargically. Though by now, it would be naive to assume this to be the work of nuts and bolts. Something far more sinister breathed through this suit.
It stopped when it saw the stage, with its slowly collapsing ceiling threatening its demise.
"How long has it been?"
Sam had no clue. She didn't know where "it" started and ended.
"What year is it?" It turned its head to her.
"2023."
The silence that led felt sorrowful. What are you supposed to do when you've given someone bad news? It felt especially impossible to navigate in a situation like this. It stared blankly at the squiggly carpet and its retro colours stared back. Then, the rabbit decided that was enough and looked back up at her. But before it could speak, Sam took charge.
"What are you, exactly?"
For a moment, it said nothing, and Sam thought she might die for her inconsiderate wording. But then it exhaled in what she thought was a snort and she wrenched her nails out from her palms.
"Would you say I'm a monster?" It asked disingenuously. "Does that fit the bill? Maybe, if it helps you sleep."
That did not.
"If I explained it to you, you wouldn't want to believe."
"I think you're a ghost."
It paused, like it had no idea what to say to that. It appeared Sam had stolen its thunder.
"You think you're clever, huh?" It tilted its head at her.
"I wasn't taking the mick. You're a ghost, aren't you?" Her chest rose, giddy excitement being held back. This was only met with a dismissive wave of a paw.
"Questions for another time. Let's talk business." Wow, it was serious about this..
"You said you want to be fixed?" Sam drummed her fingers against her camera uncertainly. "I don't know much about old animatronics, I don't really know if-"
"Please. They've hardly changed that drastically in 30 years."
"You'd be surprised." She scratched the back of her neck. "Look..I don't know if I can afford to make whatever the fuck this is my business. I don't want to upset you, believe me- but I have a lot on my pla- ah!"
Her skin burned as she attempted to twist out of its steel grip. It held on so tight that she thought her wrist might snap right then and there. She bubbled with fear and recognition.
"You can't," he warned her. "You can't leave me here. Not now. No. You woke me up, and now you're going to save me."
"Let go of me."
His grip tightened.
"Please."
"Why should I?"
"Let go of me and I'll come back. I haven't got the tools. But I'll get them."
"You're lying."
"But sure, how else are you gonna get fixed? Either you let me go and run the risk of me not coming back, or we stand here forever."
She hated how he stared at her.
"It's your choice." Her fingertips felt numb.
Finally, it freed her. Sam ran a hand over her wrist, blinking back tears. She could already imagine how she'd bruise in the morning. "Please come back. Tomorrow." It turned its back to her, nursing its own wrist joint.
"Please is a start." Sam took a step back. "I'll be back. I'll fix you."
"Come back. With your tools."
"Alright."
She couldn't even cry when she got back to her truck. She felt wrong.