Mike request

It was raining the day Freddy Frazbear’s Pizzeria closed down.

Mike had somehow lasted until the restaurant finally closed down, even though the place terrified him. He watched from his car, parked across the street, as the lights were shut off for the last time. It was a hard decision to even come back for that, but in the end he felt like he needed the closure.

Putting out his cigarette, a habit formed while working as a night guard that had the unfortunate side effect of draining his already meager income dry, he drove back to his run-down apartment and hurried through the freezing precipitation. Christmas was just around the corner, and in a way Mike had gotten the best present possible.

It took some scraping and being even more of a cheapskate than usual, but eventually he found a new job as a server at a local Mom-and-Pop diner. The atmosphere was pleasant, the customers nice, and the pay was actually higher than his last job. All in all a nice gig, if he did say so himself.

It was a month later when the nightmares returned. The trigger was simple, innocuous. A customer had ordered pizza, and Mike cheerfully went to get it. It wasn’t the first order for pizza he had received, which made the significance all the more puzzling. Whatever the case, the sight and smell of it left him balled up in the corner of the kitchen sobbing. He went home early that day.

After that he took a dive. Spiraling down, further and further, his mental state started to deteriorate. Sleep was difficult for him, and more and more things were beginning to remind him of his time as a guard. At first it was the food that was also on Freddy’s menu. Then it was the sight of birthday parties. People suddenly appearing in his personal space. Loud noises. Darkness.

That’s when he started seeing them.

Glowing blue eyes peeking from an alleyway at night. Indistinct shapes stalking him from a distance. A red blur sprinting down the sidewalk that he only caught out of the corner of his eye. The moment the sun went down, he felt their eyes on him.

Of course, Mike tried to track down the animatronics. He assumed more closure was needed. But his search was fruitless. It seemed the animatronics had vanished from the building. Where they went no one could tell him. But Mike knew.

Trips to the diner for his shifts became much more hurried. Shopping was done with frequent glances behind his back. Mike had spent months working at the pizzeria. He adapted. Eventually he stopped worrying so much. The tension that had been present even in his sleep slowly drained away.

It all came thundering back one night when he heard noises from the dumpster behind his building. Curious, Mike had peeked out the window, more from boredom than anything else, only for the blood to freeze in his veins. A crouched figure was hidden behind it, staring at him. What little light from the street that could cut through the darkness revealed the color brown and a black hat.

Mike awoke on the floor with a nasty headache a while later. Once the panic pushed through the haze blanketing his mind he looked out the window desperately searching. For what he did not know.

Nothing was there.

Mike tried to shake it all off, but the fear had returned, stronger than ever. Customers and coworker began to ask him if he was okay. Trips to the store turned into an exercise in efficiency. He started to forget basic things like turning off the shower or changing his clothes. This time, there was no adapting.

When Mike, drained of all energy from constant worrying, finally started to crack, his boss rather forcefully suggested to him that he take a vacation. Mike accepted it with as much gratitude as he could muster. It meant one less reason to leave his apartment.

What little safety he could find in his apartment vanished when he was awoken one night by sounds coming from his kitchen. His heart skipped a beat. He stumbled noisily out of bed and wrenched open his door, screaming. Before he could run down the hall to his kitchen he heard his door slam open and heavy, thudding steps retreat into the night.

When he got into the room he found it in complete disarray. The pantry door was open and ingredients were scattered around the room. It was with no small measure of horror that he discovered a homemade pizza cooking in his oven.

Mike never returned to work. His days were spent huddled in his bedroom sitting in a corner facing the locked door, blanket wrapped around himself. Knocking on his front door was ignored. So too were phone calls, after he received one that was filled with static and murmuring.

Police came when neighbors called complaining of loud screeching, pained screams, and hard thumps and crashing. When the arrived, they found holes in the walls, blood trailing through the house, and a broken bedroom window. Mike was never seen again.