Frank (Day 3)

(Frank is best read with formatting and crazy fonts and all that good stuff for boldness. Reading it on the following link might be more up your alley and better for your eyes, but it's your choice.)
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KSjba59yX-jiVvZEqDU9jq4s_FPnE6GUp5tDY6KALpU/edit?usp=sharing

July 2nd, 7:30 am

Ted entered the door to Freddy Fazbear’s pizza. Jason’s car was still in the parking lot. He felt a sinking sensation in his heart when he didn’t see Jason in the break room, which was immersed in darkness. When he turned on the light, Ted saw that there was no pot of coffee. The arcade machines were still turned off.

Click-click-click.
Ted turned his head towards the noise, and followed it to the hallway. The mechanical clicking echoed down the  walls.
Click-clack-clack.
The security room was empty, but not untouched.  Jason’s chair was off to the side, next to the west vent. The desk was knocked over, its surface facing the hallway, almost accusatorily. Crumpled up wads of paper floated in a puddle of spilt soda.
Click-click-clack.
The fan had been dropped on the ground. It was broken; it’s plastic blades striking the cage that had caved in from the fall. Each time it passed, it made the infernal sound. Ted ignored it, and walked back down the hall.

As Ted knelt down to get a better look at the fan, he noticed red flakes on the ground. It took a few seconds for it to sink in. He rushed back to the break room, hoping to find the toolbox there.

It wasn’t.

Reluctantly, he turned on the hallway lights, and found more of the red flakes.  He followed them down to the end of the hallway, at which point they turned into the east part of the restaurant. The flakes trekked past Kid Cove, and moved around the corner. At the corner’s turn, Ted could see the flakes move into the parts and service room.

Ted stopped.
“Frank?” he asked.
“Hey!” Frank’s voice called out. It was from within the room. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?”
“I found him,” Frank said.
Ted felt a lump in his throat. “Found who?”
“You know who. Come see!”

Against his better judgement, Ted moved forward, and looked inside the room.

Frank was standing in front of Jason. Jason’s body was on the table Frank was on the night before. It was moved against a wall, upon which Jason’s corpse was slumped against. A blood-stained toolbox laid next to him. As he moved forward, Ted saw that Jason’s clothes were stained in blood. The various tools scattered around the room gave the answer. A gore-spattered monkey wrench was on the floor. A lonesome screwdriver was stationed in a Freddy helmet.
And in between Jason’s legs was a flashlight, pointing towards the man’s blood-drenched pants.

8 am
The purple cloth took on a crimson color from the blood. It had seeped into the inner thighs, but was apparently hours old. The blood had crusted, and become a dark maroon, some of it staining the golden Freddy belt buckle. There was a torn hole in the pants’ crotch area, illuminated by the flashlight, that revealed the source of the blood.

Frank said proudly, “He’s not gonna take anybody else.”
Ted stopped, dead in his tracks. “What did you do, Frank?”, he asked. His mouth was dry.
“I stopped him. The guy we’ve been looking for. The no-good son of a  gun is gone.” Frank’s arm was lifted, as if in presentation. As if he was proud of what he had done. Ted felt nausea rise within him.
He had washed blood out of suits before. He had probably talked to the man who killed all those kids. He had known people who died on their shifts.

But to Ted, none of that mattered right now. He felt lightheaded, and as he stumbled to the trash can he slipped on the blood. His knees hit the ground hard, but that didn’t matter. He felt something pull the vomit from within him, and force it out. He couldn’t keep it held back. Everything came rushing towards him at once.  He knew that Frank was dangerous. He knew that Jason was dead. Ted’s eyes watered; he couldn’t tell if it was from the realization or just a body function. The vomit stopped, and Ted started to wipe off his lips with the back of his hand until it started again and splattered all over his thumb. It continued, while Ted was feeling a pulling sensation from his stomach and Frank was standing idly.

Finally, the vomit stopped.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked. His voice was loud and seemingly devoid of any human emotion. It was more of an exclamation than a question.

Ted didn’t answer, until he felt like he had wiped off all the vomit. The queasiness was still there, but he could hold it for now.  Ted grunted in affirmation, and shuffled out the door.

As Ted stumbled down the hallway, and moved back towards the safe room, he thought about what he was going to do next. He decided to go to the safe room, and wait. For Jim to arrive. Jim’s the manager, he’d know what to do.


8:15 am
Freddy’s was going to be opening later than expected. It might be due to Jason’s death. It might also be due to Jim calling in “sick”, slurring his words and assigning manager duties to Ted for another day. For his credit, Jim did say he would send in the cleaners. But the phone call was another problem thrown onto what had started off as one of the worst days of Ted’s life, and didn’t look to be getting much better.

Ted wondered where Art was. They were supposed to open in fifteen minutes. Ted moved back to where Jason’s body was, the man still slumped like a grotesque ventriloquist’s dummy.  He  turned his head away from Jason’s corpse, as  he closed the door and locked it up. Then he walked to the front door of the pizzeria, and turned the “closed” sign on the window around to show that the restaurant was “opened”. As he did so, Frank asked him where all the people are.
“I don’t know, Frank. I think it’s flu season.”
Frank kept looking at Ted, and then said “Yeah, flu season. You’re probably right.” He wandered off to his favorite corner, and stood around, waiting.
“Frank, why don’t you go into the janitor’s room?”, Ted said. “Maybe you could get some shut-eye, it’s been awhile since you slept, right?”
“Good idea,” Frank said. He walked to the janitor’s closet, and stood inside. The robot’s eyes turned off, and Ted turned the key in the door’s lock.


Art arrived at 8:45, and there were still no customers. He stammered apologies for his lateness, and Ted didn’t really care enough to hassle him about it. “Today’s been a rough day for everyone,” he said. “I’d rather you be here now than come in when it’s lunchtime, anyways.”
“What happened?”, Art asked. Except his question was more of a concerned interrogative.

Ted motioned for Art to follow him into the safe room, and poured coffee.
“Jason got caught, and he’s dead,” Ted said. “The cleaners are supposed to come in later today, to take him away.” Art’s line of sight became unfocused after hearing this, and he stared off into space like a soldier shell-shocked into silence. Blank, unfeeling silence. He took a large sip from his coffee, in spite of its hotness, and gulped it down.
“Just us, then,” Art said, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” Ted said. “We’ll do our best.”
“What are we gonna do about Frank?” he asked.
“We should scrap him, but Jim would throw a fit. Frank’s all we have right now.”
“Even though he’s killed someone?”
“Yeah.”
Ted rubbed his face in thought. “ I’ll probably smash him tonight anyways,” he added. “When Jim shows up I’ll say it was to protect finances or som-”

Bells jingled as the front door was opened. A woman and what looked like her son entered the pizzeria.
“I’ll get the kitchen going,” Art said. He left the room, leaving Ted to guide the customers to their seats. Ted told them that Frank was feeling a little under the weather today, so he might not come out. They’d be welcome to stay, if they wanted.
“But he’s currently unavailable…”, Ted trailed off.

The mother smiled, understandingly. As did the kid. It was refreshing, after dealing with some pretty nasty customers. Ted took their order, and went to the kitchen.

Foxy’s Golden Scramble With Loot for the kid, and a fruit bowl for the mom. The “Golden Scramble” wasn’t even scrambled, it was really just eggs over easy slathered in the runny yolk, and the “loot” was just hash browns cooked to the point of looking almost gold, along with “driftwood” sausage links. The fruit bowl was more difficult, really. There wasn’t much fruit left in the refrigerator. In the end, Art cut up a bunch of pineapple slices, and added them to some apple slices and grapes.

Ted took the food out, and came back again. “It’s Trevor’s 8th birthday”, he said. “Make him a cupcake. Chocolate.”

Art looked at the oven, and then back at Frank. “I’m bad at making those.”
“You’re bad, or you never tried?”
“Never tried.”
“I’ll take over, go entertain them.”

The room was desolate, save for Trevor and his mom, who sat at a small table at the far end. Seeing the restaurant so quiet and still unnerved Art.  As he approached the table, he thought of what he was going to say or do. The last few days, he’s found himself distracted. Disconnected, almost. Lost in his own thoughts.

“Who’s your favorite performer?”, he asked the kid.
“Foxy,” Trevor said. “He’s always been my favorite. What about you, Mom?”
“I don’t really have a favorite”, she said. “I guess I lean toward Foxy, too” she said, smiling.

“Who’s your favorite?” Trevor asked, turning to Art.
“Frank, I guess,” Art said. “He’s a cool guy,” he added quickly.
“I hope we see him soon,”
“Yeah, you might. I’m going to go check on that cupcake.”

Art turned down the hallway, unknowingly walking past the rooms where Jason died in and Frank was sleeping. He stared at his own feet as he walked, conscious of his breathing and walking movements. After turning the corner, he entered the safe room, and began searching. Art could’ve sworn there were costumes in the safe room. Something had to be tucked away in here. He’d even settle for a golden suit, it doesn’t have to be Foxy. After about thirty seconds of rifling through cabinets and drawers, he eventually found a plastic Foxy mask, from the old crew. It’d make a good gift.
Art walked down to the kitchen turning, over the mask and shaking the dust off, ignoring the hallway leading to the security office.

The cupcake was ready.  Ted brought it out on a plate, with the number “8” on a lit candle. Company policy dictates that they sing Happy Birthday with all the performers and available employees but after seeing what happened to Jason, “Company police can go fuck itself”, Ted thought to himself. Art brought out the Foxy mask. It and the cupcake were on the house.

“Make a wish!”, Frank exclaimed, from behind Art. The robot walked over to the table, his stiff movements lurching his body forward. Ted threw a questioning look, to which Art shook his head.


Frank grabbed the cupcake with one hand, and moved it over towards Trevor’s face. The white-gloved hand crushed the cupcake in it’s grip; chocolate crumbling off onto the table and the candle’s flame being completely smothered. Trevor and his mother jolted in surprise, which soon turned into discomfort.

Art and Ted pushed their way past Frank, and apologized profusely.

 “We can make a new one,” Art said.
“No, no, it’s quite alright, it’s not your fault,” the mom said.

“I’d love to give a tour of the place,” Frank said. “To make it up to you.”
He stepped past the men, standing above the sitting child. He extended a hand towards the kid
Art made eye contact with the mother and shook his head, mouthing “Don’t.”
“Foxy isn’t here right now, but Trevor would love it,” Frank continued. He moved closer, putting his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. Trevor recoiled.

“They’re probably on a busy schedule, Frank,” Ted interrupted. He pushed away Frank’s arm, and stood between him and the child. “We’ll bring the check,” Ted said as he turned towards the mother. He pushed Frank back a bit.
“We’ll take it,” the mother said. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

The mom paid for the food, and the kid left the restaurant wearing a Foxy mask. Throughout all of this, Frank was frozen in place. Art thought he had crashed (if such a thing was possible for these machines), but Frank’s eyes were brightly lit.

After the front door closed behind the family, Ted overturned the “open” sign hanging on the door.  He and Art left Frank in the Party Room, proceeding to walk to the saferoom. Ted stopped, when they passed the janitor’s closet.
The door-knob had been removed; leaving a hole in the door. The door itself was open, showing the trashed contents of the closet. Tumbled shelves and spilled bottles were scattered on the floor.

Ted and Art taped up the knob hole using Gorilla tape. After a few seconds of contemplative thought, staring at the door, they decided to tape up the door as well.

The explanation to Frank was that there was a chemical spill inside. Which was technically correct. He bought it, and continued to wander around the pizzeria, aimlessly, when Art and Ted left the pizzeria.  The cleaners had never arrived, and Ted had little reason to think they would.

“I’m going to do the shift,” Ted said. “Then when you get in, we’ll scrap him.”

Art nodded solemnly, and left the restaurant at 10 am.