Final Nights at Freddy's (another draft, different ideas)

Night Four

Today was my fourth night at my new job. I watch cameras each night, from twelve to six in the morning. I work for a supposedly family-owned restaurant, called “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza”.

I say supposedly, because the place has changed management and has had its funding slashed so much that I’m not even sure the cheese comes from actual cows. The place, and it’s food, feels cheap and artificial.

Somehow though, they manage to afford these robots. I think you might’ve heard of them. They left quite an impression on the public. These robots are able to walk, talk, and from what I’ve seen on occasion, think and decide for themselves. I have no idea how this place repairs these things when they break. If I was doing the same song and dance  for twenty years, day-in and day-out, I’d eventually begin to break down.

Anyways, each night I punch in at 11:50 and stand guard for seven hours. And these seven hours go by much, much slower than you would think if you saw what I’m doing for a living. After tonight, I intend on giving my resignation. It’s gotten too much of a burden to bear.

Every night, these animatronic...Things come creeping out of the dark. They make my job a hell of a lot more difficult, because not only do they love to shut down my cameras, but they try to make their way to my office as well. I’m not all too sure what happens when they get inside, but there have been close calls before.

I have a friend; a former security guard, who’s left me voicemails on the answering machine before he retired. He claims that they think I’m “out of costume” and will  try to shove me inside a sharp, uncomfortable metal endoskeleton, should they catch me. He’s been my guiding force for these past few nights, explaining to me what in the name of Christ is going on here, but I have my own theories about these things. This man’s story is where tonight begins.

I walked in through the front door, slid my punch card in, and waved a solemn goodbye to a janitor, who locked the place up on his way out. I never realized until later, that there were locks on both sides of all doors leading outside in the facility. I’m not entirely sure why they would think this keeps them in, since the manager was obviously aware of what these things were capable of. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put so many ads in the papers for this job. I saw at least fifteen different ads in seven different papers before I signed up for this.

I settled down in my chair. 11:50. Enough time to get the new info of the night. I pressed the red button on the answering machine.