Frank (Day 1)

It was 12:45 pm on June 30th, 1987, and two security guards were watching an animatronic hot dog talk to children about stranger danger. They sat behind the counter, sipping soda and keeping a close eye on the performance.  This was Arthur’s first Tuesday on the job, and one of many to Theodore.

“I don’t like this, Ted. It feels wrong.”
“It’s an important lesson, Art. Might as well teach it now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Arthur said. “I don’t know why we need to teach it with that thing” he said, pointing at Frank.
“Frank’s doing a good job, and the kids like him. It’s better him than Freddy or that Mangled one, anyways.”
“But why a hot dog?”
“Management found this guy in storage, and needed the PR.”
“So they used him for this?”
“Yeah, there’s no stigma to this guy. It’s better to be forgotten than to be feared, I guess.”
““When was he used?”
“They were trying to branch out to other food. It fizzled out. How old are you, Art?”
Art paused.  “Nineteen…”, he said.
“He’d be your time. He was the late 70’s, around Star Wars’ time. Did you go  here back then?”
“Yeah.”
“You probably just forgot him. So did everyone else. Just enjoy the show, watch the kids, and be glad we aren’t on nightwatch.”, Ted said as he drank his Coke. “They also want us to participate a little.”
“What? Why?”
“Look, don’t worry about it. You won’t have to say that much if you do, and it gets put on your paychecks.”
“I’m not good at acting.”
“I’ll help you out, don’t worry about it.”
Frank was in the middle of a speech.
“Alright, boys and girls,  what do we say when a stranger asks if we want something to eat?” Frank asked to the crowd. He had a thick Brooklyn accent, out of place when compared with the rest of the robots.

“THAT’S A NO GO!” the children yelled.

Art had to admit, Frank looked better than the other relics. Management had obviously done some renovation on him. His robotic parts were most covered in felt, with no visible joints. Black limbs connected the bun to white, five-fingered gloves and big red clown shoes, with yellow mustard stripes. Frank’s face left much to be desired.

Frank’s jaw was like a ventriloquist’s dummy’s, going up and down with rigid, jerky movements.  The upper jaw was attached to the suit, while the lower jaw was hinged, like a dummy. Above the mouth were bright, blue LED eyes, set deep into the sausage’s sockets. From this distance, they were almost beady. There was something else that felt strange about Frank’s face, but Art couldn’t quite figure it out.

Still, Frank was better maintained than the other bots from his era. Compared to Chica or Bonnie, he was quite well off for having arms and a face.

“Good work everyone, good work!” Frank said. He clapped. “Hot dogs for everyone!”, he exclaimed. Ted got out of his seat, and and went down the hallway on his west. While Frank was high fiving the children, Ted  came back pushing a wheeled cart of hot dogs. They were stacked in two big pyramids on each side, cushioned by paper plates, Ted and Frank started to hand out the hot dogs to the crowd of children, who numbered in at least two dozen. Art reluctantly got up from his seat, and began to help. Now that he was closer, the hot dogs were completely plain, with no condiments. But the children seemed to be enjoying it regardless. Seeing everyone catered, Ted and Art moved to return to their seats, but were stopped by Frank, holding two plates in his hands.

“Hot dogs for you guys?”
“Yeah, thanks” Ted said. He took a plate from Frank’s hand.
“Don’t you want one, pal?” Frank asked. He turned towards Art, and waited for a reply that would never come.
The first thing Art noticed was that Frank had no eyelids. And as Frank turned, there was a slant. A noticeable slope underneath the fabric between Frank’s eyes, and Frank’s upper jaw. It might have been a wrinkle, as Frank’s fabric around the “head” folded and stretched a little when he turned, but it still caught Art off guard.
“Yeah, he wants one” Ted said. “I’ll take it.”
“You’re a good friend,” Frank said. “Helping your pals out so often.”
“Yeah, you too”, Ted said as he walked back to the counter. Frank went back to his skits and lecturing.

Now seated, Ted leaned over to Art’s ear.
“Just a tip, if they ever offer food, take it”, Ted whispered.
“Why?”, Art asked, as he took a bite of
“Everyone does it, just in case. These things do have grudges, Art, and you don’t want to be on their shitlist.”
“Gotcha,” Art muttered.
“You should apologize to him”
“Really?”
“You never know,” Ted said. “A little camaraderie can go a long way.”

“Alright! We need a volunteer for this next example,” Frank announced.
Ted elbowed Art’s side.
“Anybody?” Frank asked.
Ted elbowed it again.
“I’m game.” Art said as he sheepishly raised his hand.
“Break a leg”, Ted said. He slapped Art on the back, as he walked out of the book.


“What’s your name, sport?”
“Arthur”.

“Alright, boys and girls, say hi to Arthur!”

“Hi, Arthur!”, the crowd shouted.

“Arthur’s going to help us demonstrate proper ways to deal with a bad stranger,” Frank said.
“Arthur, you’ve just been touched. What do you do?”, Frank asked.
“TELL A TRUSTWORTHY ADULT!” the kids yelled.
“Right,” Frank said. “Do just that, Arthur.”
Art  walked to the service side of the counter, thinking of what to say. A moment’s pause as the words came to mind, and then- “I’ve..” He struggled to think of the words. “I’ve been touched, Ted.”

Ted swallowed the last part of  his hot dog.  He gulped, and hesitated before he said “Okay, Arthur. I’m going to go call the cops,” he said, as he got up and went down the same hall he took the hot dogs from.

“Right, kids. That’s the first mistake. When you or someone you know have been touched, always stay with the adult you contacted for support,” Frank said. “Repeat after me. Step one. STAY!”

“STEP ONE. STAY!” the children repeated.

“Next step,” Frank said, “is to identify the perp.”
Ted came back from the hallway, with crayons and a piece of paper.
“Hi, I’m Sergeant Ted. Can you draw your perpetrator?”
Art took a crayon, and bent over onto the counter. He closed his eyes for a second, before he began drawing a face. He quickly added smaller arms and legs onto the crude, scribbled body, before handing it to Ted.
Ted showed it to Frank for a few seconds, saying “Here it is, Chief.”  He then  folded the paper up and passed it to Art. “Throw it away”, he said. Art slid it into his chest pocket for now.

“ Okay, gang. He’s purple, with a big nose and a cleft chin,” Ted declared. “That narrows it down. I’ll go send a search out,” he said, as he walked back down the hallway.

“So that’s step two,” Frank said. “Repeat- STEP TWO. IDENTIFY!”
“STEP TWO. IDENTIFY!” the chorus said.

“Now we need to clarify what the perpetrator did. I’m the Chief, and I’m going to guide Aaron through the steps of showing where he was touched,” Frank said.

“I’m Arthur, Chief,” Art said.

“Aw geez, I’m so sorry,” Frank said in a melodramatic voice. It got a few laughs. “I forgot,” he said, clasping his face in his hands. This got more laughter.

“Let’s continue. We  would normally use a Freddy doll…”,Frank trailed off. “But bears aren’t humans. So Arthur’s going to show us on himself.”

Frank turned towards Art. Art could see the red fabric stretching over the metal endoskeleton, stretching almost dangerously tight in some areas, like around the mouth. The teeth were visible in the restaurant’s lighting. The blue eyes seemed to stare through Arthur.

“Where did he touch you, Arthur?”
Art struggled to think of an answer. A few seconds passed before he could think of one.
“My.. shoulders.”
Frank lumbered over to stand behind Art. Even behind him, Art could feel the robot’s presence. He was at least two heads taller, tall enough to rub his shoulders. The robot’s fingers were uncomfortably rough and cumbersome on Art’s shoulders.

“Was it like this?”, Frank asked.
“Yes, yes it was,” Art said.

“Did he touch your chest like this?”, Frank said as he stepped aside, and reached out to touch Art’s chest. The hand was once more harsh, and as the hand moved up to the breast, Art jolted back towards the wall.

“No,” Art said. “No, Frank, it was just the shoulders.”

Frank turned towards the children, and said, “Remember, boys and girls, clarification and awareness  is the third and final step on the road to help. Now, what’s the third step again? He twisted himself again, and cupped a hand at the side of where his eyes were.

“STEP THREE. CLARIFICATION AND AWARENESS!”, the children shouted.

Art checked his watch, and saw that it was 1:01 pm. His shift ended one minute ago. He grabbed his untouched hot dog off the prize counter, and walked down the hall.

“Give a big hand to Arthur, boys and girls!”, Frank’s voice echoed. It was followed by copious amounts of clapping.
Ted was walking up the hall towards Frank, a stubbed cigarette in between his fingers and a Snickers wrapper in the other hand. He changed direction, and walked to the exit with him.

“How’d it go?”, he asked as he dropped the trash into a bin by the doorway.
“Could’ve been better,” Art said. “Room for improvement.”
“Right. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Ted walked back towards the Prize Counter, as Art lingered by the trash bin. He slid his fingers into his breast pocket. He dug around.  He checked his pants pockets, and the back pockets. He checked the pocket again, as if vainly hoping for the paper to appear, but it didn’t. Reluctantly, he exited the pizzeria and headed home.

Art took a bus to his apartment complex. He climbed the stairs, and in doing so realized how tired he felt. He turned his key in the lock to let himself into his small, dimly lit home. He looked out his window into the street and watched people walk by for a few minutes, before he closed the blinds and crawled into bed. He set his clock for 5 am, and wrapped himself in the covers. Soon, he fell asleep.

Art woke up earlier than expected at 6 pm, and laid in bed for a few minutes, before he decided to get up. He microwaved and quietly ate a spaghetti dinner, washing it down with water. He watched television for about twenty minutes, and then returned  to bed. After a few minutes, he drifted off once more.

 Art dreamed while he slept. He was back at the restaurant’s exit. Instead of leaving however, he walked down the hallway.  Freddy Fazbear stood on the floor where Frank had been, speaking to the children during that day. He was normal, and not damaged like the bear that was in the parts and storage room. The ravages of time and abandonment left no mark on Freddy.  As Art got closer, he could hear a repetition of deep, muffled sounds.


On Art’s right were the steps to the prize counter. Frank and what looked like a man were standing in the booth, Frank’s body turned towards Freddy and the crowd of children around him. The man was naked, and his skin a bright yellow color. Art could hear muffled sounds coming from the man, though he couldn’t tell if they were laughter or a series of pained whimpers.  A yellow string-like substance oozed from the man’s head and part of his upper body, cascading down him in slick droves.  His head was wrapped in a mass composed of the yellow string, writhing and shaking as the things peeled off and dripped down him. He was hunched over by the weight, and clutching the sides of the mass with his hands.

Frank paid him no heed, and only moved when Art was in his line of sight.

“Here ya go, kid,” Frank said. He reached out an arm with surprising speed, grabbing Art by the shoulder. He was much taller, with a couple feet on Art’s height.
“It’s on me,” Frank said, as he held a hot dog in front of Art.

Art woke in a sweat, and looked at the time on his clock. It was twelve in the morning. He walked to his bathroom, and filled a cup with water. He drank as he opened the blinds, and looked outside. He sat down, and didn’t go back to bed. Instead, he watched television.


Jason sat in the office, drinking a mixture of orange soda and Coca Cola. It was 12:10 in the morning, and Frank was walking to the stage, which was one of his usual hangouts.  All the other animatronics were shut down or shipped off to god knows where, while Frank had given Jason no trouble in his time as a security guard. He had never even gone near the hallway, or the vents. Jason checked his cameras again out of idle boredom, and saw that Frank was standing on the proscenium, as expected.

But rather than stare off into space, as Frank had been doing for the past six days, he was digging around in himself. His right hand’s fingers peeled the left side of the bun away  from the wiener with a loud ripping noise, as the velcro pads separated.  Frank’s fingers skirted the bun’s inside, until they found a pocket and withdrew what looked like a folded piece of paper.

Delicately, Frank unfolded the piece of paper and held it in front of his face. The camera’s placement and the bright, vibrant light of Frank’s eyes allowed Jason to see part of the paper, which looked like a drawing of sorts.  Jason activated his camera’s flashlight to light up the paper, and for a brief instance he could see what looked like a big, misshapen circle.

As if on cue, Frank’s hands closed in on the paper, and crumpled it up into a ball. He walked down the steps, and began walking away from the stage. Beginning to panic, Jason tracked his progress, which continued until he reached Kid’s Cove. Frank turned towards the corner Foxy once resided in, and walked to it, with his back to the camera. Jason could hear crinkling noises as Frank unfolded the paper, and continued staring at it. His size blocked any hope of seeing the paper from over his shoulders.

Frank remained in the corner for the majority of the night’s remainder, with Jason checking in occasionally, unnerved by this change in the animatronic’s behavior.  At around four thirty, he crumpled up the paper again, and tore the velcro once more. He turned, and began walking away from the Cove. The paper was nowhere in sight. Frank stationed himself near the Prize Counter, where he had given his lecture in the daytime, and remained completely still for the rest of the shift.