Don't Poop on Floor (Non-Canon Alt. Ending)
- This is a non-canon alternate ending to Don't Poop on Floor. I wrote it and disliked how it turned out, but posted it here anyway because of reasons.
- Chica and Bonnie are seated in the dining hall playing checkers against each other. I wave to them and make my way to the backstage, where Freddy is absently arranging the spare costume heads. The overpowering smell of bleach in the room does little to abate my ever-rising dread, but I drink some caffeine-free liquid courage and push the door open.
- Freddy turns to look at me and nods slowly, holding what appears to be a discolored version of his own head, faded from years of neglect. He tucks it back in a huge box and slides it under one of the shelves.
- "I can always tell when Foxy's been going behind my back," he says as I produce the newspaper clipping.
- "Don't take it out on him," I chide. "We all need to be on the same page here if you expect your legacy to survive, Freddy. Like it or not, I'm one of your crew now, and that means I need to know about the skeletons in the closet." I glance at the metal frame on the table and chuckle awkwardly. "No offense," I add, patting its leg.
- Freddy laughs in spite of himself. "Well, if Foxy told you everything, then you understand my position."
- "I understand that you're taking out your frustration on innocent lives, Freddy," I reply. "How many guards have you crammed inside one of these suits? Ten? Twenty? More?"
- The brown bear looks at me, appalled. "I -- what?"
- I jerk a thumb in the direction of the security room. "The guy on the phone. My predecessor -- I guess the guy who 'trained' me, if you can call it that. He told me about what you guys get up to back here."
- Freddy narrows his eyes. "Son, you don't have your facts straight. There's a lot that's gone on behind these walls you don't know about and I'm not proud of, but the one thing I've never done is put a man inside one of these costumes. And if you think about it, you'll reason out why I would want to prevent that from happening at all costs."
- It's my turn to look confused. "But -- but it all makes sense. If a security guard was... wouldn't you want to kill him?"
- Freddy looks at me with a bewildered expression. "Kill? No, Schmidt! We just try to scare them off! We'd put them on the table, scream for a few minutes, maybe rough them up a bit. No killing."
- I start to grip the table angrily. "That guy DIED! I LISTENED to it as it happened!" I shriek. Bonnie's footsteps come thumping up the hall behind me, Chica not far behind. "Are you alright, boys?" Chica asks nervously.
- Freddy looks at them pleadingly. "He thinks I killed Scottie," he says, despair in his voice. Bonnie looks at me even more bug-eyed than usual. "Mike! No, we'd never hurt anyone like that! We did that for -- to scare -- it's just --"
- My head's spinning as this revelation washes over me, filling me with both relief and anger -- relief at the thought that I was never in any danger at all, anger at the thought that every moment of dread during my participation in this stupid job was just a ruse.
- Chica shakes her head. "He's gonna be so mad," she says with a sigh. Reaching up to a nearby wall phone, Chica keys in a series of digits on the keypad. Placing the handset to the side of her head, she waits for it to ring a few times before handing it to me.
- Hand shaking, I grip the receiver.
- "Hello hello," a sleepy but very much alive voice says by way of greeting.
- I scream.
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