Frank (Day 2)

At five o'clock, Art left his apartment and walked to his local diner. He ordered eggs over easy with sausage and hash browns. He ate quietly as he sipped coffee, looking out the window at the purple morning skies. He returned home at 6 to prepare for work.

He threw on the violet pants first, and looped his brown belt around the waist. The buckle, which was a golden emblazoned Freddy head, glimmered in the light. Art slipped his keyring into the pockets, and clipped an empty holster onto the belt. Management had been supplying tasers as of late, in the event that an employee should encounter somebody doing something they shouldn’t. It was highly unlikely, but Art and the other staff members appreciated the added security, and the chance to be a hero should the opportunity arrive.  As Art buttoned up his shirt, he slipped his fingers into his breast pocket vainly, and immediately withdrew them. The disappearing paper had inexplicably unsettled him.

 Art walked two blocks to the nearest bus stop, and arrived at Freddy’s at 6:45 in the morning. The morning skies had brightened considerably, giving way to blue. The light color made the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza building more vibrant and less oppressive than it should be. The building was long and rectangular, with few windows on the outside. The colors of the building  itself were dull; chalk white and a small strip of purple wrapping around the building, accompanied by neon red letters spelling out “Freddy Fazbear’s  Pizza”.

The restaurant  was located on a lot away from other buildings. Freddy’s had ample parking space, but only a dozen or so spaces were filled, even on the weekend. The incident with Freddy and the night guard had dealt a crucial blow to the company at a time when it was already under public scrutiny, from the disappearing children to the publicized bite.

Art hadn’t been hired at the time, but from what Ted and Jason had told him, it was a mess. The new Freddy’s AI had reacted poorly to the sight of a handicapped Jeremy, who was returning with his family to discuss compensation. He was driven into a manic state, which killed Jeremy and culminated in Freddy’s self-destruction.

As Art entered the restaurant from the east side, he noted that there was little evidence of Freddy or any of the other animatronics that the company had invested so much time and money in merchandising. Frank was the only animatronic allowed outside of the curtains now. The company did have plans for Freddy and friends, supposedly; they were just in the middle of one of their worst slumps since the 70’s.

Art turned in on the right to enter the break room, where lower-ranking employees often congregated in the morning. It was surprisingly adequate, boasting arcade machines, a fridge, and a toaster in addition to the expected furnishings. Ted was already there, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and talking to Jason.  He turned his head towards Art, and they stopped talking.

“Hey Art,” Ted called. “We gotta talk.”
“What for?”, Art asked.
“It’s about Frank,” Jason said. He stood up from his seat, and unwrapped a foil-covered stack of bread.  He slid two pieces into the toaster, and pushed down on the lever. “He’s acting weird.”

“And we’re on a skeleton crew,” Ted added. “Jason’s going home, so it’s just you, me, and Evan. Diane called in sick, and Jimmy doesn’t come in until 1.”

“What about Jim?”, Art asked.

“Jim’s out for the day, so I’ll be acting manager. He’s doing some big interview, corporate sent him. We’re gonna be spread out because of this, but we should do fine.”
Jason’s toast popped out of the toaster’s top.  “Get back to Frank,” he said.

“Right,” Ted nodded. “Frank’s been acting weird at night.  He’s been wandering around lately. We need someone watching him.”

“They all do that though,” Art said. “They always walk around at night, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but he was staring at a piece of paper,” Jason said, as he retrieved his toast. “And he didn’t want me to see, he blocked the cameras with his body.”

“What piece of paper?”, Art asked. He felt something tighten inside his chest.

“I didn’t see it too long, but it was creased. He hid it inside his suit.”

“You didn’t find it?”

“No,” Ted said. “We looked inside his bun, that’s it.”

“Why not?”

“Because we didn’t want to get too invasive,” Jason said. He slathered some butter onto his bread, and folded the toast onto itself, crunching it in the process. He bit off a part of it.

“There’s no off switch with him, this guy’s always on,” Ted added. “He’s one of the older models we have, so we don’t want to stress his AI too much.”

“How could we stress him?”, Art asked.

“It’s what happened to Freddy. The engineers think he went crazy trying to figure out who’s a killer and who’s not. We’re better off keeping things simple for him. Regular maintenance procedures, and nothing suspicious”

“So, don’t open him up unless you absolutely have to,” Jason said. “We just have to hold out until Jim gets some new characters in, wait for these PR messes to blow over, and then we can forget about the AI shit.”

Art felt the tightness in his chest intensify into a nauseous sensation in his stomach. “I think he took the picture I drew for the skit yesterday.”

“You sure about that, Art?”, Ted asked.

“I think so. It wasn’t in my pocket when I left the room, and he had gotten up close to me. I think he took it there.”

“Shit,” Jason muttered. He rubbed his face with his hands, letting the toast fall onto the counter.

“Why would he take the picture?”, Art asked.

“Maybe he’s looking for the kidnapper. I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up on that incident. Oh, and he’s doing another show today, it’ll be by the kitchen. Can you cover the food and drinks, Art?,” Ted asked.

“Sure, “ Art said.

“I also want you to watch him. We can rip him open later, let’s just get ready for today. “

“I’m going home,” Jason said. He tossed his toast in the trash, and went down the hallway that Art came from. “I’ll be back before the shift, but I need some sleep.”

“Seeya, Jason.”
“Come back at 10 or so,” Ted called.

“We’ve got forty minutes before we open,” Ted said as he looked at his watch. “I’ll help you get the hot dogs going.”

Art noticed that  the kitchen was surprisingly spacious. It’s single doorway betrayed an expansive area the size of the Party Room at least. Pots and pans dangled from the ceiling, and as Ted showed him how to work the stove, Art looked into cupboards and drawers for his cooking utensils. In spite of the dust and mysterious stains, the kitchen was surprisingly modern. For the next forty minutes, Art grilled hot dogs on a pan.

He would roll them in grease, heat, and  then slip the weiners into buns, before putting them onto a cart. While he did this, Art caught glimpses through the kitchen door’s window. Frank stood in place as if he was a statue, never making a move or a sound. It wasn’t until the clock hit 7 that he began moving, and speaking.

Frank was a bit lethargic. He was deliberate in his movements; not quite as animated as he was the other day. He moved much more like the former performers did. Slower, and more robotic. He mumbled quietly to himself, things that Art couldn’t hear. When he was asked about it, he said “I’m practicing my lines”, so Art decided to leave the subject there. With his cooking tasks complete, Art retired to the break room for a quick session of Dig Dug.

Art had reached the third stage when Ted popped in, and tapped him on the shoulder.
“I’m gonna head out there for one of the skits. Can you get the hot dogs?”
“Yeah, sure,” Art said. His character tunneled underneath a boulder, causing it to fall and crush an enemy below. Art retrieved his quarter from the exposed coin return, and left the pixelized man to die at the hands of the oncoming dragons.

Art had left the hot dogs in the kitchen, and as he pushed a sausage-laden  cart out of the kitchen doorway, he watched a man in a Freddy costume walk onto the Party Room floor. The suit had no visible joints, like Frank. It had no fancy mechanical bits. It was a simple costume, yet the kids believed it. Being an older model, this yellow Freddy suit was different enough to pass for another character.

“Hey kids, it’s me!”, Ted said. His voice was muffled by the fabric, but the confident tone could not be mistaken for any other employee. Ted’s arms were raised, and there was a gap of a couple seconds where he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s me, Teddy!” he yelled.

“Remember kids,” Frank said. “Don’t follow anybody away from the Party, even if they’re a trusted face of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.”

“You there!” Teddy barked. He pointed at a child. The boy was small, and looked about about eight or nine, bearing an emblazoned Freddy Fazbear head on his shirt. He took a few hesitant steps towards the golden Teddy, before stopping.
“Follow me,” Teddy said to a kid. He motioned with his hand,  waving the kid towards his direction. The children’s voices drowned out whatever he was trying to add on, in a chorus of “No” and “Don’t do it!” The kid moved back into the crowd, and was met with a round of applause from the children, as well as Teddy. Frank stared forward with that slow, indifferent expression that Art had still not yet accustomed to.

“Real friends would never lure you away from your pals,” Frank said. “Especially not Freddy Fazbear’s Friends! You boys and girls did very good. That means it’s time for a reward!”

Art  pushed the wurst wagon out onto the floor of the Party Room, and passed out hot dogs. They were accompanied by a few condiment bottles- ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise specifically. None of these were emptied by the time each child had a hot dog. And as expected, there was a surplus of hot dogs. Teddy wheeled the cart away, leaving Art alone in the room with Frank and about a dozen children.  Art watched Frank move about the room in a stiff manner, telling hot dog puns and patting kids on the back.
Frank did not approach Art for the rest of the shift.
Arthur went home and took a long nap. He had a dreamless sleep. But he did think a bit, before he went to bed. He poured himself some whiskey, and thought a bit. Reminiscing on things. Then he went to bed, his memories clouded with visions of years past.

“What’s your name, kid?” Frank asked.
“Arthur,” the boy said,“Arthur Aaron Schwartz.”
“Arthur, eh?” Frank asked. He bent down in a smooth manner with speed and grace, resting his gloved hand on his knee.
“Yeah, but my friends call me Art. Or Artie.”
“Okay, Art. What say we hang out for a bit?”, Frank said. He stood up. And he locked the door.

10:15 pm

“You got it?” Ted asked.
“Yeah,” Jason said. He tapped his fingers on the desk, impatiently. In his other hand was a purple toolbox. Frank was seated on a table, his body slightly reclined, almost relaxed.

“Alright, Frank. We’re gonna take a peek in your circuits now,” Ted said. The two of them had convinced Frank to come into the back for some weekly repairs. Frank hadn’t been active for too long, so he bought it. They could do anything to Frank, and he wouldn’t take issue.

The two men removed Frank’s bun, attached to the sausage with velcro straps.  There were arm holes in it, like a vest. Ted rested the bun next to Frank, while Jason ran his fingers down the wiener. There was a zipper just a few inches below where Frank’s “chin” would be if he had one. It was concealed by the fabric fairly well, using more velcro straps to secure a covering strip of fabric. Jason pulled the zipper, and opened Frank up.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. The smell was rancid. The stench of copper was overpowering.  To distract himself from the assault on his nostrils, Ted opened the toolbox and rooted around for a flashlight. He found it, and clicked it on to get a better look at the inside of Frank’s sausage, which had been still dark, even with the overhanging light bulb.

Thanks to the flashlight, Ted and Jason could see the metal pipes of Frank’s endoskeleton. Being an older bot, the endoskeleton was bulkier than the new animatronics were, using much more metal to reinforce the spine and other mechanical systems. Frank’s external fuzziness was deceiving; he was just as cold and mechanical on the inside as the rest of the bunch were.

There wasn’t too much of Frank on the inside. Just the endoskeleton. They bounced the flashlight off the suit, hoping for some clues. There were no black or red stains. There were no unidentifiable wires or mysterious splotches. Everything was where it should be. The only thing “wrong” with Frank was the crustiness of the inner suit, which was common among all of the animatronics from his era.

“Frank, we’re gonna clean up your insides a little. That okay?”, Ted asked.
“Sure!”, Frank said jovially. “Nobody likes being dirty,” he added.
“Amen, brother,” Jason said as he sprayed a sponge, and began wiping down the red suit. Some flakes of red cloth came off with it.

After a few minutes, they called it quits. Jason zipped up Frank’s suit and reattached the bun. Jason and Ted retired to the safe room, while Frank returned to the stage.

“You should keep watching him,” Ted said. “I know we didn’t find anything weird, but be careful.”
Jason nodded, sipping his cup of coffee. Pure black, just the way he liked it.  “Yeah, I’ll be careful.
“And if he comes down the hallway…”
“I’ll wear the head. Gotcha, thanks.”
“See you in the morning, then.” Ted said. He patted Jason on the shoulder, before walking down the hall, towards the exit. And into into the cool night air.

For the next hour and forty five minutes, Jason read his book, and as the clock struck 11:50, couldn’t stop himself from shivering and feeling his hands start to quiver.  Something wrong was going on here, and he didn’t know what. That’s what scared him the most. He looked at Frank for the last five minutes, daring him to make a move. The robot was still in his spot when the clock struck 12. Staring off into space on the tip of the proscenium, as if he was deep in thought.

Frank was still for a few seconds, and then he started moving. He tilted his endoskeleton head back, stretching the fabric a little. Something poked out from the inside of the suit’s head. Jason wasn’t sure what, he just knew it wasn’t the endoskeleton. Frank raised his right  hand, and began waving at the camera. He stared into the lens, making eye contact with Jason. Then he hopped off the stage.

Frank stumbled down towards Kid’s Cove. He stopped a little while on his journey, and stood straight before turning ninety degrees to his right. Frank started to  walk down the hallway towards Jason.

Jason’s hand flew down to the floor, to check that the Freddy helmet was still there. It was. The flashlight in his other hand, Jason scanned the hall, hoping to catch Frank in the light. He did. Frank was frozen, feet slightly apart and his hands casually at his side. When the darkness returned,  Frank was gone. Checking the cameras, Frank was walking back to Kid’s Cove.
Jason’s posture relaxed, but he still remained cautious. For the next few hours, Frank would wander around the pizzeria, but never came to a stopping point. Just walking around, and looking at posters, equipment, and other miscellania. At one point, he stopped by the Prize Counter, and stood in the booth.

The booth’s steps made him seem even taller. His eyes scanned the room from where employees often sat, and then he stepped down. It was 3 am.

Frank returned to the hallway at 4 am.  Scrambling, Jason managed to freeze him in time. Frank stood still. Then he moved.

Jason’s heart was pounding when he saw Frank break free from his statue-like pose, and started walking down the hallway again. Jason threw on the Freddy helmet, and flashed him frantically. Frank stopped when Jason put on the helmet for a split second, and looked at him. Then he continued forward anyways.

No visible exits. The vents had been sealed off. Jason didn’t think he could outrun Frank.  Jason knew he couldn’t. Frank was looming over Jason, standing at the desk. And then he spoke-
“Where is he?”, Frank asked.
“Who?”
“Artie,” Frank said calmly. “Arthur Aaron Schwartz.” He craned his endoskeleton head downwards, red folds being created by the movement of the fabric.
“I don’t know,” Jason said. He thought his next words very carefully. “He just works here.”
“Where does he live?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason said.
Frank moved his head back to normal position. Staring off into the distance, he said “You’re lying.”
He reached out, and grabbed Jason’s hand. Jason struggled. He kicked. He even cried a little. But it didn’t stop Frank from taking the man in purple to where he belonged.

The remains were found at 8 am.