The Tell-Tale Suit

Have I become mad? In truth, I have no answer. If I were beset by madness, then it would have begun on that single day, many years ago.

I was a young and prideful then, as most are. Months had passed since my graduation from high school, and I had made no effort to further my education or seek employment. When my parents pestered me, I brushed them off. Why should I not? I was enjoying life free from the shackles of responsibility.

Shortly after came the time when those chains would bind me once more. My father had grown steadily angrier as the summer had passed. He believed me lazy and unmotivated. How could such a thing be possible? I was far more motivated than I had ever been; motivated to find new ways to enjoy life.

My father did not understand. He followed me around town for several days, his watchful gaze looming over me as I applied to various positions of employment. It was under those circumstances that I found myself hired by Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

My time spent there was filled with misery. The screams of children that constantly resounded in the building; the overbearing manager who was a bigger fan of the performers than any child ever was; the hateful employees, always gossiping and backstabbing; the harsh lights and sounds that made my mind grow dull.

I grew to resent my father in those days. That he would dare force upon me such tribulations filled me with such rage that I soon had to start taking medication, as I had begun to lash out at everyone and everything. Yet, the pills I took were only effective in hiding my anger, at pushing it down deep within me. There it was compacted and honed; fury sharpens fury.

I eventually requested a move to the night shift. Although not ideal, it seemed a paradise on Earth, my own personal Eden. At last, silence! I could work at my own pace, with only mindless automatons as my company. Even better, when I returned home there were no disapproving looks or snide remarks awaiting me.

That relative peace was not to be. Soon, I was made to continue my work into the day. The manager had seemed apologetic, but I knew it was a farce behind his own tired eyes. The overtime pay was not worth it at all, yet I could not decline in fear of my parents. And so, I was in Hell once more. Perhaps it was even worse than before, as I had had caught a glimpse of Heaven.

The new hours enfeebled me. I was tired from my previous work, and the children were more excitable than ever in the early morning hours. I grew irritable easily, snapping at anyone around me with the slightest provocation. The dosage of my medication was increased. My hatred grew ever more.

It eventually came to me that such an existence could not last. Something would break, and I could not foresee what. Unconsciously, I began to search for ways to unleash my anger. Be it methods or targets, I did not care which. Dark thoughts began to intrude into my head, sly whispers and evil encouragements.

The obvious recipient would have been my father. My resentment had been building over the months I worked at the restaurant, supplemented by disparaging comments. However, deep within my heart I still loved him. He could never be the one I unleashed my desires upon. Who, then, would become my victim?

It was a cold autumn morning when I finally broke. The day had been more hectic than usual. Parties were held simultaneously and I was being run ragged. When I at last found time for a break, I took it with no hesitation. I left out the back door and into an alleyway, looking forward to feeding the nicotine habit I had developed to deal with the stress of my everyday life.

Behind the building I found a child, crying. I was unaware of who he was or how he got there. For all I knew he had never tormented me in the pizzeria, never wronged me in any way. In the end, he was an outlet and nothing more.

The scene is etched in my mind. Dew clung to the metal nearby, a hairsbreadth from frost. The bricks of the building were already crumbling despite having been laid less than a year prior. The sun was low in the sky, barely peeking above the building around us. Noise trickled from the closed door behind me. It was there that the deed was done.

After I was finished, such euphoria that I had never felt before filled me. It was a warm glow that flooded into me, sunk into my very bones, and erased the chill in the air. Disposing of the corpse was a simple thing. I merely removed a bag from the dumpster beside me, opened it up, and stuffed him inside.

Getting through the day after that was easy. No amount of shrieks or vomit could remove the happiness I felt in my heart. Returning home and ignoring my parents, who did so in return, I went into my room and fell asleep with a smile on my face. Contentment filled my very soul.

I had a way out after that. A method I could fall back on when put under too much pressure.

The next child came soon after. Mere days had gone by and I was beginning to feel anxious. I lured them away with a suit and promises. This one, too, was easy. I wrapped my hands around her slender neck and squeezed. Her soft skin gave way to my fingers, and when I was done an ugly bruise, colored an angry shade of purple, created a pattern across her throat. This child, too, was thrown away like garbage.

For my third victim, I decided to get creative. I utilized all of my foresight, all of my caution, and bade them to follow me backstage. An unused and oft-ignored room was to be the destination. There, I had laid down a sheet of plastic. The child’s footsteps crinkled hesitantly as he entered the room. From behind, I struck him with a pipe.

Merciless I was as I beat him. His bones splintered under my assault, and when I was finished his face laid an unrecognizable mess, sunken in some places; swollen in others; discolored all around. I butchered him then, as skillfully as any slaughterhouse, and drained his blood. When his limbs grew stiff and pale, I wedged them within the beams and cross-sections of the costume of a discontinued character. Then, I rolled up the plastic with care, lest I spill his blood, and threw it away.

The fourth child I followed into the bathroom. It was empty except for him and I. The joy he felt at seeing a performer up close turned to terror as I forced him into a stall. My hands gripped him harshly by his hair while I forced him above the toilet. I slit his throat with a knife from the kitchen, and watched him twitch and listened to him gurgle. I took care to allow all of his blood to drain into the toilet. When his last wheeze escaped him and he stilled, I carefully stuffed him within the suit with me and flushed. I spent the rest of my shift cradling his corpse with my torso.

My final victim was another girl. This one was one I am not proud of. I had grown arrogant and reckless. An animatronic saw me, and after that I was in danger. They stalked me during the night shift, made me fear for my life. So, I requested a switch back to the day. The manager granted my wish, of course. Why would he not? I was a model employee.

I was lucky that the restaurant closed down soon after. An animatronic bit someone, although whom I do not care. In some way I thank them, for had it not happened I may have been caught. And so my time ended at Freddy Fazbear’s. My parents were satisfied, and allowed me a respite before making me seek employment once again. My next job was as a garbageman. Rampaging children no longer besieged me, and so my life was at peace.

Unfortunately, it did not last. Nightmares plagued me. Visions of the children who were used to relieve my stress filled my sleep, and as time progressed they spread like molasses into my waking hours as well.

The sounds of children drove me further into the grips of madness. Laughter, screaming, crying, all resounded within my head. Voices pitched too high followed me; questioned me; taunted me; insulted me. No action I could take would drive them away. I was thus haunted by these demons for many years. From the corner of my eye, I would see them. At the edges of my perception I would hear them.

At last, when I could take no more, I had an idea. Insanity begets insanity, and to a rational person my plan could only be called madness. I did not care, for I was no longer rational. I sought out Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, to end my torment. Some manner of surprised had filtered through the haze of derangement clouding my mind when I found it. The pizzeria had re-opened and then closed yet again in my years absence. This was tossed aside. The only thing that mattered to me was banishing the demons torturing me.

Unknown to me, the children truly were demons. They had possessed the animatronics, and when I had dismantled their iron prisons they ambushed me. I was driven into a corner, and in my lunacy sought refuge in something comfortable and familiar.

The springsuit was my downfall. Locks broke, worn away by rain and time. I became trapped in the same hellish existence that I had doomed the children to. I lay unmoving in complete isolation. For any other man the all-encompassing darkness and deafening silence would have driven them mad. I, who was already mad, became dangerously sane. There was no sanctuary to be found within my mind.

Or perhaps I was pushed further into mental instability; so far that I can no longer realize that I am insane. Only one thing is certain within my mind, a crystal within the fog of delusion.

I am in Hell.