Priorities.
My mother always told me I had to get my priorities straight, less I fall into darkness and depravity.
I still to this day don't understand why she lied to me.
Because of my priorities like the need to pay my gas and electric, I took the cheapest job available while hauling my sorry ass to college during the day. That same job had me working the night shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, a dying dream of a restaurant franchise as a security guard.
When I first got the job, I thought the most action I'd get would be some punks trying to break in or counting the rats scuttering across the floor. I mean, sure I'd come during the night when everything was closed down but I'd never felt any sense of people actually eating at this place. If anything, I was a glorified babysitter to a group of robots that lost their day in the sun. Excuse me, I mean animatronics.
Now this is going to sound morbid but if I put a premium on to my life insurance and compared it to the net worth of the Fazbear Gang, I'd need to kill myself two hundred times to make even a drop in a bucket. And of course, it would be the animatronics that would give me trouble. I couldn't exactly take a chair and swing with all I was worth when they started going glitchy. They're old animatronics, something something cirvos acting up, spirits haunting the suits and all that yadda yadda.
Under the gag order placed on me by Fazbear Conglomerate, I am not allowed to talk about my on-the-sight experience and any information misheard at work.
Like, I dunno, the poor bastard who died on my fourth night there. Oh excuse me, I mean leaving work without permission and an illegal absence of leave. Or the smell of decaying flesh and rot that follows the animatronics everywhere. Or the hallucinations, ranging from audible screams, children's laughter to visible illusions distorting the posters into images of gore and twisted words.
Or even the Golden Freddy suit that haunts my dreams, speaking not-speaking YOU CANT until I wake and puke into a toilet every morning... I only wish why I knew why I was puking.
I mean, it's not like I've been traumatized or anything.
Thank god, I have drugs for that. Paid for by that wonderful gag order, I'll tell you.
Between you and me, the Fazbear Conglomerate is twenty shades of shady but even then they realized the need to keep their only surviving, I mean only official 'employee' on the public payroll including their tax papers happy. I guess their temporary firing of me was an oversight by some big wig not thinking it through.
Currently Fazbear Conglomerate has been renamed Fredbear Incorporated. Brilliant name change there. Nobody will notice a thing. I can only assume they successfully paid off whoever they needed to to make another come-back. You would think all the bad press and missing children would put a pin in all that shiftiness but I guess change a name, change the bots and lying your ass off can work like magic.
Of course, I can ruin that. Testimonials. Photos. Recorded messages. Body injuries like paw mark shaped bruises and stitches could make quite the horror story I think. And the kingpin, video footage of the going-ons of what was happening at the restaurant during my shifts. I think they knew that was a given. So they've flew me out to an all-expense paid vacation for two weeks, offered to pay the rest of my college tuition and promised me a job at their newest restaurant. And check this out, as a day manager.
And so here I am, riding business-class on my way to Puerto Rico for some R&R. I think I deserve this. Sure, I'm not raising hell on them yet but I do plan to once they show their hand. See, here's the thing about priorities. I know mine but do I honest to god know Fazbear Conglomerate? Do I trust their priorities?
Maybe I am an idiot, going along with this buyout and this 'trip' when I knew about their dirty secrets. But it's a lot of money and I am on a plane. They wouldn't dare take me out on a public flight.
Across the aisle, there's this man with a purple hat and a Freddy Fazbear button pinned to his shirt's pocket. Every time, I try to look in his face, I can't remember his any of his facial features. I can't tell if he's wearing glasses or if he's showing any sorts of emotion what so ever. He's talking into his phone but his voice is so muted and weird, that I can't make out anything he's saying. Then this guy, I'm going to call him Purple Guy, he's been looking at me. He chats up whoever is on the line with a wide and fake smile, turns to me with a shrug and goes back to chatting. Over and over. It's unnatural as if he's stuck in a loop.
And you know something, the business-class is kinda empty.
There's a group of office ladies talking on the third row. A pair of office drones typing on their laptops on the sixth. A woman sleeping while a boy plays on his handheld next to her. Probably her son. But you know besides them, it's empty.
You can't even hear the people from coach anymore.
My row is completely empty with all the leg room benefits and so Purple Guy's. I'm free to move and so I have, hauling my luggage out of the overhead compartment and taken new spots where I pleased. Give Purple Guy a few minutes, some loud words on his phones and he'll follow. Taking the nearest seat that he could without outright being suspicious. After changing so many times, it's beginning to feel like I'm following him around.
And now that I think about it, everyone else; the office ladies, the office guys and even the lady with her kid, they've taken steps to ignore me. The office ladies got louder and louder if I tried to approach them. The office guys put in headphones and started watching the in-flight movie. And even her kid had a toy version of Freddy sitting in his backpack in the seat next to him.
I've been buzzing for some service from the flight crew for at least thirty minutes. Nobody came. I glance up the row and the office ladies have moved, sitting close to the curtain leading to the pilot cabin. I don't even need to look down, I can hear the typing. The office drones have taken the rows close to coach. The kid, he's turning his game louder and humming some tune.
Purple Guy casually turns off his phone and slides on some black gloves. I watch him, his fingers slithering into the featureless black leather and how he grips and clutches, loosening the fabric. His hands twitching and spazzing in places as he pulls the gloves higher and higher.
I- I need some air.
I stand up, grabbing my gym bag full of clothing and toiletries and I honestly don't know what I'm saying. “It's a wonderful day to be going to Puerto Rico. I can't wait to see the sights and the sand and the water. I mean, I never thought I was worth this much since Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria decided to sponsor this trip there. Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria who I worked and working for again this coming spring.” I scratch at my head, noticing how they all chose to keep ignoring me. “My name is Mike and-”
Purple Guy stands up as well, nodding along with my words as he's fiddling with his gloves. “What great enthusiasm, isn't it everyone? Truly Mikey here did some great service for the good old Fredbear Incorporated as a trusted and valued employee of the Fazbear brand. You all here should think of acting the same as this great man. Devote yourself wholly to your respected positions and perhaps you'll never sent on your trip to Puerto Rico.”
Wait, what?
“I'm just kidding, Mikey.” Purple Guy smiles, causing me to take a step back. “All of these people are also heading to Puerto Rico but only one of them gets to come back.” He starts gesturing around. “Tom and Darrick over there were spreading lies online about poor management. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Sarah, Beth and Cheryl over there are sisters who deal in occult and mysticism. They thought there were spirits that needed to be freed.” He wheezed, shaking his head. “Big boy Jimmy and his mother Darlene was looking for his older brother. But you know how it is...”
I slowly began stepping out into the aisle, pushing my bag to the front as some sort of defense. “Everyone we can fight-”
“Mikey please, I wasn't done talking. You'll get your turn, I promise.” Purple Guy holds up a hand. “Look at these poor and miserable souls, so lost and on their way to their final home. But I'm a man of opportunity, always has been since Fredbear's Dinner and I've certainly made my way up in the world. Told them I had a job opening and if they showed me their Fredbear spirit, I'd let them join the crew. I always need new fresh faces.”
“Don't tell me you people actually believe-”
“It's the economy, Mikey. People always need work. Now then,” Purple Guy sits down, pressing a button on his arm rest and reclining the chair back. “It's evaluation time! Can anyone say, 'Freddy Fazbear'?”
Everyone else got up, even the lady who had been snoozing got onto her legs and turned to me. I bolt for coach, using my bag to knock the two drones out of the way as I run through the aisle. A hand snakes out for my foot and I fall, slamming my head onto the floor as a knife passes by my ear. I reel back my foot and smash it backwards, causing whoever to groan and let go and got back on my feet. I charge down the aisle, projectiles and objects pelting me as I sprint into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
The door starts thumping and thumping and thumping and thumping.
“Mike please, he's going to kill my son. You got let me in.”
The voices starts rolling in, blurring into madness. The doctor told me to count to five. One
“Mike please, we didn't know.”
Two.
“Let's work together, we can beat him Mike.”
Three.
“He did it, you know, to those kids. I don't want it to happen to me, come on.”
Four.
“He's been experimenting, he's making a whole line! I need this chance to tell the world.”
Five.
“C'mon Mike, we just need to fake kill you. Just come on out. I have a cousin who showed me this trick-”
Okay. One more time. One. Two. Three.
“I need this job. He knows where my family is, Mike!”
Four.
"..."
"...No!"
"I don't want to die!"
Five.
That's better. I can't hear anything anymore.
My hands is shaky as I dig through my pockets to pull out a bottle of prescribed pills, taking two and dry swallowing them down my throat. I got to give it five minutes. That's when I'll know that it's working. The doctor said I would start having episodes and I needed to crank down my paranoia. It was possible that I was just seeing and hearing shit so I need five minutes to make the call.
The door keeps making those noises and I pull out a cigarette from a pack inside of my jeans. I fumble with the lighter until I'm able to get a flame sputtering out and light it. A puff here and a puff there, my body spills out like mush as my head starts to thump and thump and thump and thump. Just like the bodies out there, a thump and thump and thump and, “Mike! Mi-” The smoke fills the little bathroom, burning my eyes as I ignore the Golden Freddy mask watching me on the sink.
I lean my head back, enjoying the nicotine tang at the back of my throat. The mask stares, eyes black and pupils the size of pin pricks and its mouth moving not-moving. The door quakes under sound of hands pounding and I'm looking down at the watch on my wrist. One minute to go.
This is always the worse part.
I turn to the toilet, retching as the room turns into flesh and rot and the shrieks and screams of everything everything everything everything. A unicorn with wings taps on my shoulder. “May I have one?” I lift up a pack of mutated flesh sticks as my eyes start to bleed open and the unicorn takes one with her mouth. She lights the wrong end but enjoys herself nevertheless, smacking her lips around the stick. “I prefer pipes myself. But tobacco is tobacco no matter how you smoke it.”
I look down at my watch as I hear the screaming from out there. The unicorn was gone. Then there is knocking, a jangle of keys and a “Mikey~” clawing through the door.
“You'll kill me a lot faster than they will, right?” I say to the mask. I don't know who I'm trying to convince. The mask stares at me, the unicorn is taking in a body shuddering dose of the cigarette as she tries to make herself comfortable, wings squishing against the four walls and then there was the me already dead and rotting in the corner. Sitting up, I drop my cig into the toilet and reach for the mask.
I'd like to say I don't remember what happened next.
I don't remember Purple Guy pushing his way and I don't remember him grabbing my collar and slamming my head into the sink over and over until I couldn't see anymore. I don't remember him throwing me out of the room and his foot stomping on my fingers. And I don't remember him reaching for my neck, the feel of my windpipe snap-
It is with a delayed surprise, I wake. Still alive with another pack of smokes in my pocket and my bag sitting next to me. I fish out my lighter, getting a cigarette ready as I take it all in. The ritual chamber as it were. I mean, it is a stone and circular room with a skylight showing a red moon peering down. Flags displaying weird symbols and imagery of a snake-like horse ensnaring ponies hangs from the walls as torches glow with purple eerie flames.
I sit in the center of a stair-like hill, runes were carved into the stone and next to me a purple winged unicorn is catatonic, her chained body jerking and twitching as rainbow light pours out of her horn and into the runes.
I try to take in a inhale of smoke but I cough and heave. Blood drips from the side of my face and I ignore it, looking down at my broken watch and resolving to give the drugs another five minutes. I dig into my pockets, staring at my medicine as I consider taking them all at once.
While all this important thinking was going on, a set of robbed horses below the stairs starts screaming, “Nightmare Moon! Nightmare Moon!” at me, at the moon and at each other like a pack of wild hyenas.
All around us, there was a weird ash, maybe mist sending shivers down my spine. “It's terrible, isn't it?” The unicorn taps at my hand and I wordlessly offer her the cigs. She takes another. “They got the flags wrong and let's not even talk about their rune work. I'm not sure if I should be offended or not.” She sneers, blowing out smoke in the shape of stars. “They didn't even offer a vessel. No mere mortal body can contain me but I would have liked the effort. Do I not even get a mere trinket to possess?”
I stick my cigarette in between my lips and try harder to smoke. The smoke is slowly but surely getting down my throat. The unicorn keeps on talking. “But look at all the sacrifices they got me.” She points at the five colorful horses on the lower stairs, all of them jerking like the purple unicorn as rainbow colors are draining into the stair-like hill. Two have wings, one has a horn and even one of them even has a Stetson hat on. The pinkest of them keeps on trying to stand up, desperately placing a hoof on the stair before keeling over. Over and Over.
Me and the unicorn watch silently, enjoying the show. Misery loves company, after all.
“It's as if they wanted to be caught.” She growls at the hooded horses. “They certainly didn't consult me with this blatant mockery of all I stand for. Perhaps I had my own plans? Which I did. But now I have to resort to working on my hooves to make for the gaps they've caused!”
The puff finally makes it to my lungs and I'm coughing up a storm. The unicorn shakes her head at me and pats me on the back. “What say you, Golden Abomination?” At those words, I drop my cigarette and cram two more pills down my throat. Forcing my throat to swallow, I notice the large collar attached to my neck. I tug at it and it breaks apart into more weird ash mist.
The hooded horses screams louder and the ones with horns began shooting at me. Reaching for my fallen cigarette, I quickly take another puff as their balls of light fly pass me. The unicorn cackles and gloats but I can hardly understand her rambling anymore.
“Something went wrong with the ritual! Send this thing back!”
I wake up to being tied to a chair. A single bulb swings around, dimly shining on me and Purple Guy.
“Where did you put it, Mikey?” A bat rests on my head, ruffling my black hair before poking me in the forehead. Fucking priorities. I wish I had them, I really did. Shoulda took the money and ran. “Where did you put all of it? You looked into the storage room, didn't you?” I don't know what he's talking about. Is he talking about my ready to go case of evidence against him and his shitty company? He's not getting that information from me.
“If you kill me, you won't get it. I want a phone call and a laptop. If you don't want any of your business to go public, you'll agree with my demands.” And I'm serious. I had a email filled with files and photos ready to go if I didn't constantly check in. They could break through my laptop, my desktop at home but they wouldn't be able to stop it from reaching the authorities.
“Mikey.” Purple Guy pulls the bat away, his hands covered in black gloves and now wearing a butcher's apron. “Are you really going to do this? To us? To the job? Big boss M knows you tampered with it. I don't even know how you're still walking. You don't even got that smell.” Purple Guy leans forward and tugs my head back. “Why don't you got that smell, Mikey?” He taps his bat into my chest. “What is that, Mikey?” He taps again. “You think you're too good for Fredbear Incorporated?”
“If you kill me, you won't get it.” I repeat, trying to think of what exactly he was talking about. Their cam system? The head of a spare Freddy Fredbear suit in the back I took? What? “I have an email with evidence about my time that has been likely sent between the hours you've held me hostage. If you don't want this to go any further, just let me go. Don't make this any harder than it has to be.”
“You're not being cute here, Mikey. But you've always been a real go-getter so I guess-” Purple Guy chuckles as he pulls away, his bat moving to press against my ear. “Big boss had some specific instruction about how to treat you but I am not one to ever, and I do mean ever, take orders from a brat. Let's work our way down the list of 'I'm sure you can walk that off' accidents.”
Purple Guy swings.
I wake up with a mouth full of blood, spilling out of my moaning mouth as I curl into a ball. The pain sweeps through my body as I heave pools of blood onto the rune floor. Another one of those goddamn collars were around my neck and I could hear the same horses fighting amongst themselves. I just need some fucking air. I claw at the collar, it wouldn't break.
“One should lay on their side if they desire not to choke on their own fluids.” The unicorn speaks, her cigarette wedged between her cocky lips. I grunt at her and turn over, limply dropping my head as I see the purple winged unicorn blink at me before going blank once again. Where were my pills?
Blood drips down my face, blinding me as I became aware of hooves racing towards me. What if I took too many pills and I'm just seeing things. I could still be on the plane, nodding off to the typing, talking, the playing and Purple Guy going on and on about- I wipe at my eyes, smearing the blood everywhere. A angry equine face peers down at me before its horn is bright and rips me apart.
The collar breaks.
I am in a gurney, blearily blinking up and unable to make out the faces of the people pushing me forward. They didn't bother trying me down. The straps are hanging free and my leg is sitting wrong, blood soaking through my jeans.
I think I might be going into shock.
The lights overhead dance and sing as we went down the long corridor. And that's when I hear them. The animatronics singing and singing and singing and singing.
I force myself to sit up before I was slammed down. I try to shake the gurney, ignoring the white-hot pain going up and down my leg. I just need to get off. I need some fucking air. I can't see- “I know that you are in a lot of pain, my little...” The world goes dark and the wheels pushing me forward stops. I feel the unicorn sit down on the gurney, pushing my aching legs apart to make room for herself. “But you're only hurting yourself.” I ignore her, still trying to shake the gurney over.
All I need is a phone or an exit or a light. A cigarette light.
“Do you desire the light that badly?” I hear her voice sigh before clicking her teeth and tongue in to such a disgusting beat. “Do you even know where you are?” It is a song I heard before in those hallucinations. Children sing it. Children... My mom she'd said I needed to get my priorities straight. Even over dumb things like choosing where to have my birthd-
“I need it.” The words run out of my mouth. I don't know why.
In the darkness, my bottle of pills is glowing in my pocket. The unicorn with a bright flash makes it appear in her hooves and she takes the top off. “Really?” She speaks, pouring the pills onto my face. I try to get one into my mouth. I couldn't. She laughs, shaking the gurney before sticking her head into mine. Her horn tapping against my forehead. "How short-sighted. If it's dark, they can't see you. If it's dark, they won't know you.”
“If you walked into that light, any light, you would have to accept this.” The hallway is bright once more, people pulling me along as the the lights watch and watch and watch and watch. “Accept her and all of her stupid rules. If a fool looks into the sun, he can only learn of madness. But if a good soul looks into the night, he only knows of dreams. And this is a dream, isn't it?”
I don't understand what she is getting at. But I don't want to die here -not like this- while the lights, her light, showing everything I didn't want to see. I'm not here. I wasn't here. I was going on a vacation. “It's a dream.”
“And if this is a dream, it must be a nightmare.”
“It's a nightmare.”
“And how does one defeat nightmares? Do they wait for the sun? Do they summon all their fake courage and face their deluded fears? Do they lie to themselves? Yes, they do. They do so to remain in light, to remain as they were. But how could one tame dreams? The very act is foolhardy for dreams would eat a pony whole should they be given the chance.”
“You don't.”
You know, I think I'm actually dying.
I'm splayed out in that place, that stair-like hill, a fresh cigarette in my hand and the world's going blurry. The collar is stuck to my neck and I'm living off fumes. The horses are surrounding me and they all have knives. What do they think they are tying to do? Just kill me already!
“Abomination!” They mutter, raising the sharp points with weird light or with their fore-hooves. I wonder if I lost enough blood that I won't even feel the blades cutting me apart.
Out of nowhere, armored ponies blast their way into the room and a ball of light descends from the skylight before transforming into a great horse with both horns and wings. The tip of her horn was alight as she addresses me, rage lacing her words. “Nightmare Moon...?”
“Mike Schmidt. Stupid Mike Schmidt.” I take another puff and pass out.
Author's Note
So I made another horror protagonist. Ta-Da? Forgive me! All my first person characters become horror protagonists! I'm sorry.
