I had heard of Freddy’s. Everyone had. It was the talk of every town in America. By 1980 it was a household name. Every child wanted to go there for their birthday whether it was to see Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy, or to play some games and win new toys, or just because everyone else was doing it.
But I always had my doubts. I’m pretty sure every adult did. But almost every adult would want to please their child, right?
So, there I found myself, in the office of the manager of Fazbear’s diner himself. Mr. Durkins. What a total load of sunshine. Let’s just say luck was on my side when I got the job.
But it probably wasn’t even luck. It was just the simple fact that nobody wanted to work there. Not as an overnight security guard, anyway.
I wasn’t there for the money. I lost my little brother, Jackson at Freddy’s a year ago back in 1983. And I wanted to find out what happened.
They said they had no idea what happened to Jackson. He just disappeared.
But I made a promise that I would find out what happened to him.

I walked in and Rick, the janitor tossed me the keys and said, “It’s all yours.” He laughed and mocked me saying, “It was nice knowing you.”
I mocked his laugh and said “we’ll see about that.” I wasn’t in a joking mood. I was about to be in an office that was located in my least favorite place that always spooked me as a kid and not to mention was the same place where my brother had died.
I also had nothing but a taser, flashlight, and security cameras to keep me safe. But I promised myself I wouldn’t stop until I found who killed my brother. So if I died, best believe my spirit would haunt Jackson’s killer until he was driven insane.
I cracked my knuckles and sat down in the rotating office chair.
The office wasn’t big at all and I realized that it would be over if two animatronics blocked both doors that could shut but would also drain the electricity which was limited. Fazbear’s wanted to save energy. What cheapskates.
The job was so boring that I found myself asleep, regardless of the risks that it presented.

I shot awoke as the phone at the corner of my desk rang. I didn’t bother to even pick up the phone. Soon the ringing stopped and an obnoxious voice called out.
“HELLO? HELLO, HELLO?”
The voice continued on and on, giving me “helpful instructions to keep you safe during your overnight stay at Fazbear’s diner.” I stopped listening completely after he started his fourth sentence.
I was 19 years old, going on 20 in November. I know how to survive. I mean, how hard could it be? I survived desperate girls and annoying professors in college, didn’t I? Well, at least so far.
At last the phone guy (that’s what I called him) hung up, I let out a sigh of relief and began checking the cameras for the next hour.
The next two hours were spent doodling on sheets of notebook paper, making paper airplanes, and eating my “lunch” from Happy Burger that lay down the street. No animatronics there! Haha, right?

I managed to survive the first night and the only threat was unstoppable, endless boredom. I think maybe Fazbear’s isn’t as bad as people say it is. Except for what it did to Jackson.