I want to be sick. I want to look at Freddy's crew the same, but I can't. After reading these papers, I think I know where the other dead kids are.
Realization hits me hard in the gut: I almost met their same horrific fate. I was almost stuffed into a mascot just as they were.
Freddy's chilling words resurface in the back of my mind, "It's your turn to suffer as we had." "You can't save us.
" Chica too and her game involving how long it took for me to die in one of those costumes.
It's impossible to picture that those words were coming from not the robots, but the dead children themselves. They just can't be.
Glancing around the office, I don't notice anything else out of the ordinary. So my boss isn't the killer. But he knows.
He has to know what's going on here and so does that creepy broom guy. He tried to tell me there was something wrong with this restaurant.
He tried to save me from the truth and cover up all the bad.
But how can anyone do such a thing?
These kids are in this building somewhere, probably inside the animatronics standing on stage in front of a couple hundred kids every day after being mutilated and abused.
How could anyone let that go?! Like they never mattered and this is something we can just hide?
! The only thing I can take comfort in is the fact that the killer has faced justice somewhere whether through the death penalty or a life sentence in the slammer.
I outwardly growl and place the leftover newspapers back into their haphazardly stacked state as I found them, but I'm keeping the important ones.
Someone is trying to open the door!
Panicking and frazzled, I spin around a few times to find a hiding spot. The reckless motion knocks the papers all over the floor and underneath the desk.
I curse under my breath and mentally punish myself for being so careless. Now I'm really in trouble. A thin layer of sweat coats my skin and my eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.
But the door doesn't open, instead the hand that once rested on the handle slips away and I hear talking just outside the room. It sounds like my boss and who I imagine are my coworkers.
"And get that room patched up better. Anyone would know it's a false panel."
Believe me, I'm listening very carefully to what they're saying, but I'm also picking up the fallen papers faster than a dog chases a bird through the yard.
I'm about to get bit if I don't cover my tracks.
I can tell his voice lowers a few octaves because I can barely hear him anymore and what my ears manage to pick up is very menacing. "...by the stage and bathrooms...
after kids go home... don't get caught." That was the last thing I heard from him before everything went silent. All the papers were picked up and restacked in random order.
I just have to get out. I can see that he's still outside the door through the glass (thank heavens it's rippled or else I'd have been seen from the beginning), but he simply stands there.
Maybe looking for the stink bomb? Haha, or maybe he's looking for a way out this crappy career! No? Yeah...
Just then, the phone rings inside the office. It pierces through the silence, betraying my hiding spot. Any second, it seemed like he might rush in to answer it, but he didn't.
I could see his hands raise up in defeat through the door. "I'm not dealing with another phone call right now.
I'm so sick and tired of everyone's-" His voice gets quieter the further away he walks from where I am. I hear the other two people following in pursuit, exposing the exit for me.
My breath catches in my throat as I leave the musty, cavelike room. Again, the door softly clicks behind me once I close it. Only then do I sigh heavily.
I could interview the guy I met two days ago and yesterday, but I recall him saying "I won't be here." Somehow, I already know he's kept that promise and isn't here today.
He won't be coming back.
Tonight, I'm going to uncover everything alone.
A metal baseball bat I snagged from the garage sits comfortably in my hands. This was my dad's back when he used to play for school, but tonight, it's mine.
I'm surviving off three hours of sleep and cups of coffee. Many cups of coffee. My watch reads 10:12 pm. Two hours left before it's showtime.
I have two places I want to visit tonight: one being the secret room near the stage and bathrooms and the other being the stage itself.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I recall what happened last night in the restrooms, but I'd rather be over there than looking into the heads of the mascots.
Both jobs required an evenly balanced blend of courage and stupidity. In other words foolishness.
Clinging to the bat a little tighter, my feet march in the direction I can only assume the false panel is located.
I have to creep back into the hallways, but it's not as scary as seeing the animatronics on stage again. For a second, I swear I can smell their rotting bodies...
But then I realize that stink bomb is probably still in here. I should really toss it out.
My pace quickens when I see the crew sitting on stage, staring out into the party room I'm currently crossing. Of course, they're not looking at me, but my paranoia tells me otherwise.
At last, I reach the end of the room to find a blank wall. Regretfully, I place the bat down to stretch my hands across the wall.
I knock against it and feel for loose wallpaper, but instead find that my hands are now covered in a thin layer of dust as well as grease. Gross...
My hands almost retract from the abhorrent substances sticking to the pizzeria's structure, but stop when I find a seam to my right.
It's hardly existent as if there was a door here that was impossible to open. The physics to get this thing open are impossible since the wall and the panel are too close...
they don't want whatever is behind the wall to be seen again. Could this be where the bodies of more victims were stuffed?
With a deep in hale, I try to slip my fingers in between the crack and pull.
It feels like it might give way for a second, but when it doesn't, I know I'm going to have to make a piñata out of this camouflaged obstacle.
It's only for a moment that I stop to think about the destruction I'm about to inflict. But that was only a moment.