One Night at Freddy's

There's Not Supposed to be Anyone Else Here

"S-so how long is your shift?" I asked nervously as we pulled up to the pizzeria.

"5 hours," came Mike's quick reply.

"Okay," I squeaked and looked up at the building. It looked like the type of restaurants that advertise great things, but, in reality, have a crap ton of cockroaches.

A young man hurried out of the small building, holding his hat as he ran to the last car in the parking lot- aside from ours. The man looked around the parking lot until he saw our car, and, as if the presence of Mike's car granted him permission to leave, the man jumped in his car and sped off.

"Who was that?" I asked, pointing out the window at where the car was.

"Come on, we can't be late," Mike said, already halfway out of the car.

"Oh, um, right," I said, scrambling out after him.

"What time is it?" Mike said, yanking open the door

I checked my phone. "11:58," I said.

"Come on, hurry!" Mike grabbed my arm and pulled me through the pizzeria until we entered an office.

The office was small. Two, ominous, dark doors sat open on the left and right, we entered from the right. A desk pretty much took up the majority of the room. Papers were scattered across the top, barely leaving room for a phone and a small fan. Posters of odd robotic animals littered the walls. Most posters consisted of a brown bear, a purple rabbit, a bright yellow duck, and a red fox dressed as a pirate. Each animal looked . . . odd, as if they have gone insane. There was a small pink cupcake with huge blue eyes, that would have been cute in any other setting, sat on the corner of the desk. A small tablet hung halfway off the desk.

Mike grabbed the tablet and sat in a ratty desk chair, and I sat on the floor.

"What time is it?" Mike asked again.

"12 sharp" I said, pulling out my bag and taking out my journal and a pen. As soon as I started to write, Mike made shush sound. "What?" I put my pen down.

"Too much noi-" Mike was cut off by a click and a different voice projected from the phone.

"Hello, hello?" the phone cracked, "Hey you're doing great! Most people don't last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. I'm not implying that they died. Th-th-that's not what I meant."

"Mike?" I asked, trying to stay calm, "Is there anything you, per say, forgot to mention to me?" I put my journal on the floor with the pen.

"Shh, you should listen to this," Mike put a finger to his lips.

"Mike, tell me," I looked at him, hearing the desperate note in my voice.

"Listen," was all Mike responded with.

"...If you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uhh, try playing dead! You know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think you're an empty costume instead."

"Mike!" I yelled.

"Shhhhhhh!" Mike scrambled out of his chair, muted the phone and lunged back for his tablet. He turned it on. "Damn it, Katrina! I told you to be quiet!" he muttered.

I blinked at him, "I- I'm sorry."

"Come here."

I approached his chair slowly, looking over his shoulder.

"Do you see that?" Mike pointed to a spot on the tablet next to the bear that was in the poster.

"There's nothing there," I said.

"Exactly. Which means one of the animatronics is out."

"Sooo...?" I asked, not understanding.

"Do you remember what the message on the phone said?"

"Yeah, who's 'they'?" I wondered aloud.

"'They' are the animatronics." He said, still pointing to the screen.

"You mean..." My eyes widened as I realized what the phone guy was going on about.

"These machines... they have a mind of their own, and they won't hesitate-" Mike cut himself off checking the tablet again.

"Mike . . . hesitate to do what?" I poked his shoulder.

Mike looked up at me, his eyes emotionless, "To kill you."

I dropped my finger, standing up straight. I couldn't process this. My limbs were limp weights attached to my torso. I tried to take a deep breath, only a small amount of air reaching my lungs.

Footsteps rang out through the door on the left. An odd clanging sound, not like the soles of shoes, but like metal colliding with tile. 'But,' I thought, 'there's not supposed to be anyone else here.'