.•°That's 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 sketchy°•. 𝐹𝓃𝒶𝐹 𝒮𝐵

:: 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘗𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 ::

- s p e c i a l  c h a p t e r -

A little child sat down the floor peacefully, their beautiful e/c eyes glued to their drawing as the old TV played, shuffling the little child's ear with music. Their mother walked in the living room, quite surprising the child.

"Dear, won't you go outside and explore the town for a while?"

The child turned their head left and right repeatedly, implying that they were saying no. Their mother did a small thin frown on her lips before sighing, settling down on the sofa as the child continued on what they were drawing.

"Mom, they had this project in school or something, they say that we should draw our family tree on a large piece of paper, with a tree on it."

The child spoke, not bothering to look at their mother, who was looking through the window. It took a while before their mother responded, only with a little hum.

"I kind of need help... You never really told me about our family."

The child finally looked at their mother, who was looking troubled. To her, her child's question was quite hard to answer, so she hesitated for a bit. Should I tell y/n..? Maybe they're too young to know..

The child, named y/n, put up their drawing, unintentionally showing their mother the drawing. "That looks great, y/n!" Their mother exclaimed, avoiding the earlier question. "T-thank you mommy." The child cracked a small, meaningful smile before shoving their drawing back to their hands, ready to go wherever. Y/n immediately backed up, as if getting ready to run real fast. "Be careful, dear!" Their mother shouted as they started the run.

Y/n ran toward the hallway, pulling a rope attached to a trapdoor and opening a small ladder, which led to the attic. The attic was where lots of old stuff was found, including their grandfather's wedding pictures, baby pictures, notebooks and... Old VHS tapes, which was why the attic took the child's attention. The little child loved reading and watching old stuff, taking inspiration by their grandfather, who was a detective once. 

Their grandfather fancied telling the little stories, that y/n somehow believed in their young age. The mother, although, warns the grandfather to be careful with his words, for the child was still very young. 

The little child had a strange personality, they had only a little amount of friends and didn't go outside the household often. They would rather sit back in the house and listen to their grandfather's stories or wander in the attic, watching old VHS tapes on the ancient TV. They liked to read the notebooks at the attic too, which they called ' A business man's notebooks ' since it had so much numbers and ' mechanical ' notes there. 

The little child noticed a maroon notebook, half burned. Despite the flying dust, they opened it, revealing sketches of animatronics and names of... Victims? It wasn't unusual for them to see such words, since they were quite interested in murder mysteries. Then a thick notebook flopped open, disturbed by the wind. The bookmarks, pictures and newspaper cuts that were stuffed inside the thick notebook flew away, plastering at the little child's face. 

Y/n groaned in frustration and took the pictures one by one, settling them on the thick notebook, where they came from. Though one picture caught the child's eyes. A family picture, to their surprise. It was kind of rare to see a family picture of people.. Strangers, to be exact.

They inspected the picture, it was a little burned, and it had old, purple scribbles strayed. The child always wondered why their grandfather adored purple, while their mother kind of... Disliked it. The child ignored their thoughts, looking closely at the unfamiliar faces of the picture.

There were three children, the oldest was beside his father, while the middle child was clinging onto her mother and the youngest one was rubbing his eyes, being carried by the mother. The old picture was grayscale, so y/n couldn't really see them clearly. The mother's face was burned away, leaving a crisp black material stuck onto the paper. While the father's face was covered with old, purple scribbles. The picture had little drips of blood, dried on the paper. 

A playful smile was plastered on the oldest son's face, while the youngest was giving a little thin frown. The middle child was smiling softly, which was normal. It was kind of quirky for y/n because they could already imagine the attitudes of the children on the old picture. Y/n pondered;

' ' Who are these people...? ' '

The child blinked twice before settling the ancient family picture back to the thick notebook, but then noticed a rusty and dusty VHS tape just behind the picture. They took it, almost squealing in excitement at what they discovered. They read the label first, which was pretty much erased due to old age. It said;

' ' 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚅𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘 ' '

Y/n immediately ran to the small, old TV that somehow still works in the attic and inserted the VHS tape on. The screen glitched a bit, making y/n flinch a little. Then it played smoothly, though the quality of the video was kind of awful considering it was old and probably from the 1980's.

Y/n buried themself on the soft, orange bean bag in front of the old TV within the distance, squinting their eyes, trying to get a good look as the tape played. It seemed that it was about being a nighttime security guard in the restaurant "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" . The child smiled at the fact they used a mini Freddy to demonstrate how to do stuff and the possible events that could happen.

Jazz music played as the tapes continued playing, the child's eyes glued to the old TV. The music wasn't heard outside the attic, because the volume was kind of low. The quick stops and black screens of the tape didn't disturb y/n, showing that they were kind of used to it. Then something happened.

"Section 4: I am here."

The calming jazz music stopped, quite surprising y/n. Shrieking, screaming in pain and pounding on a metal door was heard as the child looked around frantically. It was now dark around them, even though it was still early in the morning. A music box was playing, shuffling with the screams of pain. Heavy, troubled breathing was added to the sounds y/n was hearing. A familiar name was shouted twice before the tape had cut off. 

"Michael...?"