Dumb Bunny (NB reader x Glamrock Bonnie) #1

Betcha Wasn't Expecting That

The year was 1993, the worst year in all of Jester Lorren's short life.

Bright lights surrounded them and warm, sweaty bodies of adults crashing into their small form. The strong smell of cologne and booze permeated through the air, mingling with the loud music playing over the old speakers. Jester sat at one of the empty tables near the door, greeting the semi-fresh air every time the door dinged open. Sure, being a kid in a club got them strange looks from intoxicated adults and creeps, but no one dared talk to them. Jester came to the club so often that the mountain of a man that owned the club claimed them as his own to protect while their mother was out in the crowd, tripping over the uneven floorboards in her three-inch heels.

Only being a ripe eleven years old, parties and the stench of booze were the first things that Jester could remember. Almost every night, they were at the local club. Well, as local as it can be in this ghost town in the ever populated state of Utah.

Jester could see their mother from where they sat. Her dark hair that was previously in perfect curls was now a frizzled mess, sticking to the sweater on her shoulders and forehead. Her once pristine makeup was smudged from where she was making out with the man that wore a black button-down, although it was suspiciously unbuttoned. The man also didn't have any teeth. Not that Cassandra Lorren would care. She was barely ever sober enough to remember her own name, let alone a toothless man she made out with in the middle of a very crowded dance floor.

Jester couldn't stand to be in the club anymore, even with their phone to keep them company and occupied for hours on end. They looked over to the owner of the club and begged him to get their mother with pleading eyes. The burly man nodded back with a small, caring smile. No kid deserved to be stuck in this place while their parent was partying and trying to forget her own existence. He walked over to the dance floor and grabbed Cassandra Lorren, pulling her to the door and stopping next to Jester.

She tilted to the side, tipsy from all the alcohol previously ingested. Jester stood up quickly and caught her, cringing at her warm, sticky skin.

"Thank you, Richard," Cassandra slurred, using Jester's dead name. They hated, hated, hated. But what were they to do? Argue with a person who didn't even know who her own name was? No, it would be a waste of time.

(If I hear anyone in the comments saying that eleven year olds can't pick their gender yet and have to wait until they are older, Imma get real mad. Eleven was when I actually started my own gender crisis, and look at me now. Years later and still defining as the same thing my eleven year old self did. So, if you are gonna say anything about how Jester is "too young", just don't. Nobody wants to hear it.)

Jester walked outside to the bright yellow car that was parked in the far corner of the parking lot. The night was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of music and laughter from inside the club. Now, those hearing this story may be wondering why this eleven year old kid was letting their drunk mother drive in the middle of the night.

Well, you see, Jester has been known to break a few laws. But much like the club owner, officers tended to ignore them and just send them off with a warning. So far, Jester had accumulated more warnings than they could count (and Jester could count very high for an eleven year old).

Jester situated their mother in the passenger seat of the small yellow Camaro, making sure to buckle her in and hand her the bottle of water that was sitting on the floor. She didn't deserve this, but Jester had no choice but to care for her. What were they supposed to do?

Jester went over to the driver's side and started the car. Less than a quarter of a tank left. That wouldn't get them home. Jester cursed under their breath. They would have to stop for gas. They had reminded their mom when they left the house to get gas before going to the club, but she said that there was enough gas to last the night.

Jester reversed out of the parking space and headed down the empty streets towards their small home on the other side of the town of Hurricane.

"Don't worry, mama," they said softly. "I'll get us home."

Only a few minutes into the drive and their mother's snores, the engine in the car began to sputter and stall. Jester banged a hand on the steering wheel. They looked around to find any places they could pull over, eyes landing on an abandoned pizzeria parking lot. Maybe they could call the club owner for some help getting home.

After parking haphazardly in the empty parking lot, Jester made sure that their mother was still sleeping and that there was a visible note as to where they were. With that done, they got out of the car and approached the dilapidated restaurant. The door at the front was propped open with a simple toy. Creepy. Jester pulled the door open with a loud squeal of its hinges.

Trash littered the black and white linoleum tiles, as well as some oddly sticky substance that covered the walls, decorating the children's crayon drawings. Jester headed to the room that was marked STAFF ONLY because, if there wasn't a phone in there, there probably wasn't another phone in the whole establishment. Just as they thought, a shiny red phone sat on the dust covered desk. There were fingerprints in the thick dust, but that was all the clues that the place had been used in a while. A whirring fan swiveled, blowing the loose papers around on the table. Someone was here recently, maybe even just a night ago.

Something glinted in the flickering LED lights, drawing Jester's attention. A security badge reading "MIKE SCHMIDT" lay upon the table. Jester wondered who Mike was and why he would just leave his name badge on the desk. Jester slid the name badge into their jacket pocket and continued looking around. A clock on the desk read 11:59. Forgetting the badge, Jester went to the phone and started dialing the club's phone number.

"Hello?" a deep voice sounded from the other end of the phone.

"Oh my goodness," Jester sighed in relief. "Hi, Mr. Club Man. This is that little kid from the club that sits next to the door. You don't actually know my name. I also don't know your name but that's okay. My name is Jester but that is not the point. Point is, my mom and I are basically stuck because we don't have gas in the car."

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. "Where are you?"

"At some old restaurant," Jester answered. They looked at one of the posters that was hanging on the wall. "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place? Does that sound familiar?"

"Kid, you have to get out of there as soon as possible," the club guy said with a shaky voice.

"What? Why?" Jester couldn't imagine what would frighten such a large, muscular person. The shakiness in the club owner's voice only added to the child's terror.

"No time for details," the man said. "Just get out of there before twelve and wait outside in the car for me. I'll be right over."

As ironic as it was, the clock hit 12:00 as the man finished speaking.

"Yeah, dude?" Jester said. "Uh... what happens at twelve?"

"They... come alive," the man said. "Hurry, kid before–"

The phone cut out, buzzing with a dial tone. "Hey, hey! Before what? What happens?!" Jester yelled into the speaker. There was no response. But the feeling of dread that creeped over Jester's shoulders told Jester that they would figure out what happened at twelve very soon.