Five Nights at Freddy's fan short stories

The Forgotten Toy

It was an ordinary Saturday morning when Sarah Parker decided to take her son, Tommy, to the park. The sun was warm, and the air carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers, making it the perfect day for a leisurely stroll. As they walked through their quiet suburban neighborhood, Tommy's small hand grasped his mother's tightly, his excitement bubbling over at the prospect of playing on the swings.

Their path took them past a faded, once-grand house that had seen better days. Its peeling paint and overgrown lawn hinted at years of neglect, and Sarah had never seen anyone come or go from it. Today, however, the driveway was lined with tables covered in old trinkets, worn-out books, and forgotten toys—a garage sale, the likes of which she hadn't seen in years. The items seemed to have a certain antiquated charm, like relics of a bygone era.

Tommy, always curious and easily distracted, tugged at his mother's hand, pulling her toward the display of toys piled haphazardly on one of the tables. He sifted through a mountain of faded stuffed animals and chipped action figures with the fervor only a six-year-old could muster. Sarah watched him with a fond smile, her attention drifting from his excited chatter to the assortment of items surrounding them.

It was then that Tommy found it.

Buried beneath a tangle of frayed blankets and forgotten dolls was a small, vintage-looking toy. It was a miniature version of Freddy Fazbear, the iconic animatronic bear from a long-defunct pizza chain. The toy had clearly seen better days—its once brown fur was matted and dusty, one of its glassy eyes was missing, leaving an eerie, empty socket, and its signature bow tie hung by a single thread. The bear's smile, once cheerful and welcoming, was chipped, giving it a grotesque, almost sinister appearance.

But something about the toy captivated Tommy. He held it up to his mother, his eyes wide with excitement. "Mommy, look! Can I have him? Please?"

Sarah hesitated. There was something about the toy that unsettled her, a vague sense of unease she couldn't quite place. The way its remaining eye seemed to stare right through her, the way its smile seemed frozen in a grimace rather than a grin. But Tommy's pleading gaze wore her down, as it always did.

"Alright," she said with a reluctant smile, "but only if it's cheap."

The elderly woman running the sale barely glanced at the toy when Sarah handed it to her. She was a frail figure, her face lined with the deep creases of age, her eyes cloudy with years of memories. She peered at the toy for a moment, as if trying to remember where it had come from.

"That one's been here for ages," she muttered, her voice cracked and dry like old parchment. "Never could get rid of it. Take it for a dollar."

Sarah handed over the money and thanked the woman, who nodded absently, her gaze already drifting elsewhere. As they walked away, Sarah glanced back at the house, noticing how its darkened windows seemed to watch them leave, like hollow eyes in a weathered face.

That evening, after a long day at the park, Sarah began the familiar bedtime routine with Tommy. She read him his favorite story, a tale of pirates and buried treasure, and then tucked him into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Tommy insisted on keeping the Freddy toy beside him, placing it on the nightstand where it could "watch over" him as he slept.

Sarah couldn't shake the lingering unease the toy had stirred in her, but she brushed it off as silly. It was just an old, worn-out toy—nothing more. She kissed Tommy on the forehead, wished him sweet dreams, and turned off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar as she always did.

Hours later, the house was silent, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. Sarah was in the living room, sipping a cup of herbal tea and reading a book, when she heard it—the faintest sound, like a distant melody, drifting through the quiet.