Five Nights At Freddy's

Chapter Seventeen: The Fifth Night

  The absence of the purple car in the parking lot sent a hollow sadness through Mike's chest.  Iris stood tall against the door and as stoic as a captain who doomed his entire battalion to death could.  Mike exited the car, slamming the door shut behind him loudly.  Iris's eyes narrowed as he observed his demeanor, he seemed somewhat disappointed. 
  "I'll let you out at six," he greeted, opening the door.  Mike trooped onward.  "Mike," Iris continued, causing Mike to look over his shoulder, "I do hope you haven't... made any assumptions regarding the rather heated conversation Violet and I had today at the hospital." 
  "No sir," Mike lied, trying to extinguish the burning anger in his chest.  He was fully convinced he was looking at the man who got away with murder all those years ago, leaving Fitzgerald to rot in a cell for something he didn't do.  "None whatsoever."  Iris gave a curt nod, snapping the door shut behind him and locking it.

  The office felt as though it knew Violet Jackson wouldn't return to it. It was cold and empty, the walls somehow more barren and the childish drawings lining the walls less colorful. Mike looked at the phone, then the clock, then the phone again. The previous night, being a recording of the death of Thomas Glenn, should by all means be the last possible recording. Perhaps tonight would be the phone call to reveal who had been reaching out for the past week. A list of emergency contacts, including Officer Jesse's, was pasted to the back wall behind his monitor. Mike picked up the receiver, dialing the number. It rang a few times before Jesse answered.
  "Police Chief Jesse speaking."
  "Officer, this is Mike Schmidt, the night guard at Freddy's."
  "What's wrong?" Jesse snapped, forgoing any further conversation. This would have startled Mike a week ago, but now, it barely phased him. He continued.
  "Can you trace a phone call?"
  "What?"
  "Can you trace a phone call," Mike repeated, "it may not happen, the last one seemed pretty... final... but just in case..."
  "Yeah," Jesse agreed, confusion lining his voice, "yes I can... this number?"
  "Yes," Mike agreed. "They should call in the next five minutes." With that, Mike snapped the receiver shut and waited. The clock chimed. The phone rang. Mike swallowed, a lump in his throat. He picked up the receiver delicately, holding it to his ear.
  "Hello?" Mutilated garble responded, deep and low. Mike winced, resisting the urge to slam the phone down. Metallic whirring riddled with robotic screeching crackled and popped through the earpiece. Mike strained to make sense of it, his heart racing. "Who are you?" Mike asked.
  It's me... Then, the line went dead. Mike jumped as the phone rang again.
  "Hello?"
  "Mike, I don't know how to explain this," Jesse muttered, "but that call came from inside your location." An ice cold shock impaled Mike, his eyes widening.
  "What?"
  "Whoever called just now is inside the restaurant," Jesse replied, sounding concerned, "are you alright?"
  "Probably not, thank you." With that, Mike hung up, his mouth hanging stupidly. He flipped through the cameras, the robotic eyes of the animatronics on him as though they could see him through the monitor. Mike shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. "Thomas Glenn if you can hear me, help me please... for Violet."

  An hour passed before all three of the animatronics had left their places on stage, their eyes wide and mouths open from the shadows on Mike's screen. Faint music played from some distant part of the restaurant, sending chills down Mike's spine as he shut the doors, the feeling of being watched growing on him. A scraping came at the door, not the knocking he'd grown used to. Mike turned on the light, Foxy's face close to the window. Mike swallowed, his eyes wide as the animatronic placed a metal hand on the glass. He looked at it in morbid fascination, placing his own fleshy hand on the other side. Foxy opened his mouth, causing it to hang open.
  "Yar-har-har-har-r-r..." he stuttered, "where-r-r-r be the lass, Matey...?"
  "What?"
  "M-matey," Foxy continued, balling his metal fist. He punched the glass weakly, "M...m... Mike." Mike's mouth opened in shock as the animatronic's yellow eye rolled toward him. "Mike," Foxy repeated, "where-r-r is sh-she M-Mike?"
  "Violet?" Mike asked. Foxy stood steadfast, his hand still pressed on the window.
  "She's n-n-next... M-M-M..." Foxy tried, but suddenly his eyes began glowing. He slammed his hand and hook against the glass with a screech, dust shaking free from the slit where the window was wedged in the wall. Mike jumped, releasing his hand from the light, the hallway going dark causing Foxy to vanish in the shadows. Sparks flew as his metal hook slashed at the door, illuminating the robotic fox for a few brief seconds in his tantrum. Mike swallowed, taking a step back from the door in case its warranty had worn dry. His back collided with something soft and firm, a putrid smell wafting around the room. Mike swallowed, fear clutching his chest tightly as he looked up into the shining blue eyes of Freddy Fazbear. The Toreador March began chiming from somewhere in his chest cavity, as he clutched Mike by the shoulders, his endoskeleton pressing sharp beneath the layer of old fur. Mike jammed his eyes shut as the bear picked him up and screeched, his pungent breath wafting into Mike's nostrils. Mike braced himself for impact, wondering briefly what death would feel like. He imagined Iris finding him in the morning, bloodied and pulverized in an animatronic suit, wires and metal bars piercing his rotting flesh. He wondered what would happen to Jeremy and Violet... he wondered if his notebook would be found by the police and perhaps thought integral to bringing Iris to justice for what he'd done. Would someone continue investigating after him? Would he be the new Thomas Glenn someone would fight for? Suddenly, however, and quite suddenly at that, the animatronic froze, his grasp loosening as he let Mike drop to the floor. Mike stumbled, gripping the back of his swivel seat for support. He was so frightened, he hadn't noticed the phone ringing, nor the bear's elbow knock the phone free of it's receptor. A small voice was coming from the other line, one frightened and fragile. He furrowed his brow, watching the frozen bear curiously as he lifted the receiver.
  "Hello?"
  "Mike," Violet greeted breathlessly, "it's Violet, Jesse just called me, I wanted to make sure you were alright." Mike winced, looking at the animatronic before him.
  "Admittedly, I am in a bit of a tight spot but I think I'm okay."
  "What's going on? I'm on my way." With that, Freddy walked backward slowly, his eyes watching Mike with fire. Mike swallowed, closing the metal door behind him.
  "I don't think that's necessary Violet," Mike tried, "it's almost morning anyway. I don't want you to trouble yourself-!"
  "If you think there's any issue at all, I'm begging you to let me come over and help," she pleaded, "I can fix the animatronics, they won't be a problem anymore."
  "I would, honestly, but Iris locked me in and you won't be able to get near them with him around." Violet quieted.
  "You're right," she said at last. "I won't be able to fix the animatronics with him around." Mike sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
  "I think I'm close to solving this thing," Mike said, "I'm convinced I know who did it."
  "That's wonderful Mike," Violet replied, "I look forward to reading your paper." They sat in quiet silence. "... so you'll be returning to New York soon then?" Mike frowned.
  "Probably. I'm sorry."
  "No," Violet forced a laugh, "no, I'm very happy for you, it's wonderful that... that you'll be able to move on from this shit show."
  "Where will you go?"
  "No clue... somewhere... else?" Violet chuckled. "I'm leaving next week I think, early Monday."
  "I'll have to tell you goodbye before then," Mike tried. Violet swallowed.
  "Actually... Mike... I don't know if I can..."
  "Oh."
  "It's funny really," she continued, "I used to be so sad I never got to tell Thomas goodbye, now that I have the opportunity to... I don't think I can." Mike exhaled through his nose.
  "I understand."
  "I'm sorry."
  "No!" He cried, "no, no, it's really okay. Just know that you were instrumental in helping me with my paper, really."
  "Thank you," she managed, the blush in her cheeks almost audible through the phone. Mike smiled as the clock struck six. He heard the door unlock up front.
  "That'll be Iris... I should go."
"Sure, of course," Violet agreed solemnly. After a sharp intake, she mustered, "goodbye Mike." The line went dead before Mike could reply.

  Iris was more disheveled than usual, his shirt grimy and untucked, his hair askew. Mike furrowed his brow as he stumbled in, staring at the stage dismally.
  "Hey Mike," Iris slurred, "good to see you."
  "Sir? Is everything-?"
  "I uh... I filed for bankruptcy last night," Iris grinned, "the Toreors nearly lost their only living grandchild to me... they're suing for every penny they didn't get in eighty seven. I'm a dead man."
  "I'm... sorry sir," Mike lied. "What will happen to...?"
  "We're closing," Iris agreed, looking around the restaurant grimly. A thin layer of sweat sat glistening on his skin.   "Sometime in the coming weeks, I assume. As soon as my lawyer gets back from vacation..." he swirled his finger in the air, grief stricken. Iris cleared his throat, gripping the back of a nearby chair. "Besides... with Charlie out of commission that leaves you and me as the only employees left."
  "What about-?"
  "Jose quit yesterday," Iris choked, "can't say I'm surprised. When Charlie got hurt all that pent up resentment just... I can't run a business like that, knowing my crew despises me." He smacked Mike on the shoulder. "At least I have my night guard." Mike painted a thin smile, refusing to make eye contact with Iris by instead looking at the box near the prize counter where Violet had noted the existence of the puppet. For a moment, Mike could have sworn the box shifted. "We don't open on weekends anymore, not since eighty seven... why don't you go get some rest? I'll see you Monday. If we make it that far." With that, Iris retreated to his office, the air in the restaurant suddenly more stale than it had ever been.