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"Aw, hurry up mommy! The show's starting!" A little girl, appearing the age of five or so, drags her mother by the hand to the front of the main dining room.
"Don't go so fast, (Y/N), or else Mommy will trip," her mother says, laughing, trailing behind the little girl. The (h/c)-haired little girl let's go of her mother's hand, finding a place to sit next to the other children. She excitedly talks to a black-haired little girl next to her. The band starts playing. The black-haired girl - Claire was her name - turns to (Y/N), "Hey, wanna go someplace cooler??"
"Sure," she responds excitedly. The two little ones look around, finding the perfect moment to slip away from the group of happy children. "Where are we going?" (Y/N) asks.
"Wanna see a secret?" Claire pulls back the large purple curtain a bit. She begins talking; you can't quite understand her, its all coming out muffled. You suddenly realize, you already know what she's saying. And that other little girl is you. You've relived this moment countless times prior, and you are reliving it again.
She begins talking about this - secret, she says - character; one that doesn't get to play very often. She climbs up on stage. You try to see her, but it's just too dark. "Claire? What're you doing? Stop, before we get in trouble please," you plead.
"Oh, we're fine, (Y/N), don't be such a baby. He's turned off, nothing'll happen."
Oh how you wanted to believe her! But you knew what was coming; you knew it like the back of your hand. Any moment now you'd the whirr of the machine as it jerked to life...followed by a crunch, and a scream...
You woke up violently, panting. "Fuck..." you curse under your breath. You'd gone months without having that god awful nightmare, and now of all days it decided to creep up on you. Letting out a sigh, you crawl out of bed to use the bathroom. You flip on the light switch, looking at the clock: 3:42 am. You sigh, sitting on the toilet, relieving yourself. You mumble softly, "I start my new temp shift tonight..."
Oh how you were not looking forward to that. But you needed the job. Your douche-canoe of an exroommate decided to kick you out last week and the only place you could afford was a rundown little studio on top of the abandoned building of the original Fazbear Diner. You get up and wash your hands after flushing. At midnight you started your next job, and boy were you nervous. Splashing water on your face, you decide to try not to think too much about it; this way it'll be over faster. After drying off you crawl back into bed and hope to get enough sleep before 8 pm.
