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When you took this job, it was because it was the only thing stopping you from getting evicted from your shitty rat-infested apartment; it was so you could buy another bulk pack of instant ramen from Costco to last you the month because you couldn’t afford anything else. It was so you could afford to run the chlorinated tap water through your rusting faucet so you could fill your water bottle for the day.
You took this job to scrape by. To survive. A nightly security gig. It didn’t matter– it’s not like you were taking care of your body, so what more was a ruined sleep schedule? You could push yourself. You did push yourself– to the edge, to the brink, to live. Always to make it through another rough patch.
This stupid job was testing it, your will to survive. So where was he– this stupid fucking rabbit?
Your manager didn’t care about you or the rabbit that was so hellbent on making its way to you during the night– but it was fine! Life was about fending for yourself, wasn’t it? On the streets– or even here, when you frantically tapped at this sticky finger-smudged tablet to seal off another vent.
3 A.M. You had no idea where this yellow Bonnie was hiding, and the electrical hum of the room you were in was starting to drive you insane. The dinky metal fan was pushing stale air throughout the office and was the only deterrent to the sweat trickling down the back of your neck and matting your hair to your scalp. Maybe it was the age or how they built the stupid attraction, but the whole building smelled like metal and rot. The first time you walked in you gagged, but you had been here a week by now– you were used to it.
You were used to evading the stupid Bonnie lurking through the attraction. You needed the money more than you were scared of him. Today was different. Today–
Cam 04. The eye in the Foxy head illuminated the slick linoleum-checkered floor. A heavy hand clamped onto your shoulder pulled you back out of the worn chair, slamming you onto the ground with enough force to knock the wind from your lungs. Gasping, gaping, black spotting the already-dim office and receding enough to reveal the husk of a disfigured endoskeleton. Mangle.
It pounced, its charred jaw slack. The first set of its teeth latched over your head and pointed into your throat, while the metallic row clamped into the front of your head. Burying, crushing, its hand heavy on your chest to push you further down onto the floor, and vaguely you could feel its ‘parrot’ crushing your wrist in its mouth like a cracker.
A scream ripped from the back of your throat and joined the chorus of beeping, small alarms, and flashing red lights. In an instant, it was gone. The phantom pain left pins tingling over your forehead and your wrist– but it was gone. Chest heaving, you pulled yourself to sit up. There was no respite in a job like this, and you were sure that he must’ve heard you from wherever the hell he was.
Clumsy fingers reached for the tablet. You didn’t have any time to pick your chair up from where it was haphazardly strewn on the ground. It was getting harder to breathe and the scare already left your back bruised from the fall. ‘Reboot all’ wasn’t working. If you could just get this stupid systems error off your screen, and play an audio so he had to walk to the other side of the restaurant, if you could just leave this death trap of a workplace–
Loud. Louder than the alarms from your panel, louder than your scream, much more noticeable, more obtrusive, unmistakable footsteps. Metal thudding on the ground in loud steps. The tablet slipped from your shaky fingers. Quick, your head pivoted to the doorway.
Speak of the devil.
The red lights of the blinking alarms reflected off his decrepit suit. Rotten, knock-off Bonnie. His head was tilted down, foam eyelids barely covering the bulging plastic eyes. Once– he had gotten this close once on your fourth night here, but by then the audio trap was already playing from across the attraction and he shuffled away.
Never had he crossed the barrier between the hallway and your office. You supposed there was a first for everything when he stepped forward through the doorframe.
“Out,” You said, your voice surprisingly firm despite the adrenaline coursing through your body. Your heart thundered in your ears, and the pain from your back was long since numb. Tablet forgotten on your lap, you pointed past him. “Get out.”
His mouth parted. The suit’s squared, yellow teeth were painstakingly visible from its crumbly maw. His voice, like a slow crawl of curved nails on a chalkboard, rumbled from his throat. “No.”
The stench hit you, then, after the little metal fan had pushed the air around in the office. The source of all the rot in the building was just a few feet away from you. The realization was stark and disgusting, but not even half as startling as realizing that the animatronic in front of you could talk. He took another step forward and it was enough to kick you into high gear.
Lashing out, you kicked the toppled chair over, sending it into this rotten Bonnie while scrambling backward. The vent was just to your right. 3 A.M. It wouldn’t be hard to stall for time, right? He couldn’t catch you. He was this big, bulky machine, and you ran track in High School. It’d work out. It’d definitely work out.
He didn’t even stumble. The chair was barely a deterrent and bounced off him. Your breath caught in your throat and you threw the tablet at his ugly face, twisting your body and scrabbling into the open vent. Behind you, the tablet clattered to the ground and its screen shattered.
Close. You reached your hands out, grabbing into the vent and hoisting yourself into it, nails scraping against the orange-brown rust growing on the metal. Close. You shot into the vent.
“No. No, you’re not getting away.” His sticky, styrofoam fingers clasped your ankle before yanking you out. From the way you were holding yourself up on your hands and knees, your full weight crashed onto the metal of the vent. You weren’t able to cushion the fall; your chin scraped over the rust as he pulled you back into the office, searing your face as your skin raked off. “No longer are we playing this game of cat and mouse, security guard.”
Fuck. You can’t remember the last time you got your tetanus shot.
“Get off me!” You screeched, turning your head to look at him when you kicked at his bulky hand. Flailing, your hands groped for anything to hold onto, anything to stop him from taking you away. “Listen you fuckass rabbit, I’m going to disassemble you if you don’t let go right now!”
He regarded you with lifeless eyes. Without so much as a breath, a boisterous and scratchy laugh came from his chest– muffled by the layers of foam around the voicebox. “You think you’re in control, you pathetic little thing? No…”
Without so much as lifting his dimly lit eyes from you, he dragged you across the broken glass of the shattered screen. You cried out in response– the pieces digging into your skin, and your uniform ripped over the tip of a particularly big piece. Dozens of little shards pricked into your skin and you had to raise your arms off the ground to stop further damage.
“Your death will be as painful as the long nights you’ve been mocking me with your humanity.”
“What–” Your voice was pitchy, loud with the pain and panic. “What the fuck are you talking about!?”
Through the doorframe of the office, you reached for anything to slow your eventual demise. Fingers clasping around the display of the old Freddy suit, it uselessly toppled over. This thing was demented. You were going to die with no one at your funeral. Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept you kicking, or the embarrassment of dying to a children’s mascot, or even the idea that no one even knew where you’d been for the last few years– you tried wriggling out of his too-strong grasp.
His foam fingers were lukewarm against you, pressing down into your ankle harshly enough to where you could feel the firmness from his metal exoskeleton. The tattered material made you fight back a gag.
“You’re not getting out of this,” He tutted, his tone so detached from anything warm that you were surprised it was a voice at all. “It was your choice to come back every night. You knew it was going to end like this, didn’t you?”
“No!” You shot back, fingernails uselessly digging into the floor. He regarded the attempt with no emotion. “No, you piece of shit, fucking– no, I’ve been looking for a new job, I– go fucking kill yourself, you cunt!”
His grasp on your ankle released. Your breath caught, and you scrambled backward, about but he was already standing over you with his putrid hand reaching out. The proximity was terrible. From how close you were you could smell the rot, the mildew, the stench of roadkill under the sun on a highway and boiling stewed sulfur poured over it. Yesterday’s lunch was threatening to show.
Harsh, his segmented and thick fingers clawed over your face, tightening. Oh god. You were going to die, weren’t you? He was going to kill you. You hoped it’d be quick and all he would do is crush your skull, at least–
Pulling your head forward he slammed it back into the ground. The result was immediate, your vision blurring terribly and darkening. Your skin split open from under your hair, no doubt catching on something, and blood rushed out and began pooling around you. Dark and terrible, strong and metallic. With your mouth dry and your lips chapped, you couldn’t fumble for anything to say, because your head was so foggy that you just couldn’t think.
He regarded you. Crouching over you, towering, with his hand still clasped around your face and suffocating you. His fingertips dug into your scalp. Pulling you off the floor again, you had half a mind to brace for another slam into the ground.
“... No,” He decided with a scratch of his voicebox, and he pulled his hand away suddenly. You barely had enough time to tense your neck so that your head didn’t slam into the ground by its weight. Still, the metal segments of his fingers caught on your hair, and he pulled away so harshly that it just yanked the strands out. “I want you to talk.”
‘Well, you’re doing a real good job of that,’ You wanted to hiss, but whatever incoherent babbling that came from your mouth spelled something else. He stepped off you, grabbing your limb ankle to continue to drag you wherever his destination was in mind.
“Do you know how frustrating it is?” His voice was a real grate on your ears, somehow too high pitched and scratchy to sound pleasant, but low and rumbling to where it was hard to make out anything he said. “The only other human in years I see is you. Someone who holed up in their office and did everything they could to avoid me.”
A laugh. A scratchy, horrible laugh.
“Look at how well that worked out for you!”
His grip on your ankle tightened. Pressing down, crushing terribly so, shifting your bones like a marble counter cracking under thick, wet, grey dough. A shriek passed through your lips– visceral, blood-curdling, uninhibited by shame. The ceiling, the halls were spinning too fast for you to even tell where he was taking you– not like you could run if you managed to get up. He just broke your ankle.
Tears sprang to your already-stinging eyes, warm from a thick gloss.
“Did that hurt?” His tone, mocking, like he was caring for a child. His grip hardened with the accuracy and force that only a machine could possess. Your bones crumpled in his hand, moving within your unbroken flesh like they were in a sausage skin. “Imagine how I feel. Trapped in this… this thing.”
Your mind couldn’t follow whatever nonsense he was speaking. Your chest was heaving with sobs, and your face was ruined with overflowing tears.
“Twenty-five years,” He mumbled, and something caught on the tender flesh of your back. A nail, slightly lifted from the ground. A whimper came strained from the veil of breathless sobs. “I’ve been deprived of feeling anything but pain. I’ve been stuck in some backrooms your cameras don’t quite reach, now do they?”
You were dragged over another doorframe, another bump that hit the split and raw skin of your wounds, and you cried a little harder. It took you to register that he was standing by your head to realize he had long since let go of your ankle and he was–
He was closing the door to whatever room he had you in. Your eyes lulled in your skull, observing the room– it was dark, much darker than the rest of the attraction, and it was hard for your eyes to adjust to any light that wasn’t the dim radiance of the animatronic’s eyes.
There were flies in this room. One landed on your cheek and your face scrunched, pulling you out of your drowsiness and encouraging you to try to sit up. What you thought was just a ringing in your skull were the wings chittering of flies, rampant in this room, and you thought the silhouette of them flocked to the bits of Bonnie that weren’t covered by his yellow foam.
His hand wrapped around your bicep and he propped you up. It was startling enough to encourage you to stand when he put your feet on the floor, enough to– in a horrified gesture– try to lean away from him, but weak enough to have to lean your weight against him.
“Do you know how frustrating it is?” He laughed an irritable note that distorted the longer it went on. “I’m holding your arm right now, but I don’t feel it. I can’t feel the warmth of your body or the thin flesh covering you.”
His grip tightened, and you cried, terrified that he was going to snap your arm in half next.
“You’re pathetic.” He laughed, and with his other hand pressed his palm to your chin to roughly tilt your head up. It stung– it burned, the same place the rust had grated against. “You don’t look bad like this, either. Your pretty little face ruined with tears and covered in blood.”
Your stomach dropped. What was he doing?
He pulled your jaw down with his thumb, his fingers forcing past your lips and shoving into your mouth. You gagged. The foam of his wide fingers was already moist, set in by years of rotting in a room. Mildew tasted heavy on your tongue when he pressed his two fingers down onto it. Patches of mold layered into his fabric, collecting into a dense blanket of it. Something so putrid and disgusting–
Something pressed against the inside of your cheek. Something small, no bigger than your thumbnail. What was that? The fingers on your tongue were already so obtrusive you began to retch, more as he pressed further into your mouth, but what was that–
It moved. Whatever was inside your cheek began to move. Squirming, before a light ticklish sensation like it began to burrow into your cheek.
Immediately it clicked. There were flies in here. In the backroom he said he’d been rotting in. In the suit he said he was trapped in.
“The things I’d do,” He said languidly, and your back was pressed into a cold wall with a metal knee between your thighs. “If only I were human again.”
There was a maggot in your cheek and he was going to use you.
“I can improvise,” He chuckled, and suddenly you were aware of every little thing happening to you. A tickling in your cheek. Two heavy fingers pressed deep into your mouth, heavy on your tongue, and hot bile kept rising from your stomach. Blood matting your hair to your head and sweat that mixed with it. Glass shards in your skin, your back, shooting rivets of pain through you with each jostle this Bonnie put you through. Your head tilted back, your throat exposed and stretching backward. The putrid, rotting stench of everything around you. A fly landed on your hand. “I can still try to feel how warm you are.”
There was a wire sticking into your thigh. When he moved his knee up into you, it bent uncomfortably and the metal end of it poked holes in your skin.
Verbalizations failed, your tongue shifting and straining against the weight on them. Weak protests died before fumbling past your chapped lips. Your heart raced faster than earlier, louder, the blood in your ears deafening you to the creaks and groans of the festering corpse in front of you. If you breathed any deeper you think you’d finally throw up on him.
It was a small mercy when he pulled his corroding hand out of your mouth and off your jaw– leaving you to suck in a greedy breath of air, one much needed, and then it left you with your chin pulled close and down to your collarbone. Here– with your weight leaned onto the wall and the only thing keeping you from falling forward was the knee between your legs. Your head lolled and your eyes flickered up.
Piercing, glowing. The rotten Bonnie was staring down at you, at your face. His mouth curved in the most delighted grin. His hand was around your throat next. Pinning you, easily, to the wall. The crumbly, damp, mold-fuzzy styrofoam fell away to cold shards of the thing’s metal endoskeleton, pinching your skin between its joints with incredible pressure. You choked. Sputtered.
Because then he lifted you like you were nothing. Your body thrashed, and your hands grasped for his wrist– scrabbling, you attempted to hold yourself up just so you could muster a wheeze, and you kicked and kicked into nothing. Inconsequential. Powerless, your vision spotted again, and your stomach was caught between a terrible lurch of gagging from the stench and gasping for air.
The fingers of his spare hand dipped into your waistband, then. The stale air swept against your bare legs as the monster effortlessly ripped the fabric from your skin in a dreadful noise. Oh, god.
Your frantic clawing amounted to nothing. You amounted to nothing. A spotted veil pulled over your eyes, disguising nothing but the swarm of ever-present flies in the room. Whatever underwear you wore went next. A humiliating flush burned you worse than the oxygen deprivation and the crushing pressure around your throat. Despite your feet not even gracing the floor, you still attempted to press your knees together.
“Don’t be coy,” A low, coarse note from his voicebox, and he leaned in so that the source was right at your ear. He didn’t have a breath to warm you, but the blood rushing to your head did enough. He effortlessly forced your legs apart. “You don’t want your last breaths to be wasted on modesty, do you?”
“Ff– fuck,” You pulled yourself up enough to get the faintest breath, “you!”
He shoved a finger up into you. No prep, no lubrication. It burned worse than the broken glass– only because of the intimacy, only because of the contrasting degree of violation. You screamed. A note that hurt your throat and ended as a rasp. Another followed. Stretching you open, burning and aching. Your fingers naturally curled, your blunt nails digging into Bonnie’s suit.
It lessened when his hold on your throat slacked. Sudden, but all the weight of your body dropped, and the only thing you succeeded in was panting for the dense air that pressed onto you and getting his fingers further in you.
It hurt. You felt him twitch inside you– curling with mechanical precision. Your tender flesh caught on his rusted gears. Ripping your skin, cutting it open, both while he curled his fingers and stretched you wider. Sandpaper. Maybe it was a worse fate for you that this creature couldn’t feel anything, because you were sure he’d stop if he felt even a little of how dry you were.
That was until something started to trickle down– a thick congelation, and you realized that it wasn’t hurting as much as it should be because of the amount of blood coming out of you. So when he curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture and retracted them over and over, you gasped.
Because even if he was being aided by your blood for lubricant, he was stretching open cuts and gashes inside of you. Hitting against your more sensitive parts, you were reduced to nothing but incoherent cries. Not moans. More like pathetic mewls, desperate cries, and pleas for him to stop.
“Where did all of your attitude go?” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve sworn he was disappointed. You didn’t have time to decipher it. He was starting to go faster. Rolling into you cruelly, forcing more blood from you. “Pathetic.”
His other hand went to your shirt. A bone-chilling rip and the front of it was discarded. Not that it was in very impressive condition from the rough treatment beforehand, anyway. He pressed his hand– spanning from his thumb to one side of your ribcage, to the tips of his fingers touching the other.
“I,” He punctuated every word with another curl, another grab, and the weight of his fingers began pressing impossibly tight over your sternum. “Still. Can’t. Feel. You.”
Trickling. Something was trickling onto the floor in droplets– a dull noise. Dull compared to the fire in you, to the open cuts burning, to the spare wires fraying and cutting you with every thrust. It had gotten easier for him though. There was enough blood soaking into him for that. Your hands were numb– you realized this when you didn’t reach to pry his hand off your ribs.
Something else was inside you now. It pressed further than the tips of his fingers, yet notably smaller–... slimier.
You were about to bash your head into the wall you were pressed against just to escape his nightmare.
Because the maggot that had gotten in through him burrowed into the most sensitive part of you. Chewing, nibbling, persistently. You squirmed on his fingers, shaking and trembling worse than anything else. The constant stimulation of having something writhing about inside you and the too-big fingers thrusting in and out was getting worse.
Your eyes shot down. In thick rivulets, blood ran down your bare stomach. Dizzying, spiraling– as the animatronic had just plunged its thumb in through the space of your ribs. Punctuating skin like it was nothing. Nothing.
Another scream ran your throat raw. More, and more, because his other fingers sunk into you– breaking through the skin, pressing onto the bone, crushing them, and shredding them into your organs.
You shouldn’t be alive.
His hand clenched inside you. Intestines writhing around and within his grip, slippery like rolls of lard poured from a grease pan. His elbow clicked. With a yank, he pulled back, taking a fistful of viscera and runny intestines with it. You stared with a dropped jaw.
While the creature’s fingers pumped into you, while maggots festered in your cuts and writhed inside your skin, he strung organs from you like opening a can of silly string.
They slopped to the floor. Wet, thick. Blood-oiled meat brushed against you before coiling onto the ground. He just kept pulling– surely there couldn’t have been this much inside you? The vision from you went. Nothing but the stimulating and unsatisfying pumps, the gnawing of maggots, and the static of flies buzzing surrounded you.
“You broke too easily,” You thought you heard him grumble– a drawn-out note, and maybe he finally withdrew from you entirely. Maybe you could feel your limp body drop to the bed of slick organs, and another tug as it separated from the casing inside you. “Disappointing.”