Chapter 1

                                    

                                          
Click, click, click; the clock tick tocked.
                          
  Frederick Fazbear straightened his tie and and slipped on his waistcoat, taking out his pocket watch and checking the time.
                          
7:18. Business opens at 7:30.
                          
Freddy scoffed and twitched his mustache. He sighed as he got in his 1945 corvette he had bought for about $3,000 at a cheap dealership, getting the last new car because he paid an extra $300 for the tune-ups and such. His car made a coughing sound, then heading off with a zoom down the road to Fazbear's family diner.
                          
  "It was a hot month in July of the summer of '52 last year in South Carolina. Over 90 degrees each day, crazy hot weather I tell ya." Chica Cecil spat, carrying trays and talking to some folks from out of state, trying to multitask by getting customers and talking to them to buy more. The customers looked at Chica and tried to talk her out of the conversation, slowly getting up and eventually leaving with their children.
                          
Chica Cecil- a spunky and energetic waitress at Fazbear's diner, 'first employee to ever work there.
                          
 Freddy walked in on time like always; well, not really on time per say, more early-ish as usual.
                          
"Good mornin' Miss Cecil, early as always I see." Freddy greeted her, accompanied with a light smile and deep southern accent. Chica smiled back and put on her paisley-designed hankerchief, walking over to her boss as fast as she could.
                          
"Good mornin' to you too, sir! Coffee?" She asked him while pouring his coffee into his cup. Freddy semi-smiled and took out a large cigar, lighting it.
                          
"Oh ma'am, you know me so well." He chuckled, ending up eventually in a fit of coughs. Just as soon as that first drop of joe hit the cup, a purple figure came dashing out of the backroom and into the dining area.
                          
"Oh! Mr. Fazbear! Mr. Fazbear! Oh-!" He said, bumping into one of the tables and ending up falling. Freddy and Chica turned their heads, only to see yet another one of Mr. Fazbear's employees.
                          
Bonnie Bern- a total schizophrenic marshmallow baby. Can't control his emotions- or the voices inside his own noggin.
                          
"Boy, what you yellin' 'bout now?!" Freddy boomed while Chica tried to help Bonnie up.
                          
"Oh! Uh, Good Morning, bright and early, right? Anyways, I think m-my guitar is broken, sir-" He asked, his chipper british voice making a squeak. Freddy looked at him and puffed his cigar.
                          
"Gimmie your guitar, boy. Lemmie see." Bonnie handed him his guitar and Freddy examined it.
                          
He put his cigar in the ashtray and after looking at it, he gave his guitar back to Bonnie. "Boy, there ain't nothin' wrong wit' yer guitar, it's supposed t' be like that! Now if you would'a known that you wouldn'ta wasted mah time!" Bonnie stood back and blushed a bit from embarrassment.
                          
"S-sorry mister Fazbear... I-I didn't know-"
                          
"It's fine. Just remember next time that a six-stringed guitar has SIX STRINGS." He said, lighting a new cigar.
                          
"Yes sir." Bonnie whispered, shuffling away. Chica scrunched up her face and furrowed her eyebrows while drying a wet dish plate.
                          
"Hm. Hey, I know this is unrelated but, has anyone seen Fox-"
                          
And then, with the jingle of the bell at the door, he burst in just 5 minutes late in the nick of time.
                          
"FOOOOXXXYY!!!!" Freddy boomed with his scratchy deep voice. "GIT YER ASS OVER HERE YA VARMINT, I SWEAR T' THE LORD AS MY WITNESS-"
                          
"I be ver' sorry sir, I didn't mean t' be late- it was really crowded on Main Street this mornin'-" He said, tightening his tie and taking his broom in his hand.
                          
Franklin "Foxy" Fox- A war-scumbag janitor that thinks he's a pirate; not very well endowed by Boss.
                          
"Ah don't want t' hear it! If yer late again, i'm gonna fire ya! And we wouldn't want a poor soul like you to be executed from your pay; the thing that keeps you from going homeless like all those other soldiers, correct am I not?" Freddy asked, looking at Foxy. Foxy took in a deep breath and looked away from Freddy.
                          
"Look at me when i'm talking to you, boy." Freddy said sternly, puffing his cigar. Foxy looked back at his boss.
                          
"Yes sir." He said, literally sweeping away from the other three workers getting to work.
                          
"Northerners, am I right?" Freddy chuckled and looked at Chica, who frowned at Freddy's comment.
                          
"Aw Fred, when will you learn... and I know, I know. I don't like Foxy all that much either, but he's still a person-"
                          
"Are you questionin' mah authority, woman? He's a dirtbag, working for me. Just like you. Now both of ya, git back t' work. Now." He said, grunting. Both Bonnie and Chica looked at each other and walked away from Freddy, getting back to work. Freddy huffed. He sat there, unfolding his newspaper and reading it. But then, something stopped him in that moment. He looked at the clock and then back at the newspaper. Something was different, though. Something was off. But not yet. This was only the beginning.