five nights at freddy’s
five nights at freddy’s
The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sickly green glow over the dusty animatronics. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, each beat echoing in the cavernous silence of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The air hung heavy with the cloying scent of stale popcorn and disinfectant. It was 3:00 AM, and the first night of my six-week summer job as a security guard.
I was just a kid, naive and scared, but desperate for the money. The manager, a shifty man with a greasy smile, had warned me about the animatronics, but I hadn’t believed him. “Just a malfunction, kid,” he’d said, his eyes flickering nervously, “They only move when the power’s low.”
Now, huddled in my cramped security office, the faded posters of Freddy and his bandmates on the walls mocked me. Their cheerful faces seemed to twist into sneers in the flickering light. I checked the cameras again, my hand shaking as I scrolled through the feeds. The animatronics were still in their positions, their vacant eyes staring into the darkness.
Then, a static crackled through the monitor. The cameras flickered, and the image on screen warped, twisting into a grotesque caricature of Freddy’s grinning face. His eyes, black pits devoid of life, seemed to bore into me, and a chilling laugh echoed through the speakers, the sound thick with malice.
Panic clawed at my throat. The power was low. I frantically checked the meter, the red light flashing like a warning beacon. I was running out of time.
The security cameras crackled again, the picture of Freddy’s stage distorted, and then gone. Instead, a new image filled the screen: the corridor outside my office, pitch black except for the dim glow of the emergency exit sign. I could hear the shuffling of metal feet, the click-clack of springs, growing louder with each passing second.
I slammed the door shut, the flimsy wood offering little comfort against the unseen threat. The metal door rattled, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. The clicking grew faster, closer, and then… silence.
I held my breath, every nerve ending alight with terror. Then, a low, grinding noise from behind the door, a metallic rasp that sent shivers down my spine.
The door creaked open. A single yellow eye glowed in the darkness, a malevolent beacon in the black abyss. I squeezed my eyes shut, whimpering, bracing myself for the worst. But nothing came. The room was silent, the air thick with a metallic stench that clung to my throat like a vise.
I opened my eyes slowly, fear clinging to me like a second skin. The door was open, but the room was empty. The only sound was the faint hum of the generator and the pounding of my own heart.
I stared at the closed-circuit cameras, the static flickering on the screen, each distorted image a promise of unseen horrors lurking in the shadows. The rest of the night was a blur of frantic camera checking, a desperate struggle against the creeping darkness.
As the first sliver of dawn peeked through the windows, I stumbled out of the security office, legs weak, exhaustion heavy on me. I was alive, but the experience had shattered my youthful naiveté, replacing it with a chilling fear.
Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, I realized, was no ordinary amusement park. It was a place of darkness, a stage where nightmares came to life. And I had only just begun to glimpse the horror that lay behind the plastic smiles.
