The Ventriloquist

By SecrecyBusiness

Adventure / Horror

Chapter 4: No Longer Safe

Wide eyed and in disbelief, the four robots stared at Fritz straight in the face, unable to process what he had told them. Fritz looked down at his feet nervously, twiddling his thumbs. Foxy unwrapped his arm from Chica and held his head in his hands, whilst the Chica put a hand over her mouth, astonished.

"What?! No! They can't do that! You've got to stop them!" wailed Bonnie angrily.

"I can't Bonnie. It's up to my Dad and that's that. I wish it wasn't true, I really do" he replied, looking up and staring her straight in her light pink eyes. She looked hurt and disgusted, which Fritz didn't like to see in her.

"That's it, we're finished. Off to the scrap yard and crushed" moaned Foxy through his fingers.

"Foxy!" hissed Freddy.

"You'll still be able to perform! In fact, the place is bigger and much nicer, new furnishings, new show stage, new everything! I'm sure you guys will like it, even if it means saying goodbye to this place".

Fritz could tell his words weren't changing their minds, so he felt the best place for him was out of their way. He stood up gracefully, nodding his head, before exiting the building along with his Father. In muttered phrases, they heard Mr. Fitzgerald galavanting outside, praising the heavens for this new oppertunity. The stars of the show didn't see it like that.

Freddy and Chica stared at one another for a few minutes, exchanging glances of pain and upset. Foxy still had his head bowed, most likely rethinking his existence. Having a crisis at this time was fatal.

But, this should've been a good time for Foxy. With the memory of the incident now being left at this place, Foxy had nothing to worry about. He could make a brand new start at the new pizzeria, becoming his old pirate self again. However, something told Foxy in his mind that the new pizzeria wasn't all it seemed. A memory of some sort perhaps, though he'd never been there before. Flash-backs of that day in 1987 began to stab at his brain, taunting him of how the adults grabbed their children and ran, shouting insults at him. Memories of the phone call made to the ambulance, and the sight of the poor victim. But none of it added up, because he-.

"Foxy? It's alright, we'll all be fine".

Foxy leapt out of his skin, startled by the voice of his girlfriend. Bitterness ran through his mind, like a puzzle that had been destroyed by one fatal knock. But, Chica's warm, sympathetic smile turned the anger into pleasure, as he smiled back at her, happy to be in her company.

"Ye gave me a little fright there lassie" he joked, putting on his pirate accent for her entertainment.

"Alas, the accent never ceases".

They giggled and joked for a while; Chica couldn't have been happier. She felt as though performing today for the first time in weeks had really helped him. When the incident first came to light, and Foxy was framed, he was under the impression that he'd never see the smiling faces of children cheering his name again. But after three years away from his beloved stage, Mr. Fitzgerald finally decided to put him on stage, due to the many amounts of request from parents.

She was also pleased that they were alone, though she had no idea where Bonnie and Freddy had disappeared to...

Bonnie wandered around the pizzeria, her arms crossed and head bowed. Her heart had broken in tiny shards, soon to be left behind with the home she'd grown to know and love. Although she'd walked the halls and rooms many times, it felt like her first each time she did. Guided by her own thoughts and knowledge of every corner of the building, she made her way towards the Spare Parts Room, the place she'd go when she wanted to be alone. Creaking as it did, the door closed slowly as she slumped on the table, a carved frown on her face. She crossed her legs and peered around the room, studying her safe haven one last time. The heads and costumes stacked in numbers on the dusty shelves, the glossy black and white chequered floor, the numerous boxes scattered on the other side of the room; it wasn't much, but to Bonnie it was everything.

Come to think of it, she'd never actually looked inside them. Perhaps she felt rude, invasive, scared? But, if she didn't look now, she'd be left wondering for the rest of her life. Gathering her courage, she rose from the table and padded slowly towards them, reaching out to the three small boxes. She grabbed the first and brushed off the dust. Inside was a music player, lost to its own malfunctions and time itself. She clicked the player, and to her astonishment, it began to play the twinkly tune she'd recalled herself playing on the guitar. She was right, it did sound nicer on a music box, its twinkly melody satisfied her, but was it too much of a coincidence that it had been the exact tune?

Her happiness soon stopped, as it crackled up and began to play part of a strange recording which went a little something like this:

ANON: Abuse my music box aye? You'll soon see the error of your ways you pathetic excuse for a night guard. You'll be the next victim to my army, I hope you like blue...

Guard (supposedly): No! Please no! Spare me! I'm sorry!

ANON: Pity isn't in my vocabulary

*dramatic robot screaming noise*

Silence...

"Oh my god..."

A sudden bursting through the door made Bonnie squeal. She quickly placed that evil music box back where it belonged and spun round to see Freddy panting in front of her. He'd obviously heard the noise and assumed it was her screaming, though it sounded male and too raspy to be her.

"Bonnie! What's happened? Are you okay?" he asked, a worried expression on his face.

"Freddy I'm fine" she answered half-heartedly.

"But, you were screaming" he argued, confused.

"That wasn't me, it was a recording, and from the sounds of it, we need to get out of here".

Freddy's face went dead.

To Bonnie's surprise, he brought her into a hug, analysing what she'd just said. He peered behind her shoulder at the three boxes. The second box had tipped over, and inside was something that would haunt them for the rest of their lives...


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