Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Norman picked up another letter. He opened it and groaned from annoyance. Another one of these stupid letters. A letter from Joey Drew.

Norman had quit a few years before the studio closed and after a few more years go by, these letters started showing up from his old boss, Joey Drew. It was intriguing at first but it got annoying pretty quickly, but once the news of Drew’s passing got around… it felt unsettling to get them.

Norman sighed and ripped the letter in half as he walked back inside, throwing the letter in the bin before going back to his kitchen to make breakfast. He was woken up by the knock at the door to get the letter, it was way too early in the morning for him, about 4:30 am. but he might as well get food, he had nothing else to do.

As he took the cereal box out the cupboard, his dog, a huge fat old English sheep dog, barked at him, waiting for Norman to give her food.
“Shut up, Lola, I’ll get it soon.” he said, patting the dog on the head as he poured his cereal into a bowl.

Norman grabbed the dog food and poured it into Lola’s bowl, and went back to his own bowl to pour milk in, before sitting down on his couch.

Every day was mostly the same. He would be woken up by that damned letter, he’d work for the rest of the day and then he’d go back to bed and the cycle would repeat. No matter how horrible the working conditions were at that old studio, at least it was always interesting.

Norman turned on his old dusty TV. The news automatically turned on and unsurprisingly started talking about that stupid studio. They always talked about the place, always something about how everyone’s still missing, but police investigate the place, some go missing, but they still find nothing. They also talk about how some of the missing peoples faces are forgotten and they try to find them, including….

Samuel Lawrence

Norman remembered that man fondly, he considered him a heartthrob with how many girls fought over him, Hell, even some guys did. He was grumpy, uptight, and extremely hard working, he would isolate himself for days until he got his work finished. The studio called him Sammy and that’s as far he’s go with nicknames. Him and Norman, were close. Not friends, but close. In a way, Norman missed him and he hoped, If Sammy was truly gone, that he had gone out peacefully. He wished the same for all his other friends.

The news changed to the weather and Norman looked outside, he let out a heavy sigh as he realised it was raining. Again. Norman used to like the rain when he was young and beautiful, but now that he’d become more of a hermit and had gotten older, he started to despise any sort of weather. He hated when it rained and he got wet. He hated when it was sunny, the sun gets in his eyes. He hates the cold, the hot. He hated everything. Except Lola.

Chapter Text

Sunday 18th December. 1971.

It had been awhile of getting so many letters. The men who collected the bins must of thought he was very popular with all the letters that came swarming in.

Norman awoke to the sound of a knock the door. He pushed his hair out his face and squinted his eyes as the sun shone directly in them. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He grabbed a hair band, he needed to cut his hair, it was too long for him and messy, but his hair naturally had a lot of curls. He got off and his bed and slipped into his slippers and after brushing his teeth, he walked downstairs.

There was a postman at the door this time. A young boy named Andy. Norman opened the door and stared at the young man with a tired half asleep scowl, Andy staring back with a goofy grin.

“What do ya want? It’s too early ya little shit” Norman asked, a very grumpy tone coming through.
“I just wanted to give you your post mr. Polk. A postcard from your mom and another letter from mr. Drew” the young boy replied, cheery as ever.

Norman put the letter from his mom down and looked over the probably one millionth letter. He was about to rip it in half but was stopped when Andy spoke.

“Why don’t you listen to that letter mr. Polk. It’s the one you say tells you to come back?” Andy asked. Norman glared at him “… why do ya expect me to listen to a dead man?” He asked, curious to where the boy was coming from. “It’s worth a shot, you know. Look at the old place. Have some memories come back. It’s about you get out of this house of your’s.” Andy gave Norman a light punch in the shoulder.

Norman looked at Andy like he was crazy. There was a new studio now, and the place had been abandoned for ages and was probably rotting away under a layer of dust and overgrown plants.

“Come on. Just get out the house for once. Look around somewhere you know. I’m sure it will be fine. It won’t hurt. The place is a free for all now that old Mr. Drew is dead” Andy said, encouraging Norman to go, which after a few tries, Norman eventually said yes to.

Chapter Text

1935

Norman leant against the edge of his booth, looking down and watching Mr. Lawrence conduct as the band played the music he had written. He almost wanted to laugh at how Lawrence would stop and shout at them every so often for getting it wrong. The man was known for being short-tempered.

“Good enough.” Sammy finally said. “Everyone get out, go practice or something.” He commanded. Soon, he fucked off to go and write his music.

“He’s quite the fella huh?”

Norman jumped at the sudden voice, quickly looking over to see the janitor, Wally Franks, standing at the door to his booth, his ginger hair slightly stained and dripping with ink.

“Sorry for scarin’ ya Norman.” He apologised with a awkward smile. “It’s fine. Why are ya up here talkin’ to me anyways. Lose ya keys again?” Norman questioned. “Well yeah, but don’t go tellin’ Sammy! He’ll be after my head again if ya did. But that’s not why I’m up here.”

Norman raised an eyebrow and gave Wally a look of suspicion. “Really now? Why then?” He asked

“Well uh-” Wally hesitated. “Just spit it out.” Norman snapped with a frown.

“Well….I think Joey's plannin’ somethin’, but I-I’m too scared to find out what. And I know you’re great at findin’ that stuff out! so I was wonderin’…” Wally took a breather before continuing as he spoke everything all at once “would ya find that out for me?”

Norman stared at Wally for a second. he sighed. “Fine.” He retorted. “Yeah. Thanks. Try not to get in any trouble.” Wally awkwardly chuckled. “I won’t. Just go back to doin’ ya job Wally.” Norman rolled his eyes, Wally nodded his head, then walked off to mop some floors.

Norman sat there for a moment, then leant forward. “I wonder what he’s up to….” he mumbled “it can’t be that bad. It’s just Joey.” He pauses. “Although, the guys not all there in the head..” Norman narrowed his eyes. Why did he decide to do this?

He sighed before turning to walk down the stairs to his booth. The creaking felt oddly loud, his heart racing, but why? He shook it off and continued down the stairs.

Norman walked through the empty halls of the studio, searching for a place where he might find Mr. Drew. Admittedly, his tactic wasn't the best, but it didn't matter; at least he could say he tried, especially to someone like Wally. That boy would believe anything, whether it was that unicorns were real or the sky not being actually blue – he'd probably believe you. He was too gullible.

He walked past a door and heard two muffled voices speaking from behind it. He stopped just outside, hiding behind the wall as he slowly opened the door enough not to be noticed, yet enough to hear their conversation. The voices paused for a moment at the creak, but soon continued when there was no sign of movement.

Norman heard the voices of Mr. Drew and Henry Stein speaking to each other. They were engaged in a conversation about something, something 'big' as Joey put it. Norman found himself eavesdropping from outside Drew's office as he conversed with Henry. Of course, it was Henry he was talking to— who else would it be? They were best friends, practically inseparable.

"I'm sure it will work out, Henry. You know what, why don't we use Mr. Polk as a first attempt? I'm sure we'd have so much fun seeing him like that, huh? They would as well!"

Norman heard the man speak. Henry seemed to hesitate before responding, but his voice was far too muffled for Norman to hear anything except what sounded like a question.

"Oh, that's no problem! We'll start with the head. Cut it right off," Joey spoke slowly, and it certainly didn't sound like any sort of joke.

Norman listened in shock for a moment, then made a decision. He burst through the door before shouting at Drew, "I quit, you sick freak!"

Mr. Drew's smile dropped ever so slightly as he glared at Norman, but he somehow managed to still look cheery.

"You what now? Did I hear that correctly?" he asked, almost like a warning.

"Yeah, ya sick fucker, you heard me right! I quit! Don't you ever try to contact me again, Drew." Norman snapped, looking at Joey with disgust.

"Norman, pal, I'm sure we can talk about this—" He was abruptly cut off by a slap.

"I'm getting far, far away from you. You're a sick freak!! You too, Stein!" Norman shouted, and Henry couldn't help but flinch at the mention of his name.

Norman stormed out without saying goodbye to anyone, providing no warning. He simply left and didn't bother looking back.

He grabbed his belongings, got into his car, and sat there for a moment as it started. What on earth was that? Was he serious, or was it some peculiar fantasy of theirs? He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out.

Norman drove back to his apartment, ready to pack his belongings and get himself as far away as possible, and that's precisely what he did, without ever looking back.

Chapter Text

21st December 1971

Norman stood in front of the old building, it was decrepit and falling apart, the sign of the studio just hanging on by a screw.

He was shocked to see the place still standing. Ever since Arch gate pictures had picked up everything, and Joey had passed away, there wasn’t much reason to keep it there.

“This place looks…crappy” Norman mumbled, walking forward and opening the door with slight trouble, coughing from the sheer amount of dust that got pushed his way after the door had opened.

Looking back in front of him, there was a dark hallway, with the exception of the light that streamed it's way in from outside, Norman could see a glimpse of the plants that were wrapping themselves around the wall’s broken wooden boards; and the unsettling sporadic writing done in ink.

Norman turned his attention to the light switch, moving his hand up and switching it on; it flickers, until it eventually chose to stay on, although dim.

as Norman walks forward down the hallway, boards creaking, The door suddenly slammed behind him, making him jolt.

“Fuck this.” Norman mumbled out in a hasty tone, quickly turning on his heel and speeding back to the door. He had to get out of this godforsaken place! wrapping his hand around the handle, he turned it in a desperate attempt to get out.

It was locked.

Fuck, it wouldn't open.

Norman tugged at the handle, thinking: perhaps if he tugged hard enough, it would surely open. “Shit.” He cursed while ramming his shoulder into the door, though it refused to budge in the slightest. “Is there a fuckin’ key around here?”

Glancing back round to the dimly lit hallway, his eyes fell upon the small room that had an entrance sign; The old projector sat on a small table, the reel still rolling, playing a small loop of bendy skipping. He didn’t know why it was still on; nor did he know how, quite frankly at this point he didn't think he wanted to know.

Though, whilst looking around the room, something caught his eye, A book, it sat on a long table that had been built into the middle of the room.

"The Illusion of Living."

Norman paid no mind to the book, only sparing a small glance, after all, It had been written by Joey, so why would he care? Simply thinking about the man made him irritated, and seeing how there was no key on the table; that certainly didn't help.

He looked to the side, a small hallway leading to what he knew to be Henry’s old desk. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could find something there?

Once reaching the desk, he couldn't help but run a hand across it: dust coated it and the wood had most likely started to rot over time.

Drip.

He looked up, ink was still dripping down from the leak in the ceiling. Gross.

Norman then knelt down to look around, though, unfortunately, there still was nothing to be found.