Work Text:
RECORDING ONE: "Bite"
JON:
Statement of Michael Afton regarding a series of mechanical failures under his father’s business. Statement given December 23, 1987. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins—
You have to understand I never meant for any of this to happen.
The amount I have to cover here is… a lot. And it’s all a very touchy subject for me, so forgive me if it comes off incoherently at times. As much as I would rather not, I need to tell you about everything else that happened before you can understand that what I experienced last month was unnatural. Otherwise, you wouldn't ever understand how I got there in the first place.
I suppose I should start with the business. For years, my father took part in what became an extraordinary project in the history of children’s entertainment. He’s a local celebrity, and his name is highly respected within the entertainment industry. If your institute was not in London, I would say you most likely wouldn't have heard of him. And perhaps you haven't, but you’ve likely heard the name “Afton.” He grew up in London, and his parents have ties with a lot of important figures there. I don't fully understand how it works, but they come from money and have a bit of a reputation in the city.
My father and his old business partner started their franchise before I was born. I grew up surrounded by it, and would say it took up a portion of my childhood. The machines they built were once something I loved. Surely more than the children whose parents had to pay for them to see the animatronics. I loved them as robots, and before, I loved them as characters, even the concepts I was exposed to. I loved Fazbear Entertainment. That was before everything went horribly wrong.
Now don't misunderstand, my father is a good man. He is full of love and charm and creativity. He couldn't have known what would come of his passion. He’s undeserving of the ruin that occurred from the magic he made. Undeserving of the betrayal those closest to him have inflicted upon him. Myself included. But I haven't written to you to tell you I’m a horrible person. I am, and I know it, and you’ll surely agree by the end of this statement. I’ve written to tell you that my mistakes have led me to discover something I feel only the likes of your institution can explain.
This all started the summer after my freshman year of high school. At this point, there had already been devastation within my father’s business, and my family. My sister had passed away six months before. She was brutally murdered at her own birthday party, which took place at the grand opening of a solo project my father made. This was the second case in which a child was killed at an event under Fazbear Entertainment. But regarding the state of my sister's body, found tossed into the alley… her murder was clearly that of more passion than the first. Her murder, like the first, ended up a cold case. My father grieved, and my mother disappeared completely. Truthfully, though I once loved her, I can't say I really missed her. In fact, I hated her for leaving. Clearly she decided she didn't love what she hadn't lost, so I didn't bother loving her anymore.
I was very suddenly sick as a result. I spent nearly two months bed ridden. I’ve never been worse in my life than I was then. Doctors couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, and they said it was a reaction to losing my sister so traumatically. Truthfully, I felt so physically horrible most days, I hardly thought of anything else, let alone her. There is one thing that stuck with me from that period. It was my brother, who was only seven at the time. He would come in some nights and crawl into my bed and cry. He had been dealing with nightmares ever since our sister died. I supposed at the time it was the association of the place with my father’s robots. He’d cry about monsterish versions of the animatronics with sharp claws and teeth and mouths in their stomachs. He’d tell me at night that they were looking for him. That they wouldn't come into my room after him the way they crept into his own.
I, delusional and feverish, would throw an arm over the trembling kid and tell him it was alright. Only a bad dream. I think it eventually started getting to my head though, because sometimes I would hear scrapes and shuffles from other parts of the house. Of course, because of my incoherent state at the time, I wrote it off as fever dreams once I got better. My health returned to me as suddenly as it had come over me. Once my father noticed I was better he was quick to ask for my help in watching my brother. Between feeding and tending to his sick son, and having to take care of his terrified one, he’d had no time to work. I feel bad now, because I can tell how much he yearned to get back to what he loved. How much it probably started to heal him. Yet, I was foolishly angry with him.
Taking care of my brother seemed like the worst task. Outside of school, I was tied to him. Tied to his terrified nature. To his paranoia and his breakdowns. See, my father is calm and understanding, and has a way with children. He was the only thing that ever put my brother at ease. The only thing safe to him. I was unable to provide that. Even if I had tried. So instead I was stuck with the weight of a disturbed child, and it was too much for a fifteen year old kid. I started acting out, getting in trouble with my school friends. Like I said, my father is a calm man. I never expected him to get angry, but I so desperately wanted his attention. I earned a small bit of it. When we saw each other he would remind me to get my act together, in that collected yet firm way he always got onto any of his children. But in the small time he was around, all his attention was quickly stolen by my needy brother.
I was hurting too. I just wanted him to see that. That doesn't excuse what I’ve done. But you have to believe me when I say that was all I wanted.
By the time summer came around, I think I had become worse than the monsters that still seemed to make their way into my brother's nightmares. I… well, honestly, I was torturing him. I had started to play into my brother’s fears. I would intentionally scare him, make fun of his behavior. I told myself and my friends it was all fun, but really, I had started to hate the kid for something that was never his fault. I wanted to get him back for the weight his problems put on me. I was tired of fighting the monsters, and so I fed them. And despite this, my father seemed only more busy distracting himself with work. All my efforts seemed for nothing.
Obviously, it was the wrong way to handle my emotions. But if I had stopped then, things would have at least stood a chance at being okay.
It was just a joke. Just another spook. Another prank to make my brother squirm so me and my friends could laugh at his ridiculous fear. It was his birthday party. My father was so busy working he figured it was easiest to book the party at one of his locations, Fredbears Family Diner, so that way he could be present. And by that, I mean make an appearance before retreating to his office. Obviously, while my brother did love those characters, he hated being at the restaurant. He was terrified of the robots, and even the mascot suits. I had the bright idea to give him a special scare for his birthday. I got my buddies together and we marched the kid right up to one of the animatronics.
We laughed. Pushed my screaming brother practically into the mouth of his favorite character. And we laughed some more.
I genuinely don't think I’ve laughed since.
It was something about the moisture. From his crying all over it. That’s what caused the machine to… malfunction. And I should have known, I’d seen them malfunction before.
Long story short, my brother died a few days later in the hospital. I killed him.
I know what you're thinking. Apart from how evil of a person I am. You’re thinking about how there is nothing supernatural about this so far. I need you to trust me, everything I’ve told you so far has been necessary.
My brother’s death was labeled as a result of a “spring lock failure." Surprisingly, there’s no legal repercussions for shoving your brother’s head into a robot's mouth. Not when what caused his death was technically a mechanic malfunction. That day was the only time I have ever seen something less gentle from my father. He gave me this look. I don't think I have ever seen anyone's face more full of hatred. And in a moment, it was gone, as though it was never there. In the following weeks, he didn't say much, but I don't think I ever initiated a conversation with him. I stayed in my room most of the time.
As the school year approached, my father made the decision to send me elsewhere. I understood why. You take a small town like Hurricane, Utah, and you kill your own brother, well… it gets around. I was miserable enough without seeing a hundred peers stare at me a day, watching my old friends avoid associating themselves with me. I was perfectly happy to go elsewhere, and truthfully I needed away from my father too. I could hear him on the phone somedays, cheerful and charming, and then he’d walk past me in silence, giving me a brief pat of affection. As though he was scared to touch me. Yet, wanted me to know he still loved me. I think it hurt, knowing he still did. I agreed as soon as he brought up going to a separate school.
He ended up sending me to stay with his parents in London. I spent what in America would be considered my sophomore year of high school there. There was some peace in that. Nobody there knew me, and I could silently go about my businesses. I didn't have to try to hide my accent like I did for my school friends, yet I didn't go out of my way to make friends anymore. If you can't tell, I became a much different person after my brother's passing. I actually sort of enjoyed school, the class work. Especially English. I’d not allowed myself to discover those potentials within myself before. I was not so fond of my father's parents. We got along just fine for the most part. I have vague memories of spending Christmas’ in London, back when I was very young and before business especially took off at home. I suppose I didn't pay them much attention as a kid. But it is odd to me how my father ended up so extraordinary with parents like that. I figure some could have come from my grandmother. She has obsessive tendencies. A hyper perfectionist if you will. And my grandfather is a war veteran. He suffers severely from PTSD. I apologize, those are just thoughts. I suppose that’s not relevant.
It was during my time away that the first missing children's incident occurred. Five children disappeared from a birthday party at the second Fazbear Entertainment location. The children to this day were never found. I didn't hear about this until I eventually returned, and at that time I took little interest in the details. I surely will soon start looking into it. What I do know is that the bodies were never located. And if they ever are, that’s all the amount of blood suggested they will be. Bodies, or whatever is left of
them. It ended up being a cold case. I know that many people were interrogated, parents, employees. Including my father and his work partner, Henry. I later found out they even requested to interrogate me. Seeing as I had involvement with the last death under the corporation. They figured that was enough to suspect a sixteen year old. Though, when they found out I’d left for England in the fall, they dropped the idea, considering my involvement was therefore impossible.
The following summer I decided to return home. My father seemed back to his old self. He had clearly healed a lot more than I had. There was some relief in that, but my feeling like a burden didn't go away. I have consistently fallen into states of depression ever since everything happened, I still do often. My father started to pick up on it and give me just enough attention and space. I think he feared I was suicidal. And I did have thoughts sometimes. I never told him about the nightmares or hallucinations, though. Anyway, rather than returning to school my junior year, I started receiving private tutoring. My father would drop me off at my tutors house in the morning and after I would walk home or my tutor would drive me. This is what I did the rest of high school. I was mailed a diploma and had graduated with relatively good scores.
One morning during my last semester, my father found me sitting at the table and joined me. He asked me what I wanted to do now that I was nearing graduation. He’d been hesitant to bring it up this far. I told him I wasn't sure. He started bringing up opinions. He brought up the possibility of taking up engineering. And I knew then he’d like that. He still spent his days working on some project. He was building up to something, and I realized he wanted me to be a part of it, whatever it was. And I agreed. I enrolled at a nearby university called St. George and started studying for a business major the following semester. If there was even a chance I could make him proud after everything, I was bound to take it.
This is where I am now. I’m also taking both engineering and robotics courses. What happened started over a month ago.
It was after classes one day and I had driven back into town. I stopped by a supermarket, intending to pick up some things my father had requested. It was there I ran into an old acquaintance of mine. His name is Jeremy Fitzgerald, and we were friends in high school. In fact, close friends. He was part of my “inner circle” if you will. He had always been less… edgy than me and our other friends. Always on a slightly higher moral level, though just as chaotic. He was a friendly person, even a bit of an oddball, but he was drawn enough to trouble to spend his time with the likes of us. He had been there whenever… That was the last time I saw him up until that point.
Jeremy seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Though, I suppose neither of us should have been. He seemed a little hesitant to speak to me, but when he did, I could see he was exactly how I remembered him. I think it came as a shock to him how different I was. I think he understood why, though. He tried to make small talk, asking what I was up to these days and making a comment about how I’d gotten so tall over the last four years. When I finally got around to making a comment of my own, I ended up half heartedly making a joke about how odd I felt being better dressed than he was. Jeremy always had a way of dressing himself in clothing no one else could pull off. As a fifteen year old I usually dressed carelessly, our friends and I always poked fun at Jeremy for his quirky sense of style. Now there I was, in khakis and a grey-blue sweater that was once my father's, and him in pajama pants in the middle of the afternoon.
He sheepishly laughed and explained he’d just woken up. That he was starting a new job soon, and would be taking the graveyard shift. He’d been adjusting his sleep schedule. Truthfully, I felt a little nauseous speaking to him. So it was out of politeness when I asked him where he’d gotten a new job. His face seemed to grow pale when I asked. He hesitantly explained he’d applied for a job at a new Fazbear Entertainment location. One that was just opening. I hadn't known about this location, and my nausea deepened as he spoke. My father had dropped out of that business after the missing children's incident. He’d worked quietly on his own project ever since. Which meant this new location was undoubtedly the work of that bastard Henry.
I said nothing of the sort to Jeremy, but I had trouble listening to him after that. I think he could tell I was unnerved. He started attempting to explain himself. He told me he was searching for answers. And that he knew it was unlikely to find any there, but he felt the need to return to it anyways. I suddenly recalled that one of the missing children had been his younger brother, Gabriel, I believe. I told him that I understood. Then he laughed—he’d always been the type to try and keep a smile on his face, I suppose even when he had every reason not to. He said he’d love it if we could get together sometime soon. Maybe get a coffee and he could tell me about the job.
I was hesitant to initiate seeing him again. I’d intentionally made no friends the past four years, and had no interest in budding around, especially with someone who knew of my past. But… he didn't seem to see that when he looked at me. Or at least, didn't seem to hold anything against me. And having some insider information about what Henry was up to was an enticing thought. You see, I was already suspicious of Henry. I said before that my sister's murder was the second to happen under Fazbear Entertainment. The first was Henry’s daughter. She was found murdered in the alleyway outside the first location. Even before that, Henry was a little… out of it. But after, he was constantly in an almost dream-like state. Like he’d completely lost it. And then my sister… her death, her body found in the alleyway outside my father’s location. I later realized it seemed like a mockery of the first. But her murder was so gruesome and so passionate. There had to have been an immense amount of spite behind it.
I had not thought about this until after the missing children's incident. But it made sense. Henry had randomly been ruined by chance when his daughter was killed. It could have been anyone else, but it was his daughter. His only child. And then there was my father, his business partner, the one with the money and business skill and the family. It seems so easy to imagine how spiteful he could have become. How much he could have wished my father felt what he had. How angrily he could have taken my sister's life, all for rage. And how easy it would be for him to do so again, to other people, in an environment he controlled. It just made sense. I remember mentioning Henry once to my father, after I returned from England. Just by chance, recalling a holiday he’d been around. I think the expression on my father’s face at his name is what confirmed it to me. Perhaps what confirmed my other suspicion. That my father leaving the corporation had something to do with Henry just as much as the incident. Him and Henry were once inseparable, despite them being opposites. But if he suspected his best friend and partner to be the murderer of his daughter and so many others…
He certainly wouldn't have stuck around if that were the case.
So I agreed to Jeremy’s invitation. His interest in the franchise was now mine, and I wanted answers as much as he did. The following days I didn't bring up the new location to my father. I was hesitant to try and start a conversation regarding his old business. A few mornings later, as I dressed for class, the telephone rang. Jeremy had just gotten off his shift, and said he had a lot to talk about. He asked me if I could meet him that afternoon. After class, I drove out to an old skate park we once visited regularly after school. I parked and he joined me in the passenger seat of my car, dressed more like himself, but clearly exhausted. I don't think he’d slept.
He told me there was something… off. About the location. He had intended to investigate the building, look around for answers. But he found himself locked in the office. He said he was afraid of the robots. He said… He said they were alive. When I asked what he meant, he told me they moved around the building of their own accord. Tried to… get to him. He’d been informed on his first night that the new robots would do this because they were programmed to go where the people are, and that they were conditioned to wander at night to keep their joints from locking up. But they weren't just wandering to where he was. Jeremy seemed so sure that they were coming for him, and he had used an old character mask to deter their facial recognition features. But it wasn't just these new robots that seemed to hunt him. It was old ones too, animatronics that weren't supposed to be active at all. Ones that were simply stored at the building, and had no facial recognition abilities and were never invented with the intention of leaving a stage.
He said they were simply alive. In a way that a robot should not be, and they were after him for some reason.
I could tell he was serious, and very afraid. It seemed to me like he was paranoid. Which made sense, after what he had witnessed and lost. I’ve seen what those things do to a person. And I did what I could to comfort and assure him I suppose. Or tried to, I’m not good at those things. He thanked me profusely, and then he walked home. It was that night I offhandedly asked my father if he'd heard about the new location. He seemed surprised and said he hadn't. He asked what I knew about it and I just said I’d heard someone mention it in passing. I wasn't ready to tell him about anything yet, I was more curious if he knew than anything.
I met Jeremy the next several evenings, at a local diner, and he’d tell me about his experience while he ate his breakfast and I ate my supper. It was the evening after his fifth night, a Saturday. He’d given me the address to his apartment the evening prior and told me to meet him there and offered to host dinner instead. When he opened the door, Jeremy looked like hell. When he saw me he started to cry and babble hysterically, it was all very unlike him. I told him to calm down and led him inside. He had a studio apartment, and no couch, so I led him to one of two chairs at his little table and sat him down. I sat opposite of him and asked him to tell me what happened.
He calmed down enough to explain. He quickly stated that he’d had a normal night at work, brushing it off as though it weren't important. He said he’d gotten a call an hour before I arrived. It happened again. Five children had disappeared from the restaurant during the day. Just like the first time. He said something about having been unable to find any answers of his own, feeling as though he’d failed to find any signs. Then he said that the person who works the day shift had quit on the spot. His coworker said he’d take the following night shift, but said they’d arranged for Jeremy to take the next day shift. The location was set to close down, so soon after its opening. They had one final birthday party scheduled and they expected Jeremy to work the shift.
Jeremy said he felt like he couldn't. But he also felt like he had to. After losing his brother, after everything, he was responsible to be there and make sure nothing happened to those children. But he was trembling just speaking about it. I told him to quit. Told him he wasn't in any shape to take up that responsibility. I suddenly noticed I was shaking too. I was enraged, I realized, I was so full of hatred. Henry had done it again. And Jeremy was the only person who could sympathize with me. Honestly, I genuinely wanted him away from that stress. Away from that place before… before it got him too.
He said he had to go. Then he seemed to think a moment before asking if I would go with him. It was his last day. He had an extra uniform. Jeremy said he just ‘didn't want to be alone.’ And after some consideration, I agreed. I had questions I wanted answered, and if there was any way to do that, it would be this.
The next morning I showed up to his apartment. He gave me his extra shirt, which was a bit of a tight fit since I’m a lot longer than he is. He attempted to make a name tag, and I suggested I use my mother's maiden name. Jeremy was already writing and I ended up with some completely irrelevant and frankly silly name. I drove the two of us to the new location, and…
Well, I wish neither of us had gone.
I spent most of the morning following Jeremy around. I tried my best not to look at the robots, as the thought of them frightened me. We made rounds from the single party room to the main hall, and eventually through other corridors. It was here Jeremy showed me the old animatronics. He said “This is exactly what I mean.” The things were battered and worn and looking right at us. Jeremy said he didn't think they would be awake during the day. But they didn't seem to move, and we left them. I had felt the same as what he described. There was something alive about them. I don't know how to explain it.
On our way back to the party room, I noticed a figure at the end of some dark corridor to our left. I grabbed Jeremy, and he followed my gaze. He said that was the one he told me about, and after recalling all the ones he had I realized he meant the robot he’d called “the lanky one.” The one that was activated by music.
He didn't have to tell me who it was. I’d seen it before. It was supposed to be a security bot of sorts at the first Fazbear location. It had been put out of service due to water damage. It now stood staring from the end of the hall, white dots in it's black eyes, and purple streaks down it’s cheeks. I remembered that they had appeared suddenly on the discarded robot many years ago, those streaks that at the time had been blue. I had noticed one day and wondered who would have painted the face of a discarded robot that way. Now I wondered why it was alive. What was behind it’s eyes as it stared. Jeremy dragged me away and we went to the party room.
I was so distracted by that encounter, I had forgotten my attempts to avoid looking at the animatronics. I found myself making eye contact with one. It seemed to be already staring. I recognized the character. It was a shiny version of Bonnie the bunny, and he was bright blue with pink cheeks and eyelashes. That’s not what kept me staring back, though. It was his eyes. The glossy, plastic eyes I know should have been there were gone. Instead, I was met by two empty sockets, and two silver glowing dots that stared through me.
At that moment, I knew that thing wasn't just looking at me. That thing, it… it knew what I had done. It was alive and behind those silver eyes was a burning fire as they pierced me. You have to understand that whatever that thing is, it was not programmed to behave that way. It knew. I knew before it happened that the thing was going to attack me. I shut my eyes. I could hear the thing make a noise like a scream. The sound was followed by a shuffling sound and then this… crunch.
There was screaming again, this time the screams of human children and parents. I wondered, why I could hear it, why I hadn't felt myself die yet. Why instead I felt something warm splatter over me.
When I opened my eyes I saw why. It was because Jeremy had stepped in the way. That thing had it’s jaw shut around his head. There was blood everywhere… on me as well. I was so horrified, I couldn't even scream. It happened again. It was my fault. It was exactly what happened to my brother.
It was trying to do to me what it knew I had done to Evan, and now Jeremy fell it’s mouth, blood spilling. I know I fell to him, held his head in my arms as though to keep it from falling apart. Other than that, I remember no sound, and nothing else until I was sat in a room.
It was an office of sorts. I assume Jeremy had been taken by paramedics. I sat in a chair, covered in blood, shaking and staring into space. There were a handful of what I can only assume were staff and a single police officer. They were pointing to me and saying that I was not an employee there. The cop was asking them to calm down. That’s when he showed up.
I looked up just as he did. Henry’s eyes fell on me, filled with recognition, and I could suddenly see an immense amount of fear in them. It shifted to rage. He immediately began to yell, demanding what I was doing there. I didn't hear much of what he said, I just stared numbly at him as though to silently execrate him. Now I think that he was scared. Scared because of my father. Scared of something my father knew, and by association, I could've known as well.
I suppose this is where I should end this statement. I’ve not had any unnatural experiences since. I did, however, finally speak with my father about everything. I didn't have much choice when I was escorted home covered in a bloody Freddy’s uniform. He said that next time I chose to investigate, I should inform him. I’ve gone on quietly ever since, after a week off I returned to classes. Like I said, that was last month. I know there is more to this, and I do intend to investigate as soon as I find a place to start. I heard of your institution during my time in London, and should I find anything else, I will be sure to write again.
All that is left for me to do now is wait. This is all I have to redeem myself.
—Statement ends.
JON:
This statement alone gives absolutely no evidence of anything unnatural. This is a long winded tale by a nineteen year old boy who admittedly deals with hallucinations and expresses several symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress. Mr. Afton claims to have witnessed the supernatural simply because artificial intelligence mimicked life, which is, obviously, the point. There is nothing here that suggests the machines in question could not have been tampered with and programmed to behave violently, especially if they were created—as Mr. Afton suggests—by a killer. It appears to me that this statement was written by a troubled boy wishing to somehow vent the immense amount of guilt he carries.
Sasha was able to do some research on Fazbear Entertainment, which seems to have become a popular horror story in that part of America. The events Mr. Afton listed seem to all align with newspaper clippings and articles of the time period. There seems to be two cold cased murders, one occurring at Fredbear’s Family Diner, the other at a sister location, the name of which has been redacted from the media. There is fan speculation on the web about two separate occasions where these particular robots have attacked people. It appears that these retellings are more like local myths, and no retellings seem to match the ones stated by Mr. Afton, nor do they include the same names. This leads me to believe that if those events in this statement happened, they were hidden from the public.
In 1985, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was shut down following an incident in which five children went missing. In 1987, a week after the grand reopening of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, the location was shut down following a second, identical incident. In 1989, it appears one Henry Emily attempted one more time to open a Freddy’s location, which was shut down a short time later due to health code violations.
Due to police records released to the public in the late 2000’s, it appears a missing person’s report was filed for one William Afton January of 1990. Another was filed for Michael Afton one year later. There was one more location opened surrounding the events of Fazbear’s, which opened to the public in 2014. It seems as though it was a fan made project, a horror attraction based on the horror stories surrounding the past locations. It unsurprisingly closed not long after it’s opening. This was due to an electrical fire.
There is no information that suggests current activity by Fazbear Entertainment, though it does seem to still be existing. According to those released police records, however, it appears that Mr. Afton may have been very wrong about his father. William Afton was listed as the prime suspect in both investigations of the missing children incidents. While there was not enough evidence for any conviction, records say the suspect was caught on camera footage during the first incident. He could be seen dressed in a mascot costume, luring children into a back room. The mascot costume in question is said to have specifically belonged to William. More fan speculation seems to suggest that Mr. Afton was murdered by his father in February of 1991, and that the supposed killer is still hiding from society today.
None of the ghost stories on the internet seem to point to Mr. Afton’s recollection having truly involved anything supernatural. The reason why I give this statement any of my time is because I happened to come across one particular statement, in which it appears a man from Hurricane, Utah claims to have discovered the secret to eternal life. It was written by William Afton. The statement was written and sent to the Magnus Institute in February of 1990, one month after his missing persons report was filed. Unfortunately, the statement in my possession is incomplete, seeming to be the first page misplaced from the rest of the statement. It appears that William numbered the pages of his statement, and the ‘⅕’ in the corner of the fist makes me hope the other four pages are all in one place. I intend to search for the rest of this statement, as well as look around for any more statements by Michael Afton.
If he did send any later statements, I am obliged to look into the matter further.
Recording ends.