//------------------------------// // Painted Faces // Story: The Sixth Child // by LibraryNexus //------------------------------// December 17, 1987 He floated in his box, weighed down by the weight of his failure. She was a precious child, beloved by her father. He was a protector, made to guard the father’s daughter, and to be a friend to the child. She was locked out, alone in the cold. He couldn’t reach her. She faced him all alone. He left the building, following his orders. S.A.V.E. H.E.R. But he couldn’t. They never could. She died all alone in the rain. He laid next to her, trying to wake her. She couldn’t go on. He couldn’t let go, doomed to follow his final order. To find her killer. To bring him to justice. A nigh-impossible task. The music soothed him. Kept her in a restless sleep. Distracted him from his failure. Kept her in dreams of pleasanter times. But the music wound down once again, and the dreams soured. And he would left his box, prepared to follow his instructions. And she saw the yellow pony on the floor. Fluttershy sat before the big box that had its own room. Dada Bear, Unca Bon, Unca Foxy, and Aunchic were in the food room and had left her to her own devices. She had ended up in the box room and was listening to the music playing. However, the music soon stopped. Fluttershy pouted and was about to leave when the box opened. A creature climbed out of it on spindly legs. Its body was black, with white stripes on its forearms and forelegs. It had a white face with purple markings on its cheeks and an open mouth. The creature stopped upon seeing the pegasus sitting on the ground. Slowly it reached a hand out and stroked Fluttershy’s mane. The filly cooed and leaned into the stroking. However, her name was soon called. Waving goodbye to her new friend, Fluttershy scampered out of the room. The Marionette stood in place after the pony had left the room. Slowly, she spelled out two words. “S.A.V.E. T.H.E.M.” “Am I dead?” the night guard asked, rising up from behind the desk where he had taken cover after he had found he had let the music box wind down. He smoothed his green hair and looked around, seeing no animatronic. “I’m not dead! Hah! Screw you, Phone Guy! Wait, where did you come from? And give those back!” “Ha-ha!” Balloon Boy laughed as he ran around the room, chased by the night guard, his precious batteries in hand. December 21, 1987 Jeremy was doing some research. He was currently sitting in the local library, looking at everything they had about Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. It… honestly wasn’t very much. The only things he had found were some old articles from a few years ago that spoke of the disappearance of some children. There had apparently been an investigation, nobody had ever found anything. The most recent item the library had regarding the pizzeria was an obituary detailing the suicide of the franchise’s creator, Henry Emily. Apparently, the franchise was very good at covering its tracks. Jeremy dropped his head into his hands. “None of this makes any sense!” he growled. “I suppose so, but this is still a library, kiddo, so you better keep it down.” Jeremy turned around to see one of the librarians standing behind him. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize that I was so loud.” The old librarian chuckled. “That’s alright. At least you’re quieter than some knuckleheads I know in New York. What are you working on anyway?” Jeremy motioned at the material on the desk. “Well, I used to work at Freddy’s-” “And now you’re trying to figure out what actually happened in that place,” the librarian guessed. “A lot of guards do after they get off their first five nights.” “Have any of them found out the truth?” “No, but this one guy who kept bringing in Diet Coke came close.” “That doesn’t help me,” murmured Jeremy, turning his attention back to the screen with the papers on it. “Hey, maybe it’s not my place to say, but maybe you could look for what is missing,” the librarian suggested. “You know, find what’s not there.” “Thank,” Jeremy said before checking the time. “Shoot! I’ll have to that later. I’m meeting someone, and if I don’t go now, I’ll be late.” “Ah, a date, eh?” the librarian said, winking behind his glasses. “It’s nothing like that!” Jeremy protested weakly. “Sure, it ain’t,” the librarian said, guffawing. “I’ll clean this up. Get going, true believer!” Jeremy left the library, his ears burning as he went to his not-a-date! with Rebecca. It was just the two of them talking over dinner and then going to the movies, and maybe it was a date… December 31, 1987 The man in purple scowled. Events were not going according to plan. Apparently, he only had ownership of his newer tools, his partner’s organization still held the older ones. Which meant he had no legal way to gain possession of them or the pony. He had still managed to get something out of it. He had managed to grab his first set. With them, he might be able to get the pony after all. He flipped a switch and waited for the machines to warm up. A pair of green lights came on in another part of the darkened workshop. “Everyone please stay in your seats…” January 1, 1988 He stood in the empty room. The lost souls had been taken to a new place, taking with them the pony child. The building had been abandoned, not even a guard remained. The only ones remaining in this place were himself and the giver. The first one he had failed. But hope had been rekindled, sparked by the pony child. He had seen his child emerge from behind the painted mask she was forced to wear. Recognition of herself, and of her surroundings. That made him even more determined to stop his plans. The music box wound down for the final time, the giver rising from her home. He stood watching as she became conscious, stepping forward when she was fully awake. “Come,” he said. “We have work to do.” The giver nodded. "I am ready... father."