1.2 Five Nights At Freddy's: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

CHAPTER II: Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

"I really appreciate you two coming out," the man whose name tag said Mike Schmidt greeted Dean and Jay cordially, shaking their hands. They'd taken the Impala to a small building just on the edge of town, a cluster of administrative offices for food outlets all over the state. Dean smiled at Mike, nodding reassuringly.

"It's no problem, really." Jay put in with a trademark crooked grin. "We're in need of a job, and you're in need of security guards. How could we refuse?"

"I'm glad to hear you're excited about the job," Mike chuckled. It was a nervous sound, as if he wasn't really happy about what he was saying. He rubbed his forearm, shrugging, his eyes flying around his small office. "Not many people are. I mean, it is a night shift, first of all... And not everyone is delighted by the animatronics... Or, frankly, the history of the place..."

"Well, we're a lot harder to scare off than most folk." Dean assured him, shooting a brief glance at Jay.

"And what are your names again?" Mike asked, discontinuing his darting glances around his office to look at Dean and Jay.

"Ian and Lou," Dean spoke up immediately. Jay shot him a sly grin at the Foreigner reference that Mike luckily didn't catch.

"Right, thanks. Okay." Clapping his hands together, Mike said, "I can take you out to the pizzeria and give you a tour now, if your schedules permit --?" 

"Yes, certainly," Jay said eagerly, gesturing for the door.

*

The place was run down, at the very least. The outer walls were thinly veiled by flapping, translucent tarps, but what slivers of plaster did peek through were cracked and yellowed with age. Boarded up with old, dirty planks, the front windows gave no hint to the state of the interior; but Jay could assume that it was as grimy and decrepit as the exterior. Up above the doors, the "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" sign was swaddled loosely is brown, water-stained butcher paper. Eh, I've seen worse, Jay thought to herself as she stepped onto the curb with Dean at her heels. 

“Well, this is cheery.” Dean commented, sniffing disdainfully. The place looked strange, out of place, in the bright sunlight, as if it would be better suited to a dismal, overcast grey sky and lurking fog. With neither present, it seemed almost clownish. 

“Yeah, it is a bit of a dump,” Mike admitted as he pulled a pair of keys from his pocket. "Since it's been out of commission, we've, uh, we've kind of let the place go..." 

"Understatement." Jay muttered under her breath, and Dean flashed her a grin behind Mike's back as he fiddled with the lock. Jay could see that his hands were shaking, and he was leaning slightly away from the door -- the entirety of his body language screamed reluctance. He did /not/ want to go into that building. Perhaps he knew something about it, Jay mused to herself. She'd slip some questions into their later conversations for a bit of confirmation. 

Staring idly about himself, Dean was untroubled by Mike's resistance to the place. He hardly even noticed it. The place was creepy, sure; but it wasn't so bad. Compared to some of the rotted dives he and his family had taken to during a hunt, it seemed relatively normal. 

Except for Mike -- once he really looked at him, Dean could tell that the man was a pretty nervous guy. Reasoning that Mike was disturbed by the restaurant's past, Dean sighed slightly. Hell, I'd be nervous too if there was murder at my job, he thought to himself, then realized that death was kind of in the hunting description. He subsequently wondered why /he/ wasn't a nervous wreck. 

The door opened with a grinding creak that echoed bluntly through the building. Giving a gentlemanly -- or perhaps cowardly -- gesture for them to go in first, Mike practically clung to the door as they passed him by. The room opened to something of a dining-space, with a several rows of oblong tables ringed by chairs and spiked dotted with striped part hats. Beside them as they walked in, there was a large stage shrouded by a dusty, washed-out red curtain. As Mike flicked a switch, bringing to life a single sickly, flickering lamp that partially illuminated the room, Jay darted around to the front of the stage, peering inside the faint folds of florid fabric.