Whitney's Nights at Freddy's: An Untold Chapter (EDITING)

Chapter Two

Whitney chewed on her lip, pacing the living room with her phone to her ear. She had called twice now, and her patience was wearing thin with the dial tone repeating over and over again. She almost gave up, at least, until she heard the sound of the caller on the other end picking up.

"Thank you for calling Fazbear Entertainment," the caller, a younger woman by the sound of it, said with a half-hearted tone. "If you're looking to file a complaint, please--"

"N-No!"

The woman hushed abruptly.

Whitney took a breath, realizing she'd raised her voice at the poor woman. "S-Sorry," she replied weakly with an embarrassed chuckle, "I'm not calling to make a complaint." Whitney wasn't sure whether she had stunned the woman or if she had hung up on her. Her heart sank for only a moment before she heard the woman sigh on the other end.

"Alright, what can I do for you?" She sounded something short of surprised. Whitney didn't expect the voice to be as excited or enthralled about her calling, but she didn't think they would sound surprised as she had.

They weren't expecting any job seekers, I guess. Though, I can't say I blame them. If I were someone else, I'd want nothing to do with that damn place.

Whitney glanced back at the paper on the counter where she left it. She took a deep breath, "I was calling about an ad I found in the newspaper; there's an opening for the nightshift at my local Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria." She spoke slowly, hoping to hide how nervous she was over the phone. Part of her was starting to have second thoughts, but she pushed them aside. She had to do this. "It's the one in Hurricane, Utah."

She needed to do this.

The silence was loud for a minute or so. On the other end, the woman had gone deathly quiet. Whitney was certain she had hung up this time.

"H-Hello?"

"O-Oh! Y-Yes, absolutely," the woman stuttered to life again. "You are potentially interested in the night shift?" The woman hesitated when she returned the question as if she hadn't heard her.

Whitney gave a nod to no one. "I am interested," she replied, confidence lacing her words. She started to pace again, closing her eyes and breathing deep and slow. "I'd be happy to tell you my skills and experience," she explained to the woman who had yet to answer, implying half-false excitement for the opportunity. She hoped she wasn't being too harsh or too forward. She was never good at "interviews" or anything similar. She took classes to improve her public speaking skills, as well as participated in workshops for mock interviews as practice in college. Though nothing outmatched her anxiety levels, leaving her a mumbling, frantic mess.

Though here she was now, still managing to hold conversation--when the woman on the other end wasn't quiet--and managing to discuss her interest in their job opening. Whitney went back to biting her lip as she patiently waited for the lady to answer her. Whitney could barely hear the woman mumbling to herself, but the words were inaudible as she stopped pacing. Please, please, she thought. Not only was this job going to get her adoptive parents off her back (she'd debate on telling them at all where she would work) but she'd finally find some answers to her problems.

That is if there were answers to be found there in the first place.

"Sorry for the wait," the woman came through again with an uneasy tone. She sounded hesitant and uncomfortable. "I needed to grab some paperwork. I'd be happy to go through the application process with you now if you don't mind?"