Springs (FNAF fic) #Wattys2015

Epilogue- Tell Me Your Story

"Gah!" I screamed as I stumbled out of the shower.

I had nearly fell, for the forth time this week, attempting to bath with one hand.

Working with solely my right hand was a hard and tedious process, as my injury had been on my dominate hand. I couldn't help but think that the Murderer knew which hand would be more inconvenient for me to loose use of. I quietly reminded myself that if I ever happened to get a second life, I should never, ever, use my dominate hand around people. Strangers should never know what side of my body I center my life around.

Pulling on a pair of blue jeans with difficulty, I trudged into the kitchen and withdrew a bag from the fridge.

The small paper bag contained food that James and Mark had been kind enough to send to my house. After they had noticed my distinct lack of caretakers, the two men swore to help me get my life back to normal. Of course, I wasn't sure how normal I could get, due to the rather traumatizing scenes I witnessed at Fazbear's Fright. Some things simply don't leave a mind that easily.

Before I could microwave the meal, I heard a sharp knock at the door.

I narrowed my eyes into a glare, glancing at the door.

"Coming," I said in a decidedly normal tone, inching over to one of the shelves under the countertop. I opened the farthest left one, putting my hand in and then drawing it out, brandishing a handgun. I always kept one preloaded for situations like this.

I stomped to the door, throwing it open.

"Oh! Hey, Scott! How's your morning-" James' cheerful face quickly faded when he saw on the firearm directly aimed between his eyes. Mark jumped back in distress.

I frowned, lowing the gun to my side. "Ah, sorry about that. You never can be sure who's knocking on your door these days..."

James cautiously eyed me, mouth quivering. "Scott, Mark texted you and told you we were coming...!"

I tossed the gun on the kitchen table and squeezed some of the water out of my hair. "I haven't checked my cell phone all morning. I've been trying to take a shower."

"Well, we wanted to take you to lunch. That's what Mark sent you." he muttered, sighing.

"Lunch sounds nice. I'll put a shirt on and then we can leave." I said, nodding and sprinting to my room.

After getting dressed, I climbed into the back of James' (and possibly Mark's, I wasn't sure of the situation) car and we drove into town. He parked near this small café, which was advertised to have excellent sandwiches and coffee.

Before we got out of the car, James turned to me. "Scott, can you get my laptop carrier? It's beside you, in the other seat."

I murmured an affirmative and grabbed the black, rectangle bag. I was slightly confused on why he was bringing his personal computer, wasn't the point of this outing to have lunch with me?

Inside the restaurant, Mark selected us a small table, and then asked us what we wished to eat. I told him I desired a sandwich and a bottle of water, while James just asked for coffee.

While we were waiting for our food to come, James became deeply engrossed on something on his laptop. He had a wide grin on his face, eagerly typing every few minutes.

Finally, curiously got the best of me. I leaned over, quietly asking him what he was doing.

James' eyes twinkled. "I was hoping you'd ask!" he gleefully gestured at the screen, where I could see that he was in an online chat room.

"You're..." I squinted. "...taking to people?"

"Not just anyone! You see, I'm chatting with my favorite game developer, the guy who made Five Nights At Freddy's!"

What the crap was that?

I rubbed my forehead. I really shouldn't have asked. "I'm assuming I'm supposed to know what that is, correct?"

James slapped his hands on the table, excited. "It's awesome! Five Nights At Freddy's, or FNAF, as the fandom calls it, is this awesome horror game series about the Fazbear restaurants!"

I leaned back in my chair, deciding to humor him. "So, what are you saying to this game developer?"

James tapped the edge of the table, looking a tad bit bashful. "You see, he wants to make a new game, the third in the series. He wants it to draw off of the recent rumors of Fazbear's Fright, so I told him I could be an informant for the game."

"Very fascinating," I muttered.

"But then, last night, I got to thinking. I thought, 'James, you don't know that much about the place, but you personally know someone who does!' So, that's why I decided to take you to lunch! I want you to tell your story to the game developer!"

I sat up in my chair, lowering my voice and glaring. "James," I hissed, "You and I both know the contract we signed. If Mr. Sanders finds out we broke our vow of silence, he'll sue the crap out of us !"

James frowned. "I know, I know... But it's just a work of fiction! That's what everyone will take it as!" he flashed me a sad smile. "And, well, I thought it would kinda help you. You can finally talk about this with someone. It'll be therapeutic, almost."

He had a point. Maybe confessing that nightmare would make me feel better. But I had one last condition.

"I want a cut of the profit."

James swiftly typed something on his computer, and then waited for a reply. After several seconds, a high pitched ding came from his computer.

"Ah! He said he would be glad to give you payment in return for your stories."

"Is he gonna do it?" Mark suddenly said, putting a tray of food on the table.

James squealed in a rather unmanly fashion. "Yes!" The two men slapped their hands together with joy.

I grabbed my sandwich and took a bite out of it. "What's this guy's name anyway?"

James looked at his computer for confirmation. "Mike, I believe. But I think he has some other informants like us."

"Alright, I think I'm ready to start. Make sure you type everything I say, no adding or leaving out anything, got it?" I said, clearing my throat.

"Gotcha, Scott!" James said, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"It all started on my first night at work, when I saw Springtrap on the cameras..."

Author's Note- Hahahahahaha!