This is probably the singlehandedly worst worded, unorganized jumble of massed internet-based text I have ever created. It is the Frankenstein story that- while sickening for at least ME to behold -did indeed teach me a lot of the necessary things when writing basic bloody literature.

If only my younger self had known that at the time, perhaps Camera Angles would not persist like the rankly bad smell it ultimately is...

Well, to all their own. I suppose if you LIKE jumbled grammatically incorrect madness, then, have at ye, yah-mule, forwards, charge.

Chapter 1.

Mouse Trap for The Unemployed.

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"To sweep a camera left and right is an automated process done by the device's mechanisms. But to catch what it scans with motioning human vision, that's the trick with anybodybrowsing the feeds."

-Writ 1 of Surveillance .

The bone-chilling blare of an active electronic device, that spelled the doom for morning snooze- filled the entire room in a millisecond-precision of timing to extract an- previously unknowing -victim from rest.

When the screech of the roused alarm clock reached a height insurmountable, a pale hand snatched out from beneath flapping linen- wrapped fingers over the top of the device -and heaved the block of plastic far enough that it silenced with a horrible clack against the opposite wall.

A grunt, sifting of tossed sheets- and the gradual sheen of sunlight invading the cracks of his closed window shades became seeable through the drowsy haze of a good DAY's sleep- seeing as those hues had been there upon his first trip to bed.

He had nocturnally passed the day away, all in preparedness for a new occupation- a way to make quick, and easy coin for his singular maintenance.

Despite the grueling boredom that had followed him in the hours of dusk, he could say he was all too happy to NOT complain. All that mattered was that he was paid to sit in an office, listen to a rattling rusty desk-fan, and stare at a tablet to watch for whatever the boss said to watch for.

Literally, he was a security guard with nothing to guard from, or guard in general.

He had scoffed the mere idea, with doubts of pay and actual consideration for it being logical. Not only was it free money, but the place of establishment was in the middle of... Well, nowhere. Really.

And, on top of that- the place was old, REALLY old- the looks alone would scare away most would-be intruders. Yet, if the stereotypical appearance of every abandoned warehouse in horror movies didn't send the burglars packing- then the NAME would.

'Freddy's Pizza'- long past its age of popularity. Forgotten, frankly presented in a spooky outlook- the CPS would probably want a talk with any parent who willingly brought their kids there.

It wasn't as atrocious on the inside... But, man, there were rafters hanging off of places and hinges UN-hinged- for a children's pizzeria, the building was externally a waste dump. That was the kind description.

But Phillip Linn was kind of used to the idea of non-perfection- he was not to complain, as explained -it could be a lot worse. The building was old, no one went there anymore and it smelled funny, but the manager wasn't a complete jerkweed and it was easy.

Piece of cake.

Indeed, Phillip Linn- fathered by the late man of the same name, unaware of his mother's identity- was a solitary guy with very little familial backstory, or interest in his own origin.

He was alone, he lived in a medium sized home in the wooded suburbs of his state and town. He was young, mid-twenties, striking lad. He was a creator- he liked writing historical tales -pottery, and physical crafts that were for a select few with a knack.

He didn't talk much with others, and some days he believed that insanity was setting in from his isolation as without need for much money in his cheap costs of living. His father had left him the house- it was paid for -his art provided a lot of freelance cash. Simple layout.

That was why this job... This excuse to sit somewhere other than the confines of his home- was not just for the extra green, but just a way to get out more. Heck knew, he needed the time outside.

Flinging out of his bed- limbs all over the place -he threw a T-shirt on -slid over that a padded vest with the applied letters 'SEC' on the top breast corner in white. A little cap came with the set up, he joked about his comedic appearance when he put it on.

Going downstairs, Mr. Linn drained a cup of orange juice- put on a jazz song from the music channels on his television in the living room- he ate a bowl of cereal (Despite it being dusk)- and stepped outside onto his porch after setting a home defense alarm.

Locking the door, turning briskly- he frowned a bit at the dark, near abandoned street that his home faced, and strode purposefully to his driveway.

Sitting there waiting for his arrival was an old Ford model car- painted blue, the specifics of its year and manufacture went dim on him years ago. He pulled out his keys, slid it into the door, opened and he sat down.

The engine purred- he gazed over his shoulder to start backing out.

The security guard with nothing to guard from, was on his way for the start of a game, if you will.

It was a very simple game- it involved a lot of camera angles at first -but later, it would turn into something no one could have ever expected. Least of all Mr. Linn.

As he drove down the forest-lined highway- criss-crossed the sideroads to reach said highway- Phillip became reminded of how grim, dull, and foreboding the building came off as when in broad view.

If Phil hadn't been properly informed- he might have mistook it for a Cartel hideout.

Well, at least- like he already knew -it would ward off stupid kids from trying to make off with the precious reserves of cheese and holy sauce that obviously were hidden within the pizzeria's depths. Why ELSE would somebody hire a guard for the stationary train-wreck that was 'Freddy's Pizza'?

The manager was an odd fellow- had a thing for talking real explanatory-like -an anti-social old man that had a squat stature about him. The dude had become ecstatic when Phillip volunteered for that particular station.

Phil had a done a few odd-jobs for the staff there- which by this point were two janitors, and the old man, and that was it.

The old man had come to like him though- he hired Phillip right on the spot when he queried about the adds he'd read in the paper.

Humming at that thought- Phillip flicked his signal to turn right- slowly spiraled underneath the shadows of the foreboding woods that concealed the pizzeria from passerby's reactionary nightmares.

His car settled across a lot of black asphalt- illuminated by a mere few street lamps that were on the edges of the pavement block, and by the front door of the establishment. Freddy's Pizza sat there like a blocky lump in the center. Menacing.

Phillip laughed at himself when it came to that dramatic of adjective- he parked between the slot of two white lines -frowned in astonishment at how fast the night reinvaded the space his headlights once lit up in twin cones.

It seemed a tad unnatural. In fact, the air itself felt a little... Mottled, he'd say.

Meh. No big deal.

Stepping out of his car, he surveyed the surrounding lot- shivered, shut his door and locked the car, stepping up across the sidewalk and to the steps layering before the front entrance.

A decorative archway curled up and over the door- molded from lack of maintenance, the words 'FREDDY'S PIZZA!' drew below the disturbing visage of the demented looking cartoon bear himself. He was sprung behind the title, leaping with joy- the whole thing just screamed about secret plots to find the viewer in their sleep.

Another trick of his mind to a harmless children's character.

But could you blame him? The children's characters ALWAYS turned up as the sadistic killers in the horror games on his laptop.

Frowning at the image painted up there- he felt the key creak through the opening lock of the door, he inside and shut the entry with an arc behind him.

THWAK!

THWAK...

thwak...

Indenting his brows, he startled in a bit of a jump.

Holy son of the lord, the place was THAT empty?

He spiraled to view the recently cleaned, dining area of the place, tables polished for the thousandth time and failure to remove the crusted pizza remnants that were older than he.

The janitors always cleaner-nuked the rooms to eviscerate the nasty marks that invaded pretty much every table and counter in the building- and all they succeeded in doing was making the whole place smell like you were sticking your nose in a Windex bottle.

He snorted in a half-sneeze- gazing by the long tables, the stacked chairs lining both walls of the room, and the ones pushed underneath the dining furniture.

A wooden stage sat dominant in the hanging backdrop over the eating area-it held three blocky, humanoid shadows that appeared the most imposing things Phillip had ever seen.

A purple haired rabbit, a bird, and the bear- all mechanical, matted-furred monstrosities built to provide some terror-induced mockery of physical reality for the characters they depicted.

The rabbit had the stupidest name, by what the old man had said- Bonnie -really, who thought that was a good idea to name the GUY character? What a croc.

He was ugly, a mouth full of fat molar teeth, jaw slack and moldy arms holding a desecrated banjo instrument that looked too small even for a dwarf- he had purple colored eyes that lazed in his metal cranium.

Chica- the yellow furred chicken -arguably was worse. It was fat, bulbous, matted with stains and quite displeasing to behold. She stood there in the drunken silence all robotic contraptions designed for entertainment did.

Centered between the two of them- was none other than Freddy -the character the pizzeria was named after. Brown, mildew-encrusted fur held barely on a body of rusty metal and poorly kept joints. There were brown run stains down his mouth and chest.

The three animatronics always freaked him out whenever he came inside the place to help the old man with something. They just... BOTHERED him.

The manager's comment of their 'Nosiness' must have set that off. He never directly said it, but Phillip was worried about this idea of convincing him that the things moved.

Luckily, the manager's mental breakdowns weren't part of his problem. This was easy pay- averaged out to minimum wage every week for his time, to stare at the nightmare fuel all night.

Cool stuff.

Phillip ran his hand through his short hair- putting the cap back on for his 'Uniform' if that- afterwards to start strolling between two of the tables. The doors ahead led to the rear compartments of the pizzeria- the kitchen, bathrooms and storage areas, the works.

The office was all the way in the back, it was long and rather unnerving walk through the bowels of the pizzeria.

All the walls here were in rough condition- almost as bad as outside -plastic decorations meant to look like pizza slices were falling off of the plaster they had been adhered to. Dark doors lead to the kitchen- one lead to the basement, and the old man let NO ONE down there.

That tidbit... Actually bothered him more, at the moment. What was down there? Maybe the old man was a complete freak and kept pornographic magazines stashed in a trunk.

He chuckled at that thought.

The office doorframe came up- he clenched the rim with one hand and ducked inside. The old, dusty desk stood by the front, detailed with a wheeled chair and topped by a rusty fan that rattled as the head moved back and forth slowly.

Raising his lower lip- he stepped inside fully, noting these big, fat gray buttons on the doorframes- two on each side. One labeled 'DOOR', the other 'LIGHT'.

Squinting in suspicion- he scooped up the silver-colored slab- the tablet -sat in the seat of the roll-chair for him. He pulled up the main screen, remembering the brief overview the old man had given him.

He checked the battery symbol for the pizzeria's generator- the one behind the stowage closet in the rear of the office- evident by a single, locker-like door that jutted from the wall there. It was green.

Reaching over, he pressed the 'LIGHT' key on the frame to the right- holding -and flinching when a wheeze of ozone hummed outside the door, illuminating the hall outside eerily. He looked back at the battery, still keeping the light on.

'98' the battery changed to, from '100'.

Hold the phone-

"...WHAT?" Phillip snapped. "What, does the power company siphon all the electricity from this dump? Specifically at NIGHT?"

Turning dramatically- he whipped out his phone, and hurried to the desk.

"Stop RIGHT there..." He grumbled, yanking a few drawers, and finding a roll of duct tape. "Oh hell no. I'm not even dealing with this..."

He tore the metal door to the generator compartment open, and started typing on the phone.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Wiping sweat from his brow, Phillip sat back as the generator in the back of the office thrummed in a somewhat healthy display of mumbling, and he snatched the wire-box shut again.

He smiled, and patted the side of his phone musingly.

"Thanks Wiki-Help..."

Stepping back towards his chair, he bent to retrieve the tablet, and flipped through several of the camera feeds of the rooms on the grayscale view.

Normally, Phillip wasn't searching for the sort of 'Abnormalities' that would soon become commonplace in his screwed up week- but tonight, when he saw the feed for the stage, something caught his eye.

Snapping to look up at the right door, the one he'd come from, he saw a disfigurement in the shadow through the arch, and he felt tempted to hit that 'LIGHT' key on the frame again.

Oh crap.

Pretending to be oblivious, he kept one eye on the shape, and flipped through all the cameras, he checked all the entrances, and found them undisturbed.

So then, who/what was outside the-?

"Where's quackers?" He muttered, doing a last sift through the rooms, even Pirate Cove- the one chamber series the old man never let anyone in -with its closed curtain still hiding the 'Off Limits' thing his manager wouldn't allow him to see.

He stood and stepped over to the door, squinting, before flicking the light button.

He yipped in surprise from the ajar mouth of- indeed -the giant chicken. Chica's matted fur was mottled in the light, she stared in the office interior's general direction aimlessly, posed to enter. Now THAT wasn't normal, these things weren't supposed to be wandering around because of robotic systems... Especially not lying in wait for him to stop looking.

Phillip gulped, reading the 'LET'S EAT!' on her bib, before he angled closer to the door switch.

"Alright, let's eat..." He growled.

CLICK

THUNK!

"Hope you like door."

-0-0-0-0-0-

The silent treatment had gone pretty well for awhile, but now that Phillip's suspicion was up, he noticed that dreary blotch, outside the now closed doorway, but from the window next to it.

He felt an eye twitch, and he rolled his chair over to flick the lights there on again.

The chicken grinned back at him through the flash.

Once again, he jumped in fright from the scene, huffed angrily.

"Would you just... GO AWAY!" He made a shooing motion, finding himself a tad crazy for talking to the robot. The old man must have wearing on him.

When she didn't move, he growled and flipped his hand upwards- middle-digit protruding in its facing center -before rolling the chair back to the center of the office. He didn't need to be prim and proper in here either way.

Still, this whole thing with the bird kind of scared him. They weren't supposed to move. Not that like.

Checking the tablet again, he disregarded the stage and the chicken's freakish friends that still stood immobile on its base- hedid notice the curtain at Pirate Cove had shifted a tad. He squinted at the screen, seeing what appeared to be a curved lip of metal- a sharp tip of some sharp object, jutting from the curtain's parting.

There was ANOTHER of these psycho killer, walking Sega rejects there TOO?

Phillip swallowed, and glanced to the window again.

"Oh for God's sake..." He stood bolt upright, taking the time to check the other door, before he stomped over to the window, leaned over the desk, and still saw the outline of the deranged chicken.

Now keep in mind, that Phillip Linn was an innocent member of the United States workforce- thus, logical explanations were something he prided himself on, and relied on when countered with situations in and out of labor.

There wasn't a process going through his head, along the lines of - 'The boogeyman's out there! I gotta' be CAREFUL!' -Because to Phillip, the boogeyman wasn't real. He didn't exist.

So, living monsters inside a children's pizzeria? Existing? PAH! HA! That, was a good one!

Nah. That was the garbage parents drabbled to restless babies. Yet, years later looking back on it... Why he did, what he did, always evaded his sense of reason later on in life.

His fist hit the door button, and the structure of metal vanished above into the slot of the ceiling- as he stepped partially into the hall, sneaker crossing the line of illuminated office, and shadowy hall.

"Stupid gear-head..." He snapped lowly, and went about looking for a pair of gloves to physically push her back to the stage if needed.

He didn't want to touch the thing... But if it ran into a box, keeled over, and cracked open like a computer tower being dropped from a roof- Phil would have some explaining to do at how he had murdered Daffy-Duck's inbred cousin.

However, when a disturbance echoed down the hall from a source, that was relatively close to him- he stopped everything he was doing, and went still. It sounded like something alive. An animal, maybe? What was this now?

Had someone gotten inside? Who would rob this place?!

It was a deep thrum- had a gurgling reverberation too it.

He stopped dead, back turned to the animatronic.

Not good.

The sound repeated, and he could deduce where the point of origin was.

Well, guess the theory of them not being possessed, all of the BUPKISS talk about how logic applied here- just flew down the toilet.

He turned to the thing, slowly, turtle-like, and saw that the head- frighteningly -was facing his direction.

A moment of silence, and his feet began to carry him to the office.

Just take it slowly... No sudden-

"OHMYFRIGGINJESUSHELPME!"

This was all in a rush.

Phillip Linn- solitary, striking lad with no life outside his crafts whatsoever- felt his heart get caught in his throat, when the impossible happened.

The bird animatronic extended its wing-like arms in his direction- joints creaking, hisses of static leaving its nasty maw- it opened and it screamed like a murderer in a horror movie the most terrible cry he'd ever heard, before its ragged feet pumped towards him.

Phillip flipped like a cartwheeling school-girl, tumbled back inside the office and dove for the door button.

He was a tad too slow, and the monster wailed in his face, its BREATH, of all things, smelling of death and dust. He screeched like a child, and he grabbed the first thing he could think of nearby...

CLANK!

The rusty fan shattered over the thing's head, and the pieces skittered everywhere off of him, it, and the floor. The crazed demon bird staggered back, and, feeling bold, he jabbed his heel out in a jerk, putting a shoe-mark on its gut before he slammed the door down.

Growling and gurgling outside, before staggered, frustrated steps carried the thing away.

A look of shock, dismay, questioning of reality, permanently masked his features, and, mouth still agape, he ran over to the other side of the room, tripping over his chair as he went, and snapped the light on.

He screamed again when the purple hare of death grinned back at him, and that door sealed off too.

Phillip shook, quaked, and whined like a fearful mutt, he scrambled across the floor for the tablet and turned it on.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, 4 AM?!" He shrieked. "-I'M GONNA DIE AND YOU CAN'T MAKE TIME GO BY FASTER?!"

He cycled the camera images again, seeing the killer chicken and even her rabbit partner had positioned on the stage again beside the rabid bear. He shook a little with relief.

They had moved. And they had moved AGAIN!

The other rooms proved empty, and the cursed curtain of the cove had sifted a little more.

Just barely audible in the trench of shadow was the pair of eyes behind the thing, the curving implement of metal he'd saw before- coming out more in an experimental stick.

Phillip groaned in regret.

No wonder that frag-job of an owner hired him, he was the latest victim! The next toss into the demonic food bowl!

He was going to KILL the wrinkled bastard when this was over... If he LIVED, of course.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was 5 am, and Phillip watched as the rabbit/chicken kill team stalked outside the windows in intervals- shadows sifted, hollow footsteps rebounded. He curled tighter in his chair, repeatedly checking the tablet for the time.

This was insane, he was trapped in his own office by man-eating animatronics, and the manager was apparently some sick ringleader. It was either a thousand dollar raise, or he was quitting... AFTER beating the crap out of the manager first, of course.

Sweat dripped off of him, and he somehow wished that annoying fan- that now was in pieces on the floor -was here to work as it always did, at least there'd be SOME form of idle noise in the deathly quiet office.

He wiped his forehead.

If only he had seen this fine-text of being taken up on the spot, Phillip found himself chastising his previous thoughts of this 'Easy' job. This wasn't boring and uneventful anymore, this was a matter of his being ripped apart by apparently demonic animatronics.

The cameras flipped through each room with speed, his finger dancing across the screen with hurried flicks. All of his prior problems, three to be exact, continued their lingering in every corner of the place, and every now-and-again, their eyes would be turned to the lens of the camera observing them.

Phillip had never been a pyro in his life, but he wished he had a flamethrower, like, NOW.

"I'd burn your asses..." He growled subconsciously. "Then, for good measures I douse the singing ashes in holy-wate-OHSHIT!"

The young man stood bolt upright when he watched Pirate Cove again, the only room the other animatronics were avoiding, and he had a good idea why that was.

When he saw the ajar curtains, the out-of-order sign pushed aside, the growing darkness that once housed whatever fourth, final monstrosity lived in here- seeming to mock him that the last butcher was on its way -Phillip almost soiled himself. ALMOST.

Patting his backside to check anyway, he swallowed, and swung his gaze to the left door.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

"Oh, not good, not good, NOT GOOD!"

Sprinting to the door, the rapid-paced footfalls outside the hall ceased -and he would've felt relief if it WASN'T ceasing the noise right outside the door.

He squeaked like a fearful toddler, shifting forwards all at once, he compressed himself to the door's metal fully, arms splayed in a backwards embrace-

Though, there was a conundrum- as, these doors opened into the ceiling... How could he barricade it if the thing outside could just lift?

Right as his brow raised to his own ignorance, his world rushed past as whatever flung the door open tossed him a foot away into the OTHER metal entry. A loud bang of impacted metal, and the poor, unsuspecting guard's body flattened, and stuck, to the now dented horizontally opposite entry for a good ten seconds, before he crumpled to the floor silently.

"Ow..." Phillip muffled into the concrete.

A pealing sound of pressed skin was heard as he detached his face from the ground, shook his head, and stumbled towards the tablet beside his toppled chair.

"Must... M-make sure... Others, didn't..." He uttered between the pain in his skull. "-MOVE."

However, just as Phillip apprehended the tablet, shook it to light the screen again, his finger came to a grinding halt midway to the surface, his eye twitched, his mind went blank. He just recalled the reason why he was partially delirious, and for that -he was no LONGER delirious.

He snapped up to look at the frozen animatronic in the doorway, and he let his jaw clench as the monster resembled a deer in headlights. Honestly if the thing wasn't so... Beat up, there wasn't another word he could make at the moment -it might have been an interesting sight.

It resembled a vulpine, a fox, more so- its ears were suspended via stilt-structure from openings in its head, a ragged eye-patch covered a still-present right eye, and its fur looked matted in some areas, material was torn away to reveal coppery machinery beneath.

The fox blinked with metal-looking lids to him, and cast a quick glance about the office.

Phillip wasn't breathing this whole time, but, despite his panicky, rushing mind- he figured if the thing wanted to kill him, it wouldn't beat-around the bush with a 'Nice Oblivious' treatment- these animatronics seemed just right to the point- it would have torn into him already.

With a gulp he noted its right wrist ended in a hook- kind of like what the pirates in old movies had, a sickly parody of something Black Beard would've had on his wrist.

When it noted his staring, what could be described a darker hue took on its face, and the hook gradually lost sight behind its hip.

Speaking of hips, for an ugly, hell-induced, mindless killer, a brute, the animatronic seemed very... He wanted to say GIRLY, but he supposed the professional term was FEMININE.

Damn him and his intellectual ways.

Phillip felt his knees struggle as he stood, both from kneeling for so long, and from fear- as he did so, the animatronic jumped a bit, and took a step out of the doorway.

He took a step back himself.

"U-uh..." He swallowed, and found his speech not working. "-Um-H-Hiii-" He slapped a palm over his mouth at his attempted greeting.

Holy God, he sounded like that alien cartoon character, Stitch, that he watched as a child! That was just creepy, and the last thing he needed was to provoke this... CREATURE, before him.

Ironically, to his shock, the fox drew back its mechanical chops, upwards, and... SMILED. A shifting sound matched its lightly bucking shoulders, and the hook it had pressed to the tip of its snout before it stopped short, eyed the hook, and reapplied the metal prosthetic behind itself again.

Good grief it GIGGLED at him?!

What now, impending murder was CUTE to them?

Even if that sort of vibe wasn't emanating from the particular fox facing him, it certainly gave off enough display from its outside appearance. Obviously, the old lessons his mother taught him of 'Never Judge of Book by its Cover' just HAD to end up helping in a near death instance, right?

Seriously, this beat-up, decrepit and dirty animatronic could come off as a serial killer in an animal suit if it/he/she, whatever it was- didn't come to this strange understanding, or whatever you'd call this.

Nevertheless, Phillip got past a minute amount of the shock/fear factor, and took the time to size the neutral beast up.

Quite, it had the hips of a full younger female, a human woman which... Kind of creeped him out. It could've been a young lady under the suit, who knew?

Its torso was curved, in an hourglass figure, whatever form of torso distinction that existed or didn't on its chest was obscured, heavily so beneath a thrice-wrapped seal of medical tape, probably something scrounged from an office.

Now convinced it was a female, Phillip took a steady breath, and figured he was at least a TAD lucky ONE of the four freaks wasn't trying to eat him.

With frozen, defensively posed arms- he stumbled slowly to his chair, pretending the fox wasn't staring at him the whole time, held his tablet firmly, and creaked the suspension as he sat. Taking a glance at the idle appearing animatronic every now and again, he flicked the camera visions one after the other, and found the three hadn't moved, and it was around 5:35 at night.

Just... TWENTY-FIVE minutes... Thank the lord...

Leaning back with a sigh of relief, he felt the sudden enwrapping feeling of warmth and fuzziness to be soothing more than anything, and a satisfied grin of relaxation formed on his face-

Hold the phone-

Fuzzy? Warm?

His eyes snapped open, bulging.

Filling his vision to the gap was nothing but darkened red/orange fur, a patch of which was gone to show a internal piston beneath. He twitched, and didn't bother to meet the fox's quick glance to his face, scalp pressed to her belly, before she returned to gazing curiously at the tablet's screen, claw and hook leaning to the chair's top.

Phillip couldn't move, and the fox seemed to sense this, as she backed away to stare silently.

The chair creaked again, relieved from her weight, and stopped in the center of the office, Phil moving without resistance to the chair's rolling travels like Stephen Hawking cruised around on his automated wheels.

His vision locked to the fox- the animatronic shifted on its feet, and crossed its arms over itself in a somewhat self-protective gesture. A raspy vocalized parody of what resembled speech, made him jump upright to gaze at the ajar left door fearfully.

At first, he thought it was the gurgling chicken or the rabbit, but when nothing turned up, he looked at the fox again to see its bolt-hinged jaw quivering a little, its voice sounded like a hissing, broken speaker from an old Matchbox car dropped on the floor too many times by a toddler.

"H-Hell-hell-o..."

A spark of electricity jumped from a joint on its chest, and with an annoyed huff, she reared back with a bunched fist.

Phillip tightened, and then, the miraculous happened.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP

The guard's eyes swung to the tablet as the God-sent 6 am marking flashed to his screen innocently.

A smile on his face, and when he looked up to possibly see the end result of a monster caught in the sun, like catching fire or melting or something, he was greeted with an empty office, the gradual patter of softening footfalls down the hall.

A bird chirped outside.

With a heavy twitch- Phillip frantically grabbed his things, stowed the tablet, opened the doors, and ran through the lobby to the main entrance- he didn't even LOOK at the stage.

He locked the door, and stepped into his car, sitting in the driver's seat.

A moment more of quiet, and he started at the vehicle's dashboard, eyed the building again. Coughed. Straightened his uniform.

And SCREAMED.

He screamed so loud in that stupid 1980 Ford, that if there were people anywhere near that lot, they would have heard him. He screamed to the point he hacked and lost his voice the rest of the morning, and still, a raspy air-sound left his gapped, rattling jaws for another five minutes.

The car backed out with a screech of rubber on pavement, and barreled out to the road.

Phillip didn't leave his locked room all day at home. When the mailman came with a package, he was asked by a idle, dead-sounding man from an ajar second-floor window to leave it at the stoop. When he did so, he got back to his truck only to hear the door snap open, and two quaking hands snag the package inside.

A click of a lock, thudding of impacted stairs, and the same second floor window slammed shut.

That locked too.

The mailman uttered curses upon believers in the apocalypse and stopped at the next house with three letters in hand.

-0-0-0-0-0-