It must have been several years since the first child awoke. The one with a droopy jacket nudged the one in a crown-shaped party hat. He seemed to ignore him.

Sleeping on a crate nearby was a boy in a sun hat. Next to him were two other children, one in an frilly dress and the other was taller in a messy tux, also in a party hat. A final boy lay curled up in the corner, with a cardboard sword.

The boy who was awake crept to the front of the building. It was depressingly empty, with unwashed floors that reeked of blood and pizza sauce, and a thick layer of dust coated anything the previous owner of the place had left behind.

But last time he was here, there weren't as many crates. . .

The sweater-wearing boy peered out of the glass doors. There had been a sign there recently, but it was not there anymore.

Judging by the snowy ground yet leafy trees, it was early spring. March, maybe.

'Jack?'

The boy in the sweater turned around. It was the boy he tried to wake up earlier. He still looked tired, but at least his glittering gold eyes were open.

They had no pupils.

The golden-yellow boy gazed past him. 'What are you doing up? What year is it?'

"Jack" shrugged.

The boy with gold eyes glanced around. 'Do you see any newspapers or anything? Mom always had the date written on them.'

'I saw one on a box earlier,' Jack told him. He drifted from crate to crate until he found it. 'Willy, come here!'

The boy with the dazzling gold eyes rushed over.

The newspaper was in color, so it was a magazine, but that would work, too. On it were several strange headlines.

"iPhone 5 recently released!"

"Review on Pokémon X & Y Inside!: Is it alright for your child?"

"Let It Go: How FROZEN Became"

"The Scariest Game of the Decade: 'A Week at Chuck E.'s' becomes a hit"

"Disney Cartoons Then and Now"

'What is an eye-phone?' someone asked.

The pair nearly jumped. It was the girl in a dress. Her eyes were a sunny yellow, like Willy's, but not gold.

Willy pointed at the paper. 'Chelsea, have you ever watched "Froh-zun"?'

Chelsea shook her head. 'Read about it!'

'Princess Anna and-' Jack started.

'BORING,' called Willy. 'Princesses are for sissies!'

Chelsea looked offended.

They started arguing about what a Pokémon probably was until the boy with a sword rushed in. 'Hi!'

'Luke, do you know what an Espurr is?' Jack immediately asked him.

Luke shook his head. His rusty red eyes reflected the magazine article.

'Just hurry up and check the date!' shouted a boy with brown spotlight-like for eyes.

'March two, two-zero-one-four,' Jack dictated.

The boy with had his eyes open unnaturally wide with shock, 'Twenty-fourteen? Two thousand fourteen?'

'Derek, we've been closed for a long time!' Willy gasped.

'Almost thirty years. . .' Derek muttered.

A pair of vibrant purple eyes gazed at him. 'That makes you almost forty! But you still look ten! My mother used to want to look younger than she is! This is a good thing!'

'Hi, Ron!' Willy said, even though they saw each other all day.

Ron waved.

Jack held up the newspaper. He cried out, his voice cracking with distress, 'Look! We're doomed!'

"LOCAL PIZZERIA WILL REOPEN! FREDDY'S SHALL RETURN DESPITE LOW BUDGET"

Chelsea shed yellow tears. Derek looked horrified. Ron gasped, and Luke covered his eyes. Willy hugged Chelsea.

Jack let the paper fall.

'We're going to be stuck again,' he announced. 'We poor young souls have no control of our fate after death. And it's been so long since I've been in a suit, but I am certain none of us want to go through the horror again.'

Derek growled, 'I am going to KILL whoever decided this was okay!' His eyes had become dark, and white dots for pupils were visible.

'Derek, honey, we don't need to have a repeat of last time. . .' Chelsea soothed.

He glared, 'Who cares anymore? Jeremy betrayed us, we're being brought back, we were murdered. We would have become like them. They deserve death.'

He stomped away without another word, over the dried red puddle where a gang crippled their old friend.

'Hey, bear boy!' Ron shouted at his angry friend.

Derek growled, 'Don't call me that.'

Ron ignored him and asked, 'Is someone walking over your grave?'

'We don't have graves,' Derek answered, a little surprised. 'Our bodies were never found, remember?'

'Yeah, and they never will with those old animatronics gone,' Ron laughed. 'Anyway! My dad would say that whenever someone was in a bad mood. It meant someone was walking over the place you are supposed to be buried.'

'Supposed to?'

'Yeah. . . Gives you the idea of hope, eh?'

Derek slowly nodded.

Ron stared him in the eyes. He replied, 'Good.'

The boy with the illuminated purple eyes hopped away.

He was alright for a ghost.

Jack watched as a man, maybe in his sixties, directed the men holding crates around. The white-eyed, droopy-sleeved kid would occasionally peek into them.

He saw a crate with Foxy in it. The fox was rust red, with an eye patch and a sharp hook. He had a pair of pants. He looked a lot like the older Foxy, but there was an odd difference. Maybe it was just the fact that he had no endoskeleton yet. But he was so new, too. Maybe Foxy wouldn't have a terrifying extra pair of teeth now. Luke would be pleased.

Where was Luke?

It took him a moment, but Jack found Luke gazing at a rather small enclosed area, with purple curtains blocking out anything inside from whatever was outside. It wasn't too different from what they used to have at Fredbear's, Pirate's Shore. A sign with the words, "It's Me!" was planted before it. If Jack remembered correctly, it should say, "It's Me, Pirate Foxy!" with a list of show times and details only parents could decipher.

'What are you doing here?' Jack questioned.

Luke smiled and swung his cardboard sword. It dripped a black liquid, motor oil or Luke's own blood from when he died. 'I'm here to admire the fact that they put in a place for us pirates! Argh!'

Chelsea poked her head through the curtains and announced, 'There's an amazing kitchen, guys!'

Ron showed up from behind the purple wall, too. 'The Show Stage is amazing! The music is nothing like anything they played in eighty-seven! Speaking of music, who here can teach me the style of the gang-man?'

He was stared at like he had just said he hailed from space.

Derek pointed at the boxes. 'Look at the new animatronic designs!'

The five kids murmured in wonder. Jack didn't, however.

There was no Marionette.