All the past parts linked on my page. I'm a bit of a late updater, so I'll only link the parts for the Fazbear Frights in this spot, and link the part of my page that has the ones for the novels and games.
Oswald was finally free. He was finally able to rest, finally free from the rabbit animatronic. Finally home. Finally got to take a nap.
He and Jinx sat watching TV on the couch. He was off, dreaming about another world where his family was broke, and his parents didn’t have to work all day. He was just trying to distract himself from the bunny dangling from a rope at Jeff’s.
He heard a knock on the door. He looked around, but his parents weren’t there.
He looked through the hole in the door, but no one was there. Maybe it was the mailman, or some prankster.
He opened the door and looked down. On the porch was a white envelope with a note attached to it.
Oswald reluctantly picked it up. He unfolded the note.
Dear Oswald Heere,
You aren’t the only person to see him. I’ve seen him my whole life. He may have pretended to be your father, but for me, that is my father.
But that isn’t important. I’m starting a therapy group for people like you who have been traumatized by Freddy Fazbears, or a related company. I’m not saying you have to go, but if you want to, it’s at the office building down from the library. 2:45 PM.
Obviously, not everyone who’s been traumatized will be there, but you can be a good start. A test run, see how weird the rabbit hole is.
Regardless, hope you enjoy the gift. And no, it wasn’t stolen. Gained completely legally.
-MA
Oswald opened the envelope. In it were a bunch of hundred dollar bills. About fifty. Which equaled about five thousand dollars.
Oswald was in shock. Who was MA? Why had he just given him this much money?
His parents were just as surprised as he was.
“Five thousand?” His mother asked. “Why would he do that?”
“Os, we can’t use this,” his father told him. “What if it’s counterfeit? Or he stole it?”
“Why would you give stolen money to a random kid?” Oswald fought back.
“What if he’s a sadist who wants us to suffer? It’s paper. We don’t know where he got it from.”
Oswald looked through the envelope again. He didn’t notice the paper in the back. He pulled it out.
“It’s a receipt!” he cheered. The paper document, showing that “MA” had drawn the money out of his bank account. His name was written in cursive on the bottom, but Oswald couldn’t read it.
Decades later, Oswald sits at his kitchen table. He came from nothing, and was making more money than he could have imagined as a child making video games.
He has that receipt hung up on his wall. A sign of kindness from a man he didn’t know.
His wife smiled from across the room. She kissed him and went to take their kids to school.
Oswald smiled at the document on his wall. He couldn’t read the cursive name as a child, but now it was easy.
“Michael Afton…” he whispered to himself. “Thank you.”
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