The Warehouse
by Ethan Andrade, Class of 2025

The emergency alarm blared inside the old warehouse. Red lights blared, spilling into the decrepit rooms like a glass of cranberry juice, staining everything it touched with a crimson fade. The hue was dangerous. He knew what it meant.

Silent, Noah scanned his surroundings, reveling in the absence of “them.” He still had time. There was still hope. His body surged with adrenaline as he collected himself.

Quiet. The only way he might have a chance of surviving is by keeping quiet. Low to the ground, he crawled past dusty boxes and old mechanical gadgets, praying intently that he wouldn't have the misfortune of bumping into the mechanical nightmares that call this place home. Whatever they became, now distant from the fun and loveable image they once possessed, was unfamiliar to him.

The terrifying crash of glass breaking interrupted his thoughts and he paused, fear coursing through his body like a freight train; his heart pounded like a drumline. It was so loud he thought it might give away his whereabouts and draw the murderous machines straight to him. He sank in trepidation, face pale. The sound was distant, to his left, but that meant nothing. They were awake. They were coming.

Metal clanging grew louder and louder as one of the creatures crept in his direction. Noah slowed his breathing in an attempt to escape the fate that awaited him, should he get caught.

“I can’t get caught,” he whispered to himself. “I can’t.”

The image of his little sister flashed in his mind. If the monster got him, if he couldn't escape the hellish walls of the warehouse, he'd be leaving her with no one. That was not was not an option.

A violent screech halted him. It was mechanically twisted, piercing the air like a bullet, filling the room with an eerie aura. It was in the room with him. The room was tense and the air thickened. He choked on his breath, letting out a slight cough.

 “Shoot,” he said, as the grinding, dreadful sound of heavy robotic footsteps stopped abruptly. He peeked through metal rods that lay against the box next to him.

Back in its prime, this place was the largest robotics manufacturer in the state, producing state-of-the-art animatronic robots for big companies. Here, they would be stored and ready for purchase or rent for parties, entertainment, and endless amounts of fun.

For 30 years, the warehouse operated under the eyes of Fazbear Entertainment, Co. That was until…the incident. Five workers on duty disappeared one night. The police searched the building top to bottom; however, the investigation ended shortly after their bodies were discovered stuffed inside the animatronic suits. The warehouse was never the same after that, leaving much to be desired; so many unanswered questions and secrets hidden away for decades. It closed down just a few months after that. The cast of animatronic characters now had a reputation that ran the business downhill, leaving the tragic losses of five innocent workers and the robotic murderers behind.

Peering through the rods, his heart stopped as spotted something straight out of a nightmare. A fox animatronic, adorned with a hook and eyepatch, twitching and sputtering as little bits of electricity bounced off its mechanical body, towered in front of him. Time ate away at it, like a vicious predator, as the animatronic was tattered and decayed, missing patches of its felted costume, bloodied and dirty, exposing the chilling sight of endoskeleton and wire. Its eyes were pitch black, white pupils glowing effervescently like stars on a clear night sky. Its teeth were sharp razors, and it had millions of them, grinding together, and he placed his hands over his ears. He clenched his teeth together.

This was his favorite of the four animatronics: Foxy the Pirate, a singing and storytelling old scallywag. All the kids loved it. A chilling sight it was now. He couldn't help but wonder why it became so savagely violent all those years ago.

Lost in his thought, he leaned against the rods, causing them to come spilling out almost instantly. He sat in horror, each rod dropping in slow motion. Everything stopped; everything fell silent.