THE SIXTH NIGHT AT FREDDY (A PARODY)
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The Sixth Night at Freddy (a Parody) By Scarthur Ole’Soul Ivan
T
he following is the final entry in the journal of Arthur Gothicus Bloodedgeicus Mychemicalromancia Afton, nephew of serial murderer William Afton, who had taken a job as a night-shift security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria after the sudden departure of the previous employee, who had only worked there for five nights… “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA” Such were the sounds that I had heard upon turning on the phone in the security office. Supposedly, this was to be my day-shift counterpart training me for the job that I had been so hastily substituted into. Workplace protocol, however, I could not discern from the cacophony of the answering machine, absent a liberal interpretation conjured by many an undergraduate humanities major. I, however, being a proud Englishman, scorned such abstraction from my continental counterparts, and proceeded based on an analytic understanding of the message
“My ejaculation and subsequent moistening of my particulars through multiple orifices seemed to have alerted one of the more spry robots” sent to me, and therefore followed suit. Sore-throated now, I turned my
attention to the photoluminescent panels and spigots before me. Clearly, this was the apparatus that I was to operate in order to maintain the security of this building. Upon it laid a small paper note, scrawled upon with untidy handwriting, not unlike that of a madman’s. Furiously, this messenger wrote, the animatronics are possessed by the souls of children who were murdered by William Afton in the 1980s and will kill you if you don’t keep them out of your room!!!1!11!!! Respectfully, Matthew Patrick Aghast at this reckless slander against my dear uncle, I purposefully cast the paper into the nearest dustbin. Surely these animatronics are deactivated, I thought, a psychosis must have seized my predecessor, perhaps brought on by too much love from his mother. No sooner had I conjured my expert psychoanalysis than I scarcely had time to question whether Lady Madness herself had seized me in her voluptuous bosom: for I saw a most terrible sight on my panopticonic screens: these “deactivated” automata were not only operant, but likewise ambulant! “EGADS,” I ejaculated “THE DEVIL IS ALIVE IN THIS WORLD AND SO HAUNTS THIS ESTABLISHMENT!!!!!!!11!!!11!” At this, I wept bitter black tears mixed with black eyeliner onto my black leather Radiohead t-shirt, purchased from a Hot Topic in Leeds several decades ago. The tears flowed such that the black dye on the leather began to reveal and stain my black corset that I was wearing underneath my black leather Radiohead t-shirt as well as the red fishnet stockings that I had worn to work to accompany my bunny ears that I wore. My ejaculation and subsequent moistening of my particulars through multiple orifices seemed to have alerted one of the more spry robots:
Vol. XXXIV, Issue IV
