Y/N awoke in the dim glow of the empty arcade, heart pounding as the reality settled in—she had survived the Manager’s massacre. But safety proved fleeting. From the shadows beyond the broken windows, she felt his gaze, an unblinking devotion masked behind that warped Mickey visage. Each night, Y/N would glimpse him standing at the edge of her street, silhouette still, head cocked in that twisted parody of a mouse’s greeting. She learned never to look for long, for in his stillness there bloomed a promise: he was always watching, always waiting.

As days turned into weeks, the gifts began appearing at her doorstep: a single red rose pinned to a blood-smeared miniature Mickey ear cap, a vintage film reel labeled Steamboat Willie that, when played, showed her own terrified screams flickering across the screen. His obsession grew. He called her his “Minnie,” a muse for his morbid fantasies, even as he remained her unseen stalker. Y/N fled town under a new name, but no matter where she hid—college dorms, a friend’s couch, a halfway house—the gifts found her, each more personal, each more intimate, each a harbinger of his inevitable hunt.

Inevitably, the day came when the final lure appeared: an invitation scrawled in crimson ink, beckoning her back to FunHaven. Compelled by terror and a need to end the nightmare, Y/N returned, breath catching as she stepped across the threshold of the funhouse. There, in the flickering candlelight of the old office, waited the Manager—mask gleaming, gloves clasped behind his back, a small music box in his hand, playing a warped rendition of “Minnie’s Yoo-Hoo.” The trap had been set one last time, and Y/N realized too late that she had become the role he’d always written for her: his forever Minnie, destined to perform in his twisted show.