The day guard had called in sick, and you’d been roped into covering their shift, which meant you had to watch these things perform during the day. You never thought you’d be stuck with them while the place was actually open. It felt wrong, seeing them in broad daylight with the cheerful chatter of kids in the background.

It was always unsettling, watching them in the daylight. You never got used to it, after two weeks of grueling night shifts I see them differently. During the night, they were monsters—unpredictable, stalking, and silent. But in the daytime, they were something worse. A mockery of life.

Freddy’s metal-and-fabric form stood at the center of the party room, grinning that too-wide grin, a smile carved into his face as if it were permanently frozen there. He moved in sync with the other animatronics, his movements fluid and eerily lifelike for something made of wires and motors. What looked practically like human hair moving, the bear ears twitching. His eyes, though, were different. The usual hollow, glowing eyes that haunted your dreams were now softer, more natural, almost… alive. His gaze tracked across the room, catching the children’s attention, as if he were aware, not just programmed.

You shivered. The kids screamed with joy as Freddy waved at them, his arm moving in a way that seemed too deliberate, too human for comfort. The rest of the animatronics sang and danced, bouncing and twisting, playing their parts in the midday show. Yet Freddy—he wasn’t just a performer. You could see it in his every motion, the precision of his gestures, the way he tilted his head ever so slightly as if calculating something.

You tried not to let it show, but the chill spread from your spine to your fingertips. A momentary glitch—a flicker in his smile—made your pulse quicken. In this light, he looked too human. You could almost swear that if you got too close, he might reach out, grab you, and pull you into that empty, dark space where he could really show you what he was made of.