The neon sign outside of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza was barely functioning, its flickering letters casting sickly yellow and pink glows into the murky parking lot. A rusted chain hung on the front doors, but the chain had long since been broken; the lock lay twisted on the ground like a severed finger. The building itself seemed to sag with a haunted heaviness, the chipped paint on its facade looking like flakes of decomposing skin.
In the Mystery Machine parked out front, Mystery Incorporated huddled around a single flashlight. Fred turned the flashlight off and on, testing it; Velma fiddled with her phone’s battery, cursing under her breath at the abysmal signal; Daphne rechecked her reflection in the rearview mirror, frowning at the eerie swirl of distant thunderclouds; Shaggy trembled, and Scooby-Doo had his head under an old blanket, whimpering.
“Okay, gang,” Fred began in his usual chipper tone, though it was tinged with unease. “We’ve tackled haunted amusement parks before, but this place is different. According to the locals, Freddy Fazbear’s was shut down after a series of bizarre ‘accidents.’ We all know what that usually means.”
“Ruh-roh!” Scooby muttered, peeking out from the blanket.
“Ruh-roh indeed,” Shaggy echoed. “Why do I always feel like these old pizza joints smell like…doom, man?”
Still, they bravely (or foolishly, in Shaggy’s and Scooby’s case) left the safety of the Mystery Machine and stepped through the battered doors, flashlights sweeping across the deserted lobby. Instantly, the stench of stale grease and something far fouler—coppery, metallic, like dried blood—assaulted their nostrils. The walls were plastered with fading posters of cartoonish animals. Freddy the Bear stared, wide-eyed and grinning.
A single hallway led to the main dining area, where big party tables were scattered like overturned tombstones. A sad, dusty stage rose at the far end, painted in dull purples and star-spangled backdrops. On that stage stood a quartet of old animatronic mascots: Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. They loomed in the half-darkness, plastic eyes glazed, jaws parted in silent mechanical glee.
Velma adjusted her glasses. “Rumor has it these animatronics have a mind of their own after midnight—maybe even earlier. Something about…possessions?”
Fred nodded. “We’ll split up to cover more ground—”
“No way, man!” Shaggy objected. “Like, we’ve seen enough horror movies to know that’s a bad idea!”
“Scooby, you and I will check that corridor,” Velma pointed to a sign reading EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Fred and Daphne, you circle around to the backstage control rooms. Shaggy—”
Shaggy frowned. “I’m, like, allergic to splitting up, but I guess I’ll—uh—guard the snack stand?”
That was good enough for Fred. “Let’s move, gang.”
Hallway of Horrors
Velma and Scooby crept along the Employees Only corridor, the air thick with the smell of rancid pizza sauce and something congealing beneath it. The walls were covered with children’s drawings of Freddy and his friends, all featuring bright colors and forced smiles. But in the flickering fluorescent overheads, the eyes in those crayon drawings looked sinister, as if they were watching.
Velma reached a large metal door marked STORAGE and twisted the handle. It creaked open, revealing a cramped room stacked with half-disassembled animatronic parts: plastic limbs, dented heads, gears caked with old oil and grime.
Suddenly, an unearthly squealing sound ripped through the darkness, as though a thousand nails raked across a thousand chalkboards. Velma spun around in time to see the silhouette of Bonnie in the corridor—its purple fur stained in blackish patches. Bonnie’s mouth opened wider than it had any right to, revealing rows of jagged, metal teeth. Its eyes glowed an unnatural red.
“Scooby, run!” Velma shrieked.
But Bonnie lunged faster than a mechanical rabbit should ever move. The overhead light flickered madly, like a strobe in a haunted house. As the animatronic’s nightmarish metal claws raked across the cinderblock wall, sparks danced and flew.
Scooby yelped in terror, his tail puffed out like a bottlebrush. He darted away, but Velma lost her footing, falling backward onto the oily floor. Bonnie advanced, shrieking and scraping, ears twitching.
“Ruh-uhh!” Scooby hollered, braving his fear to yank Velma to her feet by the collar of her sweater. They sprinted through the corridor, each step echoing in that cramped, suffocating darkness, Bonnie’s mechanical footsteps hammering behind them.
Kitchen Carnage
Meanwhile, Shaggy had discovered the kitchen—undoubtedly drawn there by the faint, stale smell of leftover mozzarella. The counters were dusty; the ovens were cold and coated in grime. But in the corner of the room, he found a half-eaten pizza in a cardboard box.
Like a moth to a flame, Shaggy approached. “Hey, it’s not that old,” he mumbled, ignoring the green fuzz encroaching on the cheese. “Could be worse, right, Scoob?”
But before he could take a bite, the lights cut out completely, plunging the kitchen into absolute black. The fridge hummed ominously, spitting out an acrid, metallic odor. Shaggy tried to scream, but a new sound froze him in place: a thick, wet slosh, like congealed tomato sauce being slopped into a pot—only it wasn’t tomato sauce.
Behind him, two glowing eyes appeared. Then, a second pair. Then, more. The rotting stench intensified, and four animatronic fingers brushed his shoulder. Shaggy whipped around to see Chica, its beak ajar, the interior lined with black gore that dripped onto the checkered tiles. A stray mechanical wire wound through the jaws, jerking them open and shut like some monstrous puppet from a fever dream.
Chica let out a piercing shriek, and the flickering emergency light revealed the entire kitchen floor: a slick sea of something far too red to be pizza sauce. Body parts—some unidentifiable lumps, others forming partial torsos—floated in the gore. Chica’s bib, reading “LET’S EAT!!!,” was stained so thoroughly with blood that Shaggy wanted to retch.
He slipped in the mess, shrieking in panic. The animatronic corners him, beak snapping. In a moment of pure, terrified adrenaline, Shaggy hurled the moldy pizza box at Chica’s face. The box slapped Chica’s beak, momentarily confusing the metal monstrosity.
Shaggy dove beneath the counter, nearly colliding with an upturned trash can spilling rancid leftover parts. He emerged on the other side, scrambled for the exit, and pelted down the hallway, stinking of gore and stale sauce, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Backstage Bedlam
Fred and Daphne discovered the backstage area, home to a labyrinth of curtains, stored props, and flickering circuit boards controlling the animatronics. A dusty catwalk above was lined with drooping cables that snaked down like nooses waiting to be used.
Fred examined a large control panel. “If we can just shut off the power, maybe these things will—”
Crash! Something slammed into a metal door behind them. The door flew off its hinges, revealing Foxy the Pirate, the animatronic fox with a savage hooked hand. Its eye patch dangled uselessly, and a nest of black wires spilled from its torso like innards.
Daphne gasped. “Fred, we’d better run!”
But Foxy lunged. In a move that was more savage than any mechanical being had the right to be, it slashed at Fred with its hook. Metal screeched against bone, opening a vicious gash on Fred’s shoulder. Blood sprayed in a ridiculous geyser—just like something out of an absurd midnight horror flick—splattering the walls and soaking Foxy’s bright red fur.
Fred let out a guttural yell. He and Daphne stumbled back, the horror overshadowing any normal sense of reasoning. Foxy advanced, teeth clacking, hook swiping in wild arcs. “Stay behind me!” Fred grunted, pressing a hand to his bleeding shoulder, his crisp white shirt turning a saturated crimson.
Clank—the overhead stage lights shorted out, plunging everything into a nauseating strobe effect. Foxy’s movements jerked in stop-start animations, the flicker of the lights creating the illusion of some unholy demon bounding forward.
Daphne grabbed a thick prop board and swung it in a wide arc. The board connected with Foxy’s head, caving in part of its metallic snout. Sparks showered like twisted confetti; an unearthly squeal reverberated off every surface. The animatronic staggered.
Fred seized the moment, ignoring the pain. He hammered a large lever on the control panel. A series of loud clacks erupted, and for a split second, all the animatronics in the building seemed to twitch. Then Foxy’s eyes flickered out, and the robot collapsed in a screech of tangled wires.
“Let’s get out of here and find the others!” Daphne cried.
Fred, pale and drenched in blood, nodded. “Right behind you!”
Showdown on the Main Stage
Drawn by the sudden flickers of power being rerouted, everyone converged in the main dining area. Velma and Scooby sprinted in, breathless; Shaggy appeared from a side corridor covered in gore, eyes wild. Fred and Daphne emerged from backstage, battered and bloodstained.
They barely had a moment to exchange shell-shocked glances when an unholy roar rattled the building. The overhead lights flared a demonic red, revealing Freddy Fazbear himself center-stage. His grin had warped into a sadistic grin, metal jaws lined with razors. His plush suit was crusted with centuries of grime and…human residue.
“Jinkies!” Velma squeaked, noticing Freddy’s massive arms ending in wicked, serrated claws.
“Oh no, not the big guy!” Shaggy wailed. “We should’ve stayed home and— ate pizza safely!”
Freddy lurched from the stage, lifting a massive, rotting microphone stand that looked more like a bludgeon. In a lurching motion, he swung it downward. The stage exploded in a flurry of wooden splinters and flying confetti. Grinning, Freddy advanced with a horrifying mechanical groan, each footstep sounding like a sledgehammer to the floorboards.
Fred, half-delirious, locked eyes with the lever near a secondary control box on the wall. It was labeled MASCOT EMERGENCY DISASSEMBLY in chipped letters. “If we can activate that, maybe we can put Freddy out of commission,” he said.
“It might blow the whole place to kingdom come!” Velma yelled.
“Like, maybe we want that!” Shaggy retorted.
Freddy let out a metallic shriek, lunging at Scooby. The mechanical jaws snapped, scraping fur off Scooby’s tail. Scooby howled, bounding away on all fours, slipping and sliding in the sticky gore that coated the floor.
Daphne rushed across the pizzeria, vaulting over an overturned table. She kicked the lever with all her might. Sparks exploded from the ancient wiring. All around them, the walls trembled. Loose ceiling tiles fell in a hail of dust and debris.
A surge of lightning-like energy blasted through the animatronics, ripping them from the inside out. Bonnie’s head twirled in a full circle before popping off, spewing thick, dark fluid. Chica staggered, spouting wires and gears that flung across the tables in a nightmarish display of mechanical entrails. Foxy, reactivated momentarily, clutched at its chest as arcs of electricity shredded its torso.
And Freddy… He seized his own head, as if trying to hold it together. Red light poured from his gaping mouth like the glow of a furnace. Then with a final, bone-jarring screech, his jaw split down the middle. The entire suit exploded in a tempest of metal shards, oily fluids, and sparks, showering the pizzeria in a kind of gory animatronic confetti.
The Aftermath
For a moment, all was silent, except for the occasional drip…drip…drip of mechanical ichor, and the heavy breathing of the traumatized gang. Alarms blared from half-broken speakers in a warbling, static-laden loop.
“Ruh…ruh…r-rooby-roo…” Scooby managed, trembling as he peered at the carnage. His fur was stained with a combination of tomato sauce and something far more sinister.
Fred sank against the nearest wall, clutching his shoulder, his face twisted in pain, but alive. Daphne leaned over him, pressing on the wound. Velma collapsed to the floor, hugging her knees, her eyes wide with horror. Shaggy gulped, stepping gingerly through shredded suits and severed animatronic limbs.
Just when they thought it was over, Freddy’s head—missing half its face—gave one last crackle. A dying whirr escaped its robotic throat. It tried to form words, but only a guttural hiss remained. Then it fell silent, forever.
Shaggy swallowed hard. “Can we, like… burn this place down now?”
Velma nodded slowly. “I think this ‘mystery’ is…solved enough.”
No one argued. As they limped back to the Mystery Machine, the building behind them began to spasm with electrical failures and the quiet moans of half-dead systems shutting down. An ominous red glow pulsed from within the busted windows, as if the building itself recognized the doom it had visited upon so many souls—and was content to die with that secret locked inside.
Within moments, with the flick of a lighter tossed onto a leaking gas can, flames licked the walls. The inferno took hold, roaring skyward, devouring old tables and rotten animatronic innards with voracious glee.
Scooby, Shaggy, Velma, Fred, and Daphne slumped into the Mystery Machine. Streaked with gore and ash, they drove off into the darkness, silent, haunted. They left Freddy Fazbear’s behind, the flickering sign briefly illuminating the smoke-filled sky, reading:
FREDDY FAZBEAR’S PIZZA
We’ll stuff you in soon!
And as the roaring flames engulfed the pizzeria, one final mechanical laugh echoed from deep within the collapsing rubble—a disembodied cackle, promising that the darkest nightmares never really die.
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