(DISCLAMER THIS WAS WRITTEN MOSTLY BY AI)

WHAT THEY NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT FREADBEARS

Written by: Former Employee (Name Redacted)
Date: Unknown
Recovered: 2007 during building inspection

I worked at FreadBears Family Diner from 1979 to 1986. I’ve stayed quiet for a long time, mostly because ShowBiz Pizza made sure anyone who talked too much didn’t stay employed for long. But after everything that happened, after the shutdown in 2004, I think people deserve to know the truth. Not the corporate-approved version. The real one. The one they buried under paperwork and fake smiles.

Everyone knows about the three deaths. What they don’t know is that those weren’t accidents. They were warnings.

Let me start with something simple: the animatronics were never stable. Not once. FreadBear, SpringBonnie, and SpringFeddy were built with early springlock systems that were already outdated by the time the diner opened. But ShowBiz didn’t care. They wanted something cheap, something fast, something that looked impressive enough to fool parents. And it worked. For a while.

But the problems started before the first death in 1985. We had incidents. Strange ones. Movements during power outages. Voices coming from the stage when the characters were powered down. Cameras freezing at the same timestamp every night. We reported all of it. Management ignored all of it.

Here’s the part nobody ever talks about: the animatronics weren’t just malfunctioning. They were changing.

Every time a technician opened one up, something inside was different. Wires rerouted. Servos tightened. Internal clocks reset. It was like the machines were rewriting themselves. And when we asked ShowBiz for updated schematics, they always said the same thing: “Use the originals.” Except the originals didn’t match what we were seeing.

I once asked a regional manager why the internals didn’t match the blueprints. He told me, “You’re not paid to ask questions.” Two weeks later, he transferred me to night shifts.

Now let’s talk about the storage room. The one sealed in 1981. The one where Mara was found in 1985. That room wasn’t sealed because of a leak or a wiring issue like they claimed. It was sealed because something happened in there during a private inspection night. I wasn’t on shift, but I heard the stories. Screaming. Metal scraping. A fourth voice on the stage audio feed. The next morning, the room was chained shut and every employee was told to forget it existed.

But here’s the thing: the animatronics never forgot. After that night, they started acting like something else was controlling them. Something that wasn’t in the programming. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

I know about the missing blueprint too. The one labeled S4 Observer. I saw it once, in the maintenance office. It wasn’t a character meant for kids. It was a monitoring unit. A supervisor. A machine designed to watch the other machines. And then it vanished. No one ever admitted to building it, but I swear I heard footsteps in the maintenance hall that didn’t match any of the three mascots. Too heavy. Too slow. Too deliberate.

When Daniel died in 1985, the official report blamed springlock failure. But I was there that night. I heard his radio call. He didn’t sound scared of the suit. He sounded scared of something behind him.

When Mara disappeared, the cameras didn’t glitch. They were turned off. Someone, or something, disabled them for exactly three minutes. Long enough for her to walk down the hallway. Long enough for her to end up in a room that was supposed to be sealed.

And when Elias died in 2004, I wasn’t working there anymore, but I wasn’t surprised. The animatronics had been acting strange for decades. They weren’t just machines. They were something else. Something ShowBiz never wanted the public to know about.

Here’s the truth: the diner didn’t shut down because of bad luck or faulty equipment. It shut down because the company finally realized they couldn’t control what they created. They tried to hide it. They tried to bury it. But the signs were always there. In the cameras. In the wiring. In the walls.

People think the building is empty now. They’re wrong. Machines don’t forget. And they don’t forgive.

If anyone finds this, don’t go inside. Don’t try to prove anything. Don’t try to be a hero. Just remember one thing:

They’re still in there. And they’re still awake.