fnafhauntedmasquerade

[fnafhauntedmasquerade]

The Introduction

A Tale of Secrets and Shadows

The muffled hum of voices drifted through the walls, accompanied by the clatter of stagehands shuffling set pieces into place. Beyond the closed dressing room door, preparations were well underway. Costumes rustled, light rigs creaked, and faint bursts of laughter echoed as performers readied themselves for another night under the grand velvet lights of The Haunted Masquerade.

Somewhere outside, through the theatre’s PA system, the smooth sound of Dean Martin’s voice floated down the hallway:

🎵 “Ain’t that a kick in the head…”

The music blended with the ambient noise of the theater, like a distant echo from a forgotten era.

Inside the dressing room, however, time seemed to move slower — as if the world had slipped into an old film reel. The space was bathed in the warm glow of golden bulbs lining a vanity mirror that was a little tarnished around the edges. Dark red curtains with gold trim hung from the ceiling, draping across parts of the wall as if to give the illusion that the room itself was a stage. The air smelled faintly of old cologne, varnished wood, and cigar smoke.

At the center of the room sat an oversized vintage armchair — worn but dignified — its dark leather creased by years of quiet contemplation. Framed posters of past performances lined the paneled walls, their edges slightly yellowed, whispering of countless nights that had come before.

Seated comfortably in that chair was Mr. Hippo himself — a figure as timeless as the room around him.

He sat tall and dignified, his deep plum-purple skin catching the glow of the lights. Draped across his frame was an elegant, old-fashioned black three-piece suit, complete with a dark navy overcoat, polished buttons, and a neatly tied bow tie. Pinned to his lapel was his signature flower — a curious little creation unlike any simple rose. But instead of the usual orange-and-yellow look, this one was different. Its petals shimmered in vibrant shifting colors: red, purple, green, orange, and blue. At the center, two tiny metallic antennas extended upward, twitching subtly, as though the flower itself were quietly listening to the air around it. A soft mechanical hum pulsed from its core for those who stood close enough to notice.

Balanced atop Mr. Hippo’s round head was a neatly perched black top hat, wrapped with a navy-blue ribbon, completing his dapper ensemble. A wooden pipe rested between his jaws, faint smoke curling from it in soft spirals. His pale blue eyes — calm, steady, and knowing — reflected softly in the dressing room mirror.

The low rhythm of the music outside continued, but Mr. Hippo’s attention was fixed squarely on the invisible audience before him.

“Ah… what a wonderful show we’re gonna have tonight. Even if it is just rehearsal night,” he said softly, his voice smooth and deliberate. “And what a lovely surprise — new friends have joined us.”

He smiled, as if greeting an unseen guest who had just entered the room.

“Being here, backstage, certainly reminds me of a story… oh yes, quite a tale indeed. A story of secrets… and shadows. Of magic... and mystery. Yes, yes, a performance one certainly won’t forget.”

His voice dropped into a hushed, almost conspiratorial whisper.

“Now then, dear reader, I must tell you — this isn’t just any ordinary story. Oh no. You, my friend, have a role to play too.”

He leaned forward in his chair, as if he were about to whisper a secret directly to the reader.

“Now, this story is told in dual perspectives. Which means some scenes may overlap… you may see things you’ve seen before. But my dear friends in The Haunted Masquerade—nothing is ever quite what it seems. And seeing the same tale from someone else’s eyes? Well… that might reveal truths hidden in plain sight. Secrets you’d never uncover if you only followed one set of footsteps.”

He made a small gesture with his hand, as if inviting his guest closer. “Throughout this tale, you’ll find clues laid out before you. Maybe an image one day, or what they call mini-games, songs, etc.”

A pause, and then one of his gentle detours.

“Reminds me of a guy I once knew. He’d find secrets in all kinds of things. And then he’d make theories about it — always trying to find the lore in the littlest things. Even went as far as counting animatronic toes... What was his name? Ness? Pat-Slap? Mat-Pat?”

The faint click of the dressing room lights hummed behind him as Mr. Hippo chuckled softly to himself.

“To be honest, I don’t really remember. What was I saying? Oh right — the story…”

He leaned back in his chair. The music outside drifted faintly as Mr. Hippo’s voice softened. He shifted his gaze ever so lightly to the ceiling, thinking of the tale he was about to tell.

“Our story begins with a young man named Toby. A curious fellow who loves a good mystery.”

His blue eyes twinkled under the glow of the bulbs.

“Now, Toby just recently applied for a most unusual job. A five-nights-only gig at The Haunted Masquerade.”

He let the words hang in the still air, like the final note of an overture.

“Now you may be wondering — what exactly is The Haunted Masquerade? Well, my dear friends, that’s where our story begins. The Haunted Masquerade is our touring magic show. And our headliners? Kelly Elmsley and Psychic Fredbear.”

Mr. Hippo’s knowing smile deepened.

“Now you’re probably wonderin’ — who is Kelly Elmsley?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes reflecting a quiet intensity. “Well, my dear reader… you’re about to find out.”