Night One:

The Mexican Village

Cartman stood in the heart of Casa Bonita’s Mexican village, his eyes wide with wonder. The vibrant colors, the intricate architecture—it was like stepping into a dream. The daytime crowds had vanished, leaving behind a magical solitude that sent shivers down his spine. “Holy guacamole,” Cartman whispered, his breath visible in the cool air. “This place is even better at night!” He wandered past the mock market stalls, their wooden signs advertising imaginary wares. The scent of imaginary street tacos hung in the air, and Cartman’s stomach rumbled. He half-expected to see a band of imaginary mariachis serenading him from a balcony. “This is it,” he said to himself, eyes darting from one detail to another. “Casa Bonita—the pinnacle of human achievement. Screw Disneyland; this is where the real magic happens.” Outside the moon was high overhead. The evening lights casting dappled patterns on the cobblestone paths. Cartman imagined himself as a swashbuckling adventurer, uncovering hidden treasures among the papier-mâché cacti. Maybe he’d find a secret passage that led to a room filled with bottomless sopapillas. “I wonder if they have a secret nacho waterfall,” he mused. “Like, you pull a lever, and boom—cheese cascades down, and you catch it in your mouth. That’d be the ultimate nacho experience.” His footsteps echoed as he approached the fountain. The water, seemed to hold its breath. Cartman leaned over the edge, pretending he was gazing into an enchanted well. “If I make a wish,” he said, “I wish for unlimited churros. And maybe a talking chalupa.” But then he saw it—a shape in the distance. It stood near the stage, partially obscured by shadows. Cartman squinted, heart racing. Was it a statue? A prop left out from the daytime show? “No way,” he breathed. “It’s Freddy Fazbear!” The bear-like figure shifted, and Cartman’s excitement bubbled over. He’d played the Five Nights at Freddy’s games a hundred times. Animatronics coming to life? That was his jam. “Okay, Freddy,” Cartman called out. “I know you’re not supposed to move until the power goes out, but I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” Freddy didn’t respond. His glassy eyes stared into the distance, and Cartman wondered what adventures he’d been on. Had he battled evil pizza slices? Saved imaginary children from imaginary danger? “You’re my hero,” Cartman whispered. “And I’m about to spend the night in your casa. This is epic!” He edged closer, half-expecting Freddy to wink or break into song. But the animatronic bear remained still. Cartman’s imagination ran wild—maybe Freddy would teach him the secret handshake of the animatronic brotherhood. “Night one,” Cartman declared, raising an imaginary sword. “Let the adventure begin!” Daylight was his enemy. So, Cartman vowed to sleep away the sunlit hours, emerging only when the moon graced the stained glass windows. Casa Bonita was his sanctuary—a place where he could feast on sopapillas, watch the mariachi band, and scheme to outwit Kyle. As the world outside buzzed with activity, Cartman drifted into slumber, dreaming of endless enchiladas and secret tunnels that led to nacho cheese fountains. And so, each morning, as the first rays of dawn peeked through the restaurant’s stained glass, Cartman would burrow deeper into his hideaway. He’d emerge only after the clock tower chimed midnight, ready to explore the neon-lit wonderland once more. Casa Bonita was his fortress, and Cartman reveled in the thrill of being its nocturnal guardian

Characters in this Story

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