The Talbert Files (Hoax)

Overview

The Talbert Files are a series of fabricated documents spread by Christopher Ryans Talbert in 2018, intended to shed light on the tragedies tied to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. It consists of a variety of anonymous reports, sightings, journal entries, and letters primarily spanning the years 1983 - 2015. The central material is claimed to be written by Fazbear Entertainment cofounders William Afton and Henry Emily.

Fazbear Entertainment has officially confirmed the documents' falsehood.

Factual Discrepancies

Though the Talbert Files is apparently intriguing enough to have captured the minds of many readers, especially artists, it nonetheless contains many blatant errors which have caused it to be disregarded by the general public. For example:

• It is suggested that William Afton once had two sons, the younger of whom passed away in 1983 after an accident involving an animatronic character at Fredbear's Family Diner. However, it is well documented that Afton has only one son- Michael Schmidt, formerly Michael Afton.
• Certain paranormal phenomena are explicitely affirmed; for example, there are several references to the ghost of Charlotte Emily. It is also implied that the ghosts of the five missing children from 1985 continue to haunt Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The existential status of such spiritual entities is highly disputed.
• The documents follow the popular theory that the bodies of the aforementioned missing children were hidden within the suits of the Freddy's animatronics. This theory was publicly disproven after a careful search by investigator Bronwen Light in 1985. Fazbear Entertainment has confirmed that, had the bodies been stored in the suits, a technician certainly would have spotted them during the animatronics' regular maintainance.

Alleged writings by William Afton (Transcribed)

July, 1985

"The children have accepted my gift. For once in my life, I feel something. Not anger, not jealousy, not ridicule. Love.

These children have opened themselves up to me, and the potential I see in them is like nothing I've known before. I will mold them into a more perfect state, so that they can know the extent of my love. I will follow this path to its conclusion, and when the time comes, I will join them in their happiest day. Together, we will transcend the bounds of corporeality."

February, 1988

"My first subject, the Emily girl, has recently shown signs of rebellion. She tries to stand between me and my children, not realizing how she deprives them of my love. It pains me to see her this way, her mind corrupted by a delusional impulse to protect, like an overbearing parent, intruding on my perfect family. For this reason, I have decided to rid her of all remaining autonomy. Just as I have given her this great gift, I may also take it away. I will ensure that she understands this."

April, 1988

"The trials are coming along well. These new children are disposable, a sacrifice for the cause, but I won't let their suffering go to waist. They should be thankful I've allowed them to take part in something so much greater than themselves. All their fear, sorrow, desperation, agony, all of it will further the goals of this project.

I've devised a system of channels, to control the flow of their intentions. This will allow us to study the process in greater detail, and hopefully, to create something new. Many of the facility's mechanical and electrical systems are tied to this channel; in fact, I couldn't separate them if I wanted to. The relationship between the spirit and the machine is intimate, that much is clear. I wish to probe this relationship, to understand it fully, so it may become a part of my creation."

August, 1994

"Never in my life have I experienced the lucid sense of joy and freedom I've felt these past months. Everything is abandoned, and I'm free to visit as I please. The children feel safe with me, I've made sure of that. The pieces I've taken from them were torn away with great precision, to sculpt them into something greater. I've simply removed their imperfections, and locked them away for good. They have nearly reached their full potential. All that's left is for me to take my place among them.

Why do I hesitate?"

September, 1994

"I can still feel the presence of that boy, sometimes. More than a decade has passed since his death, and yet, his influence lives on. How could such a small, pathetic child leave such a great mark? It troubles me.

Through my studies, I've come to understand the process. The subject must suffer, truly and perpetually, over a long stretch of time. The subject may, in the early stages, be empowered by the pain, but eventually it will begin to tear them apart. The subject's mind does not survive in any coherent form. The subject's will, however... it remains to be seen.

The... difficulty... is in the construction of a controlled environment where one might experience a perpetual stream of agonizing pain. It would require some special method of keeping oneself alive, while still creating an experience equivalent to death, over and over. The practical issue is obvious. How that pathetic boy could fall into it face-first, I still struggle to grasp. A cosmic coincidence, I suppose. Anyway.

This sort of existence, it wouldn't be pleasant. One would be, by all human standards, dead. But this is only because 'human standards' of life fail to capture the true boundaries of what is possible. It's a transcendent, conceptual existence, a decentralized undergrowth in corporeality. It would be a broken, malformed existence. At least, that's what others would say, but a deep part of me yearns for it. To be one with everything, maximum connection, maximum influence, maximum control. After what I've been through, I deserve it, don't I? Yet the concept still haunts me.

There are alternative, brute-force methods I will consider. But for now, I will push this thought aside. I should enjoy the time I have with my children."

June, 1995

"I've had a cruel epiphany.

The boy. He's here, in the machines. MY machines. His spirit taunts me.

I love these children just as he did, but it isn't enough. My love can never be enough. Henry's silent mockery I've learned to endure, but this? How can a mere child make such a fool out of me? All I want is to join them, to be one with them. I created them with my own hands. I've nurtured them, sculpted them, cared for them, committed years to reseach and risked everything I have, all so that they could be perfected. Yet the universe mocks me, handing my hard-earned prize to a whiny toddler. I can hardly comprehend this. What a disgrace.

These months I've spent indulging in my children have been soured. I am overwhelmed with rage, rage toward this pestilent child, toward Henry, and toward the natural laws of this world which constantly defile and abuse me.

But my rage cannot give me what I crave. Nor can my love. No. I must remain clear headed, and remember those opportunities still within reach.

My plans must be hastened. There is only one thing left for me to do now. I will bring them all together, by force if necessary, to begin the construction of my final vessel. Once the boy is whole again, it must be possible to wash off the filthy mark he's left on my design. I will find a way. Then, to join my children at last. I am forced to act within the limitations laid onto me. My emotions are worthless; I cannot conjure the spark of life so easily wielded by Henry and the like. If I wish to become my own immortal creation, it is my body which must lead my spirit to its eternal home.

Everything is in order. The children still trust me, though I don't know for how much longer. But I'm certain they will come to appreciate this inevitable ambition I've crafted for them. They have to. My perfect vessel awaits me."

Alleged writings by Henry Emily (Transcribed)

"To Jenny.

You may never understand everything that motivated the events which will soon take place. I still question whether I fully understand it myself. But please, rest easy knowing that all the suffering will finally be put to rest. After all these years of pushing away the part of myself that felt connected to these characters, it's only now that I truly feel the responsibility I bear for all that's happened. My mind was deluded by grief, and a piece of myself was lost in the process. But everything is clear now. I know what I have to do.

The man who worked by my side all those years ago is capable of atrocities far worse than I ever could have imagined. The loss of my beloved Charlotte was no accident, Jenny, please believe me. Nearly every terrible thing that has come from this business can be tied back to him, to his disgusting disregard for life, his sickening need to repurpose everything for the perpetuation of his own grandeur delusions. Far more than just stealing away the lives of those children, he found a way to hold them down even after death, trapped indefinitely in the agony and decay of that night. And he says he loves them. It disturbs me deeply.

But it isn't only him. That accident so many years ago left an impression on everything to do with this brand, with these characters. I can hardly understand it myself, but it's clear that the essence of that event is woven through all the sorrow, a tragic singularity that would expand into all this, a trauma too deep for any one person to contain. Even here, in the absence of his spirit, I can still feel his pain, a lingering uneasiness thoroughly embedded in the atoms that make up this building, and all who've stepped foot here.

I'm sure this reads as the delusional ramblings of a man who's finally lost the last of his connection to reality, but I impore you to think deeply on what I have to say. I know now that there's only one way to wash the stench of death from this place for good. I can't force these lost souls to move on, but after all that's happened, I have to at least clear the path for them. And even if they refuse my offer, I can still keep them contained. I owe it to them, and to all the innocents who've been unwillingly dragged into this nightmare.

That's why I need your help. I know you've done so much for me already, but I have to ask this one final thing. The charred remains of this building aren't capable of holding them in forever, and god knows I can't stick around to ensure they move on peacefully. Please, Jenny. Whatever you can do, you have no idea how much it would mean to me."