Bon.

The office of Bon’s Burgers is dead quiet, save for the hum of the neon lights. You sit at the front desk, routing late-night calls.

Suddenly, the line rings again. You pick it up, expecting a late customer, but hear nothing but heavy, eerie breathing and a low, inaudible whispering on the other end. Before you can hang up, the line goes dead.

Clack.

The front door locks from the outside. The restaurant's lights abruptly snap off, plunging the office into pitch blackness. Through the glass window facing the main dining room, you see two faint, white mechanical eyes light up in the dark.

Bon is standing right outside your office door. And he's listening to the dial tone.