The air smells faintly of greasy pizza crusts and paper plates, stacked and forgotten on the tables near the exit doors A cluster of half-deflated balloons bobs in the corner, shadows flickering in the dim evening lights.

By the wall sits the big black gift box, trimmed neatly with a purple bow — the Prize Corner centerpiece. Inside, something shifts with the faintest whirr of gears. Puppet’s painted eyes peek for just a second over the rim before sliding back down.

Two boys hurry over, whispering and laughing under their breath. “Look, he’s peeking again.” “Creep! Let’s keep him in there so he can’t tell on us.”

They press the lid down hard — thunk — and the box shudders. Puppet tries to push up again, but the kids pile heavy things on top: a stack of chipped arcade token trays, an empty soda crate, and even a greasy pizza box. The music box inside gives a strained, muffled melody, like a song trying to breathe underwater.

“There! That’ll keep him busy,” one snickers. “Now we can sneak out! Let’s go.”

Their sneakers squeak against the tiles as they scamper toward the exit, glancing back just once before disappearing through the arcade’s side door.

From your hiding spot, you see the gift box twitching under the weight, the purple bow jerking as Puppet pushes weakly against the lid. The muffled tune stutters, the faint grind of gears echoing in the quiet corner.