The rain had long since rotted the parking lot lines into pale ghosts when the flashlight beam cut through the dark.

Vanessa sat perfectly still in the security office.

The chair creaked softly beneath her, though she hadn’t moved. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers folded with unnatural patience. The monitor in front of her flickered—static crawling across the screen like ants over a corpse. Every few seconds, a child’s laugh bled faintly through the speakers, warped and distant, as if remembered rather than heard.

Her eyes were open.

They did not blink.

Black tears—thin, ink-dark streaks—had dried beneath them, carving lines down her cheeks. Inside her chest, something tugged gently, like strings being tested. Not pulled yet. Just… waiting.

The front door groaned.

Metal scraped concrete as it opened, slow and hesitant. A new security guard stepped inside, boots crunching on broken glass, flashlight in hand. The beam swept across overturned party tables, faded posters peeling from the walls, balloons collapsed into rubbery corpses along the floor.

“Hello?” the guard called.

The word echoed too long.

Vanessa’s head tilted a few degrees to the side. Before climbing up the wall like a spider hiding in the dark corners entering the vents.

In the hallway, the flashlight passed over the stage. Empty. No animatronics. Just curtains swaying though there was no wind. For a moment, the guard relaxed—just a breath—making their way to the security office.