The Animatronics Don’t Power Down Anymore

I’m 17 and I work closing shifts at Chuck E. Cheese.

If you’ve never closed one before, let me explain something real quick: the place does not go quiet after the last family leaves. The lights dim, the arcade hums, and everything smells like grease and sanitizer. You hear noises that don’t belong to anyone anymore.

Part of my job is shutting down the stage animatronics. Every night, same routine. Go backstage, flip the breaker, wait for the whirring to die down. The characters slump forward, mouths half-open, eyes blank. Then I lock up and leave. Except that stopped happening.

The first time, I thought I messed up.

I flipped the breaker, and the stage lights cut out, but Chuck E.’s head twitched. Just a little. Like a muscle spasm. One of the other characters’ jaws clicked softly, teeth tapping together.

I stood there, holding my breath. They kept moving. Slowly. Not performing—idling. Fingers curling. Heads tilting. Their eyes didn’t go dark. They stayed on me as I backed away.

I told my manager the next day. She didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “Leftover charge,” she said. “Old systems. Capacitors hold power sometimes.” That sounded fake, but she said it like she’d said it a hundred times before.

After that, it got worse.

Every night, after the breaker was off, they moved more. Chuck E.’s mouth twitched like he was trying to speak. Jasper’s eyes tracked me as I crossed the room. Helen’s head leaned toward me, just slightly, like she was listening.

The worst part? They only did it when I was alone. I started rushing. Flip the breaker. Don’t look at the stage. Just leave.

Last night, I didn’t make it in time. I was halfway to the door when I heard it. A static-filled whisper. Overlapping. Coming from the stage. “Don’t…” I froze. “…leave us alone again.”

I turned back. All of them were facing me now.

Their mouths weren’t synced. They weren’t smiling. Their jaws hung open at wrong angles, stretching wider than they should. Their eyes were glossy and wet-looking, reflecting the emergency lights.

Chuck E.’s head tilted. “You always turn us off,” it said. I ran. I didn’t clock out. Didn’t grab my backpack. I just ran out into the parking lot and didn’t stop until I was home.

I texted my manager that I quit. She replied almost immediately. “That’s okay,” she wrote. “We usually lose closers around your age.”

I blocked the number. I thought that was it.

But when I tried to sleep, I heard something faint outside my window. Music. Tinny. Distorted. A birthday song, playing way too slow.

And underneath it—

Soft mechanical voices, whispering together.

“Don’t leave us alone again.”

Thank you, everyone, for reading through or listening to my stories in your free time. I do appreciate the support! If you can, please don't feel obligated. Help support by sharing and/or subscribing to my page and social media accounts. If you like, you may donate on the page or on my Venmo account! Thank you all, and stay tuned for more!