Warning Signs

Chapter 5

Mrs. Emily was pleased with the security animatronic idea. I don't really remember what her response was to my observations of William, though clearly, they must have passed her inspection if I don't remember it properly. The puppet design was projected to be completed within the next few weeks, thanks mostly to the fact that I had been building it on the side for ages prior. The new security feature was really the only reason it couldn't be finished sooner. Despite the delay, my wife was pleased to hear it was in the works.

So pleased, in fact, that she dropped the idea of not wanting Charlotte to come to the diner anymore. I recall feeling relieved and overjoyed to have my daughter come back to the restaurant again. It felt like the tension over William had passed, and I could return to imagining that the diner would someday become nostalgic to my little girl.

It was a week later when Charlie first returned to the restaurant. I recall being surprised that my wife would allow our daughter to come on an overlap day with Will. This fact only assured me further, however, that all was well. On the drive to the diner, Charlie had described how much fun she hoped to have with the other kids that would be there. I recall fretting slightly that the day would not be a busy one. I didn't want to see the look on her face if the diner ended up being vacant. Thankfully, aside from the first hour's usual drawl of emptiness, a few kids did come around and Charlie was all too happy to join them.

I had just finished fixing a cash register error around midday when Charlie had approached me from behind. She tapped me on the leg to get my attention.

"Hey, sweetheart. What's up?" I asked, glancing at her before focusing back on the register to make sure it was running right.

"Can I have some cake?" she asked.

"No, not before dinner," I replied. "Also, I should mention it now, you can't have cake every time you come in, so don't start to expect that."

"It's not for me," she said.

"Who is it for?" I asked, finally deciding the register was fine and turning to crouch down in order to face my daughter eye to eye.

"The boy under the stage."

I blinked at her. "The what? A boy under the stage?"

"Yeah, he's stuck and I'm trying to get him out."

"What?!" I exclaimed. "Show me. Lead me to where this boy is."

"Okay," she said, turning and walking out from behind the counter. I followed her anxiously, trying not to panic over what she had said. It was possible her description was not entirely accurate. However, when Charlotte led me to the house left area of the stage and knelt down to pull out a panel from the side of it, I grew alarmed. Both for the realization that her description of a boy being stuck under the stage was possibly accurate as well as the concern that my three-year-old child had just discovered a way into a dangerous area.

Charlie peered into the dark hole. She scanned the area a moment and then pointed. "There he is!" she said.

I lightly pushed Charlie out of the way and ducked my head into the darkness. The underside was hard to see through, but light was pouring through the wooden slats of the stage just enough to see a huddled shape in the middle. Sure enough, a boy was tucked into a ball, staring back at me in fright.

"Hey!" I called, trying not to let the worry in my voice show. "Kid! Come out of there!" The boy remained frozen and refused to speak.

"He's stuck," explained Charlotte. I looked at her for a moment, acknowledging with my gaze that she had told the truth.