“When you get yourself a man, you need to be able to please his needs. Now I’ll admit I’ve got more needs than most guys. It’s all the extra testosterone,” he commented, petting the little line of hair above his lip that he called a mustache.
“Ray, stop talking,” I pleaded, my eyes shooting to Maureen.
“You listen here. I’ve got some fatherly advice.” I felt nausea roil up in my stomach. “Your momma didn’t spread her legs enough and when that happens I gotta find some extra snatch. It’s natural for a man to spread his seed. For some reason, your bitch of a mom had an issue with that.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath so I wouldn’t fling myself across the tables and punch him in the face repeatedly.
“This is neither advice nor fatherly. Thank you for the traumatic conversation I’m sure to relive at the most inconvenient times.” I suddenly found the will to skate better and glided towards Maureen who had witnessed the entire shitshow.
“Skate, please,” I hissed through my teeth. She snorted a laugh and then did as I asked, taking us back to the front counter. As we rolled around the back of it I noticed there was a television set on top of a VHS player.
“You need to watch the tapes. I’ll handle the floor as you work through those. You’ll be on ticket duty while you do that.” I letout a breath, thankful she wasn't going to bring up what just happened.
“Ticket duty?” I asked. She leaned against the counter and flicked her eyes out at the arcade machines.
“Kids win tickets for playing games then they come up here to trade in the tickets for prizes.” She flicked her eyes at the wall behind us and I looked at it. There were a bunch of cheap-looking toys with numbers next to them.
She leaned over and pressed play on the tape player. Some static started, along with some warped music. Suddenly a woman dressed like us popped on the screen with a smile that looked stretched to discomfort. It never left her face, even as she began talking. It was a muffled noise under Maureen.
“Don’t let them get toys they don’t have the tickets for. It becomes chaos because they don’t keep their mouths shut. They tell every other kid in here that you gave them free tickets and five minutes later we’ll have to call the cops again.”
“Again?” I asked, eyeing the welcome tape. The woman was talking about how she was so happy I was part of the funhouse family.Sooo happy.Her smile stretched wider even though it seemed impossible.
“The cops usually have to come down every weekend,” Maureen said. My eyes snapped back to her.
“You’re kidding. This is a kid’s…funhouse,” I spouted, not finding a better word. She snorted and rolled her eyes. Just then a group of kids ran into the restaurant at full speed. One slammed into the side of a pinball machine and fell to the ground wailing. Two moms came strolling in a minute later with cigarettes dangling from their mouths.
“Get up, you’re fine,” one mom grumbled at the kid. Immediately the crocodile tears stopped and he popped up and ran to her, sticking out his hands. The other kids ran up doing the same and the moms dug in their purses before droppingmoney in their waiting hands. They ran over to the counter, smearing around snot from runny noses on their cheeks. They shoved the money directly in my face, so close I could see a booger clinging to a dollar bill.
Maureen plucked the money from their hands and slid it into the cash drawer before retrieving the golden tokens she dropped in their hands. She accomplished this all without touching them or the booger. Maureen was a seasoned pro. The kids ran off, yelling at ear-splitting levels and I groaned, picking up the golden coin one had left on the counter by accident.
A drawing of Frankie was etched into the metal. At the bottom the logo curved around the edge: “Where everyone is always smiling”.
“This is going to be a long day,” I sighed. Maureen paused the tape and then pointed out the rates for coins on the wall behind me before she skated off toward the kitchen. I groaned and clicked play, starting the tape from where it was left off. The lady was showing a “new employee” how to cook Frankie’s famous pizza. It involved a mechanical device that shat sauce onto a frozen dough circle before we were supposed to—with finesse andsignificantspeed—drizzle shredded cheese on the top before shoving them in the oven to bake just enough for the center to be lukewarm at best.
My attention slowly drifted around the place as the video continued. The front was littered with arcade and carnival games. There was a ball pit in a mesh prison across from me. Behind the arcade, it opened up into a large eating room where people could sit at various sized tables. Off of that were the kitchen and a special “timeout” room for parents who wanted to pretend their kids didn’t exist for a couple hours.
The stage was in the very back, the animatronics tucked away as if they feared putting them any closer to the entrance would frighten people off.
Right now the red curtain was closed but after a few moments of mindless gazing, I realized there was a small crack. A large mechanical eye stared out, appearing to be aimed directly at me. The hair on my arms lifted and I swallowed thickly. It was Frankie. I could tell by his purple eye and gray fur. Plus, there was a flash of his rainbow tie.
For a moment, I felt hypnotized—incapable of looking away. Perhaps too afraid that if I did, Frankie would move when he shouldn’t be moving. The animatronics were turned off until dinner time, according to the tapes. My breathing quickened as I stared into the eye, an odd sensation of being watched pressing on me. His gaze felt like something alive was observing me—watching my every move, learning my actions.
Fists slammed the counter in front of me, violent and loud.
“Tokens!” A kid wailed demandingly. A scream blasted out of me, my entire body leaping up from the stool I’d been sitting on. The kid began laughing raucously, his eyes bugging behind his thick-framed glasses. I sneered at him before looking back at the stage. The curtain was closed.
I spent the next few hours trying to convince myself that Gus was back there and had fixed the curtain. That it most definitely couldn’t be Frankie. That animatronics were not alive and had no soul or sentience. I began repeating to myself in a forced laugh that I wasn’t being watched by a robot coyote like a serial killer learning about his next victim.
Frankie’s oversized purple eyes wouldn’t get out of my head though. Whether my own eyes were opened or closed it didn’t matter. I kept imagining purple orbs behind the ball pit, beside the Pong video game machine, and peeking through the curtain.
By the time Maureen was bouncing from the back, wearing her normal clothes, I felt like an insane person. I was jumpy, my eyes darting around everywhere. Maureen snorted at me and leaned on the counter.
“Listen, it’s the animatronics, right? Bad news vibes,” she sighed.
“You feel it too?” I asked. She shrugged.
“It’s the uncanny valley,” she remarked.
“The what?” My eyes darted around the dim arcade.
