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Two of her friends turned. The head was facing them now, its uneven eyes catching the light beneath the lowered eyelid. One of the men let out a startled shout, and the woman screamed, then started laughing so hard she had to bend forward.

The performer farther down the line announced that the product had become aware before final assembly and ordered everyone to move to Shipping immediately. That sent them out of the room in a delighted rush.

I stood behind the scenery, grinning like an idiot. The operator looked over at me.

“That one got them.”

“It certainly did.” I rested a hand briefly against the sturdy side of the frame. “Keep that timing. Don’t speed it up when the groups get louder.”

He nodded and reset the mechanism. I stayed for another full sequence, watching the head work exactly as we’d intended. Each group reacted a little differently. Some people jumped. Others laughed immediately. One man insisted loudly that he had known the head was going to move, which didn’t stop him from grabbing his friend’s arm when it turned.

That was the pleasure of a properly timed effect. The machinery didn’t need to be elaborate. It needed to disappear into the illusion long enough for the audience to believe what it was seeing. For the first time in years, I found myself enjoying that part of my old work without having to force my attention toward it, and I wanted to see the next group and the one after that.

Eventually, I left the operator to his job and went toward Packaging and Shipping.

The finale had developed its own rhythm. Guests passed rows of wrapped figures marked with shipping tags while performers hammered on crates and called out absurd destinations for the finished products. A woman in a torn industrial uniform checked labels against a clipboard, complaining that the latest shipment had been assembled with the wrong number of limbs.

The repaired freight-crate catch worked smoothly, allowing a performer to reveal a pair of grasping hands beneath a lid without exposing the mechanism. The group nearest the effect scattered toward the exit, laughing and shouting over one another. Beyond them, another crate rattled with a muffled banging sound, and a performer yelled that somebody had packed a customer who was still breathing.

By the time guests reached the final curtain, they understood the joke. The factory had manufactured people, and now it was shipping them.

I stepped outside through the staff entrance and found Goldie near the main queue, speaking with one of the entrance attendants. She was checking the interval between groups and comparing it with the reported exit times.

A small cluster of guests had gathered near the admission sign, discussing what they’d heard from people coming out. I could hear excited voices from farther down the path, where another group had just emerged from the attraction.

Goldie finished her conversation and came toward me.

“How’s everything running inside?”

“Better than I expected. The repairs are holding, and Human Assembly is getting exactly the reaction we wanted.”

Her smile widened.

“I heard two people talking about that head when they came out. One of them said it followed her all the way across the room.”

“It moved about a foot and a half.”

“I don’t think she was interested in the technical specifications.”

I laughed. Goldie looked toward the entrance again, watching another group pass through the black curtains. “The line’s moving well. We had a little bunching between Research and Assembly during the second group, but I held the next entrance interval long enough to clear it. We’re back on schedule.”

I followed her gaze. The crowd outside had thickened as the evening continued. People crossed the festival grounds carrying cider, bags of donuts, and prizes from the games. Strings of warm lights glowed overhead, and the cold air had the crisp, smoky smell of late October.

A group of teenagers emerged from Factory of Screams laughing and immediately began describing the Human Assembly scene to friends waiting beyond the exit. Goldie heard them too. She turned toward me, her expression bright with satisfaction.

“They’re talking about it. That’s what we needed. People coming out and telling their friends what they saw.”

“Your crew did a hell of a job.”

“Our crew,” she corrected gently. “And you’re allowed to take some credit for the part where the severed head terrified half the guests.”

I smiled. We stood together for a while, watching the next group enter and listening to the excited conversation around us.

There would be plenty of work tomorrow. We had another operating night to get through, and any effect that survived its first few groups still needed to perform reliably for the rest of the weekend. But tonight was going well.

Goldie moved closer to me as the wind picked up, and I rested my hand against her back. She leaned comfortably into my side. I looked down at her.

I’d enjoyed working with her today. I’d enjoyed having her in my kitchen even more. And I found myself thinking about Saturday morning, when Sienna would be home and the three of us could walk through the festival together. I’d promised Sienna we’d see the pumpkin-carving displays before the crowds became too heavy, and I wanted Goldie to come along.