Animatronic Mickey

The sign was faded, its once- bright colors peeling away like dead skin. “Mickey mouse clubhouse - where fun never ends!” It read. But the fun had ended a long time ago. You tightened your flashlight, stepping past the rusted turnstile. The air inside smelled of dust, grease, and something sickly sweet like rotting candy. You have seen the online rumors - stories about the animatronics inside. About how they still moved. How they watched. Then, a voice crackled through unseen speakers. Mickey: “oh boy! A new friend! Come inside, pal!” It was Mickey. But something was wrong with his voice. Too slow. Too distorted.