A Patient Perch

I climbed atop an upturned wooden crate hidden deep in the shadows beside my creation. My rigid plastic heels locked onto the splintered edge with a dry click. From this vantage, the crayon trail glows faintly under the dead emergency lights, stretching directly to the open chest cavity of the disguised animatronic. Everything sits motionless. The tension spring is taut, the soundbox primed, and the air thick with cold grease. I lowered my chin into my collar, letting my glowing gaze dim to a dull ember. Let the dark do its work. All that remains is to watch.