Robot Boyfriend: Heathcliff (special preview)

Ruby thinks for a moment. “I would talk to Heathcliff first, he’s in charge of the props department. Maybe he knows where there are some more, and if not, he’ll know how to go about ordering some.”

You’ve heard the name before, but mostly it was whispered backstage. Several people in the carnival have huffed and puffed about how hard Heathcliff is to deal with. 

“Anyone else?” You ask.

Ruby shakes her head. “That’s the best place to start, I’m afraid.”

You sigh and slouch. “Then tell me he isn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” you grumble. “Tell me it’s just them and not him.”

“He’s protective,” Ruby chuckles. “I’m told the carnival used to waste a lot of funds on sets before he came around and started organizing things. I would go talk to him.”

You grunt and bow your head. “Okay, fine.”

You go off to the back of the carnival, where the storage house is. Almost all sets and props are stored here when not in use. It’s a pretty big building, almost as big as the center tent. It’s quiet around it too; usually kids are playing all around the carnival, but not here. It feels even creepier than Scarebrook did. You go to the door and open it, stepping inside. It’s dim inside. Barely any lights are on, and the ones that are flicker like horror movie props.

“Hello?” you call out. You voice gets lost in the labyrinth of sets, boxes, and supplies. You look around, listening for any sound of reply. “Hello?” you call out again. You stand there in the shadows, wondering where to even begin looking for the stored silks.

“Who goes there?” A booming voice shouts over an intercom system.

You nearly leap out of your skin and press yourself against the nearest wall. You cuss under your breath as your heart palpitates wildly.

“You!” The intercom crackles and hisses. “Yes, you! Over there! What do you want?”

You look up to see a room near the ceiling of the storage house. It has glass windows and a bright light shining inside, so you can see the silhouette of what you assume is Heathcliff. 

You stand up and frown up towards the box. “I’m looking for silks,” you tell the silhouette. “You know, for the aerial acts?”

“There are silks stored in the center tent,” he replies simply. “Good day.”

“No!” you huff. “I mean, there are some, but not the kind I need.”

The intercom squeaks as it turns back on. “What do you mean?” He sounds none too happy you’re still there.

“Yellow,” you blurt out. Your heart is still going fast, and your nerves are so frayed from your earlier scare that you can barely form a coherent sentence. “I need yellow silks for the performance I am planning.” You gulp down a breath to steady yourself. “Are there any yellow silks here in storage?”