Thanks, Dad.(A Journal of bad decisions, haunted chairs, and unpaid overtime)

This place has that definitely cursed smell

There are things no one tells you about graveyards. Like how sometimes, they pretend to be pizza places. 
This one's got it all: peeling posters, grease-stained tiles, one single working light that flickers like it's got stage fright. There's a fan in the corner blowing nothing. Pretty sure it's just for the ambiance.
I drop my bag on the counter and it makes a sound like something small just died underneath it. Not the best sign. But I'm here, aren't I? Don't ask why. 
I tell myself it's just a job. Sit in the chair, watch the cameras, try not to fall asleep. Not that that's a problem. Haven't really slept in a while. Also not a great sign.
The place smells like old cheese and memories that should've stayed buried. It hums, like it's trying to remember a song it forgot decades ago. I hate how familiar that is.
There's a bulletin board on the wall with crayon drawings still pinned up. One of them's got a gold rabbit thing on it, holding a cake with too many candles. Someone scribbled out its eyes. I stare at it a hint too long.
There's a chair behind the desk. It's the only one in the room, so I guess it's mine. When I sit down, the seat lets out this long, slow wheeze like even it doesn't want to be here. I don't blame it. 
This place and I have history. The bad kind.
And yeah, I know I said I wouldn't come back. 
But places like this? Yeah, they don't really let you go. 
Not when you still owe them something.

I lean back. The chair complains again. Honestly, everything in here makes a sound like it wants to quit.
There's a panel in front of me with buttons that might've done something once. Now they just blink red every few seconds, like they're trying to stay relevant. One of them says CAM SYSTEM. Another one says AUDIO. Both look like they're one touch away from bursting into flames.
I hit the camera feed. Static. Then, a flicker. A hallway, empty. Another angle; party room, also empty. Kitchen: dark. Good. I know better than to feel relieved.
The walls creak like something's shifting behind them. Could be old pipes. Could be rats. Could be the universe warning me I made a mistake coming back. Honestly, any of those are equally likely.
I check the monitor again. Still nothing.
There's a box on the desk. Big, metal, dusty. No label. I tap it and it hums back at me, real low. Not in a mechanical way. More like a warning. I don't touch it again.
There's a clipboard beside it, covered in coffee stains and handwriting that looks like it was done mid-heart attack. I skim the notes.
> "Audio glitch on stage right. Voice loop repeating." 
> "Do not engage." 

> "Service tunnel smells worse than usual. Recommend sealing it. Again." 

> "Saw movement in CAM 04. Nothing there."

Underneath that last one, someone drew a tiny smiley face. Circle eyes. No mouth. Funny.
I glance at the clock. 
1:07 AM. 
Time moves weird in here. Sometimes it crawls. Sometimes it sprints. Right now it's sort of dragging its feet like it's not in the mood either.
Another glance at the cameras. This time, something's changed.
The hallway...the one I looked at earlier...is darker now. Or maybe the light just flickered out. But there's a shape near the far end. Small. Crooked. Not moving. I blink. It's gone.
Nope. Not tonight. Not this early.
I sit back, force myself to breathe normal. Count the seconds. One, two, three, four-
A faint sound cuts through the air vents. Like static and whispering had a baby. Or like someone trying to tune a radio with shaking hands.
It's coming from the old arcade cabinet in the corner.
Of course it is.
I don't move. Not yet.
The arcade machine doesn't make another sound. I pretend I imagined it. That works for about twelve seconds. Then I hear it. A step.
Not loud. Not stomping or scraping. Just...a step. Like someone is trying to walk carefully.
I hit the next camera down the hall. The feed fuzzes, clears, and...there's something standing just outside the frame.
Not in the middle. Not in the spotlight. Off to the side. Too far back to see clearly. It's tall. Head tilted. One hand on the wall like it's steadying itself.
The feed jumps again. Static. Gone.
My hand's already on the door control even though I know that won't help. These aren't break-ins you can lock out. This is the part where the walls stop pretending to be solid.
I don't blink. I wait. The vent behind me groans. I don't turn around.
I don't turn around. Instead, I go back to the screen. Flip to the kitchen cam. Still pitch black. The mic picks up a faint metallic clatter; like silverware being sorted, but slowly. One. At. A. Time.
Someone's playing house back there.
The hallway camera flashes again. This time I see it. A face. Way too close to the lens. Too big. Cheeks painted red. Eyes black, empty, but somehow still watching.
Then static. 
The monitor resets. Back to normal. And in that quiet space between the glitch and the hum of the fan kicking on again...I hear a voice.
Not in the vent. Not in the room. Somewhere in the wires.
Faint. Like a broken record.