My son wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese’s for his 8th birthday. He hyped it up for weeks, begging us every chance he got.
“I don’t want a party, I just want to go to Chuck E. Cheese together.”
We dismissed it at first, thinking he would soon substitute the craze with Minecraft and forget about it, but he was adamant about going. We figured this was following the obsession with animatronics and the like on YouTube, one of the things he would watch during his allotted screen time.
We were also worried about disappointing him. Truth be told, we weren’t actually sure if there was even a Chuck E. Cheese’s still open; the days of birthday pizza parties were long gone for me and my wife. When you’re an adult you don’t keep track of that sort of thing, you just get a little sad when you hear about the chains being shut down in passing. Like Hollywood Connections, or Celebration Station.
When it appeared he wasn’t letting go of the idea, we decided we’d look into it. A quick google search assured us that even though many of the restaurants had indeed closed their doors, there were a few stragglers hanging on. One of which happened to be an hour away.
We caved and cemented the plans, soaking in the ecstatic radiance when we assured him: Yes, we are going to Chuck E. Cheese’s.
And go there we did. We loaded into the car on the morning of his birthday, listening to cheers of excitement as we set the gps and pulled out of the driveway. The drive wasn’t too bad, as it was only a couple of towns over, and our son slept through most of the ride. On the way there we couldn’t help but feel a little excited ourselves; through the slog of work and stress you tend to forget about such innocent joys, and it brought back some of that old youthful magic. We were even excited to see the mechanical rat.
When we pulled up it was different than we expected. Chuck E Cheese looked… different. It appeared during our time not going to the restaurant or keeping up on commercials, the restaurant had rebranded. The mascot looked different, the building looked different, everything felt different.
Luckily, our son was still as excited as ever. Even though we were bummed out, we didn’t want to sour the mood for him. Since he was all smiles, we tried to be all smiles. We opened the front door, ready for pizza and games and a playplace.
What we got was a madhouse.
The restaurant was packed to the brim. Sugar-fueled kids running around like crazy, while tired and impatient parents attempted to corral them. People bumping into each other so they didn’t get separated, each wincing against the noise.
It was loud. No animatronics, no ball pit, no play place. Cartoon fun and pizza signs replaced with pristine walls and quotes assured fresh dough and toppings. Classic mascots that used to move and sing were replaced by decorations of the replacements on the walls, the jungle-gyms and stage replaced by sardine-packed arcade games. Nobody walked around in a suit to greet you, you were just filed into the counter where you decided how much you were going to spend on gaming bracelets and food. It appeared the magic we remembered as kids had been gone for a long, long time. My wife and I exchanged looks, the let down mutual between us.
Our son didn’t seem to mind, so we didn’t make a big deal about it. He was a little disappointed that there weren’t any animatronics, but he seemed to get over it after seeing the kids have fun playing games. Plus there were unlimited refills on pop, so that was a plus. We got him hooked up with a gaming bracelet and placed an order for pizza, one that gave you one of those vibrating coasters that would alert when the food was ready. Then we proceeded to follow him around to each arcade booth. Whack-a-mole and skee-ball, along with new digital games we had never heard of. Kids yelled and screamed as we went from one station to the next, and I could feel our slow descent of fatigue, just like the exhausted parents we saw when we got in.
After playing games for a while, I got the alert that the pizza was ready. We pulled away from the games and picked out a table (which wasn’t as extravagant and exciting as it used to be) and I went to go get the pizza while they held our spot.
I weaved through the crowd and headed for the bathroom, deciding I was going to take a leak before grabbing the food. I had been getting my money’s worth from the unlimited fountain, and the many vanilla Coke’s were making a comeback.
The bathroom was sticky, and eerily empty. I went to a urinal quickly and went about my business, trying to hurry so there were no issues with the pizza. Once I was finished and washing my hands, I heard something strange over the cringey Kidz Bop playing over the intercom. Through the wall I could hear a commotion, like some kind of argument. I tried to make out what they were saying but it was too muffled, but it seemed pretty heated. It even sounded like someone was throwing stuff around.
I chalked it up to trouble in the kitchen. Maybe there were too many orders. Maybe they were short-staffed.
I made my way to the food counter and found the pizzas waiting for me. There wasn’t anyone there to hand them off, but the order matched so I took them. I weaved back through the crowd and rejoined my wife and son, where we started to eat.
Aside from the noise, it was nice to sit and relax. Overall the birthday getaway seemed like a success, and he still had a little bit of time on the wristband to play once he was done eating, so he was happy. Looking around you could still feel some of the cheer that you could get in the old days, like it was hiding underneath the makeover. If you overlooked the modernization, it didn’t seem so bad after all.
That joy ended abruptly, when I saw him.
I was helping myself to another slice of pizza when I noticed him across the room, like he was staring at me. Big cartoon eyes, unmistakable rodent mouth. He was watching me from the back of the room, through the crack of the doors that read “Employees Only”. At first I thought it was a gimmick and he was coming out for someone’s party. But there was something that rubbed me wrong from the start.
It wasn’t the new, happy-go-lucky mascot they had plastered on the walls and windows. This was a dingy, dirty costume of the mascot from the 90’s. Even from afar the suit looked dirty and neglected, and the way he stood there watching us, it was like he was stalking.
It was Charles Entertainment Cheese.
He pushed through the doors slowly, waddling with each step like he was trying not to tip over. His big cartoon head panned from side to side, taking in the room before settling back on us. His eyes fluttered lazily and he headed over, bumping into people as he made his way through the crowd. Some kids cheered and tried to hug him, but their parents pulled them away. The suit looked slimy, like it had been dug out of the garbage.
I nudged my wife, who followed my gaze before gasping. She looked at me cautiously, like I had set it up. I shook my head and shrugged. We started to pack up to make an exit, but we didn’t get enough time.
Chuck E. Cheese shambled over to us quickly, blocking us in the booth. He was taller up close, his lazy eyes taking their time looking at me and my wife. He gave off the stench of old garbage, and he would twitch every so often, like something was wrong underneath. Like an animatronic that was shorting out. Our son started to cheer, and we inched closer to protect him.
Without a word, Chuck E Cheese held out a closed hand in offering. In the back of my mind I wondered if it was some last ditch effort for birthday parties, and they had dug the thing out of storage to restore some of the old magic. I thought this would terrify my son, but looking face to face with Charles was like seeing a YouTube thumbnail in real life. Before we could stop him, he held out his hand under his.
Chuck E. silently opened his hand, and a wet object felt from his matted fur. We looked at it in disbelief as our son held it up to inspect it.
It was a human tongue.
Behind us people started to scream, not at Chuck E., but at something else. People were shambling out from the back of the restaurant, people dressed in aprons and visors, each torn and covered in blood. One nursed a broken arm, another’s face horribly beaten. The last screamed silently through the gush of blood out of their mouth.
I looked back at Chuck E., who returned a sinister stare. My son dropped the tongue on the floor and started to cry, something that made his big body twitch. In his gaping mouth I could see the screen, where the wearer would be able to breath and see. Inside I saw movement. Lots of it.
Without warning his mouth exploded, four human arms spilling out with grasping hands. A tortured groan bellowed from his flailing maw as he reached for our son. I kicked him away and shouted for my family to run, holding him off as they climbed over the booth to escape. Kids and parents alike screamed, and the arcade crowd scattered like delirious human roaches.
I tried to hold him off but he tossed me aside effortlessly, hefting me over his head and sending me crashing into the whack-a-mole table. I saw stars for a moment, trying to get back up while repeatedly shoved by panicked patrons. Eventually someone helped me up, and through the fog I saw it was my wife helping me up. She got me to my feet and we made our way for the exit through the chaos. I stole a look at Chuck E., who was quickly becoming a monstrosity. Additional arms had burst from his eye sockets, and human legs had sprouted from the sides of his stubby legs. He was hoisting another man into the air, some of the hands forcing their way down his throat while the rest worked at manually disemboweling. We covered our son’s eyes so he couldn’t see, but a part of me knows he did. Some birthday this turned out to be.
When we reached the exit, we were shocked to see people were moving away from it. Or rather, being pushed back in. Police were shoving past, some shouting orders, others panning the room with weapons. Everyone had their guns drawn.
Outside we could hear sirens, and the shouts of people trying to order the chaos. With Chuck E. bellowing behind us, the officers stepped in and formed a line against him, racking shotguns and raising pistols to form a firing squad. As we headed into the funnel of bodies, I took one last look at Charles, who was ignoring every demand to stand down. The multiple arms were holding a dead body against a skee-ball machine, repeatedly breaking it at different angles in an attempt to remove it. It’s a horrible sight I’ll never forget.
We burst into the light just as they opened fire, and we looked harrowingly back at the building as we heard round after round fire off. We could hear the groaning continue for a moment, but after enough gunshots, it ceased to be.
We never really found out what happened that day. The news glazed over the actual details, only stating there were four casualties in an unprecedented attack. It was the undoing of that particular building, another set of doors to close in the shadow of a once legendary birthday experience. We didn’t talk much about the incident at home… mostly because we didn’t know what to say. Our son has since stopped watching any animatronic videos, and everything related to it. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s still having nightmares over it. I imagine he will for the rest of his life.
Rumors spread like fire online, and people posted their theories on the true cause behind the madness that day. Some say a bunch of mental patients broke out and attacked the staff before collectively climbing into the old suit. Others say it was an old abomination from the 90’s locked up in the restaurant basement, where they fed it in exchange for financial success. There was even a rumor it was the original owner reincarnated, and dozens more even crazier than that.
The only thing I know for sure, is I’m never going to Chuck E. Cheese again.