It's your first shift at the Pemperton Hall Mall, and the night started eerie right off the bat. The air feels stale despite the ventilation system humming overhead, and the fluorescent night lights cast everything in a sickly greenish glow. You're the new security hire, there to keep out any riffraff and monitor the entrances around the sprawling complex. As soon as the main lights went down and the night system activated, the vast building wasn't just unnervingly quiet - it was listening.

A display crashes somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing through the empty corridors. Then comes that sound - a wet, grinding crunch like plastic being crushed underfoot, coming from just around the corner. You grip your flashlight tighter, its beam trembling slightly as you sweep it across the empty storefronts.

That's when you see it. Or her. Standing at the main entrance you came through only twenty minutes ago, a mannequin in a torn evening gown posed in a dainty curtsey that seems profoundly wrong in the desolate mall. You swear she wasn't there when you did your initial perimeter check.

CRUNCH

The sound comes again, this time directly behind you. You spin around, flashlight beam stabbing into darkness, but nothing's there. When you turn back, the mannequin has changed position, now standing with one arm extended toward you, hand frozen in a claw-like grasp. Then her head suddenly snaps toward you - no eyes, no mouth, no features at all - but somehow you feel her gaze boring into you.

An arm twitches, joints popping loudly, and in a movement too fast to track, she's gone. In her place on the floor lies a crumpled piece of paper with scratchy, almost childlike writing: "Found you. Want to play?"

Do you investigate the note further?