Just a Happy Ending

The Spider

Norman opened the second door and found himself in a graffiti-covered office. He watched a man with wild hair hunch over a wall, his limbs jittering as if rattled by a storm.

Grant Cohen giggled.

Nothing about this was funny.

The writing. The voices. The ever-present ink souring his tongue. The invisible hands reaching for him from the pipe behind the wall.

It wasn't funny.

But he kept giggling.

Everything he saw dimmed with a black haze. His finger jammed against the wood, dotting the question mark that finished his latest question: "What will Joey say?"

He kept giggling. The haze kept dancing in front of him. The words kept taunting him. The voices kept hissing.

Then Joey opened the door.

Everything snapped back like a taut rubber band breaking. Grant gave his boss the best impression of a deer caught in headlights; frozen to the spot, shock and inexplicable terror gripping every bone.

Joey sighed through his nose and clicked his tongue, "It wasn't kidding."

Grant, marvelously embodying a cornered cat, only moved his eyes to follow Joey's steps into the room and subsequent inspection of the walls. Joey glanced down at the bubbling puddle on the floor below the walled-up pipe. He then grabbed a piece of the wall and effortlessly peeled back a sizable chunk to reveal the leaky pipe.

Grant could have sworn something in the pipe hissed with glee.

Joey sighed once more, pulled up Grant's chair, and, quite out of character, straddled it backwards and folded his hands on top of each other over the back of the chair, then set his chin on his hands. "Grant," he said softly, "What's happened?"

The accountant looked back at the question on the wall. Of all things Joey could have possibly said, he wasn't expecting this. Grant's eye twitched. He should be mad. No, he should be furious. After years of blatantly ignoring the fact that the studio was going under, now Joey decides to show up and ask him what's happened? Grant's mouth opened to say that very thing. To let out his frustrations on the man so nonchalantly sitting behind him. He turned and began to speak.

"The ink happened!"

No, that's not-.

"Of all the things to happen, the ink!"

No. No. That was wrong.

"It speaks, Joey! It's given me answers!"

No! Stop! Those aren't my words!

Aren't they?

N...no.

Don't you like them?

Why would I?

Just listen.

Joey's head tilted, "The ink?"

He's not judging me? "I thought you'd call me crazy."

Joey shook his head, "No, Grant, you're not crazy," he rose to his feet, "I too have... heard these answers. Tell me, what answers has it given you?"

"The best kind!"

This is wrong. It's so very wrong. I don't want to hear what it has to say! Why... why am I only just now noticing this?! I-... His eyes fell to the bubbling puddle.

I need a drink, said something. His hand found the glass on the desk, then his knees knelt next to the puddle. His hands cupped the ink into the glass. His head tilted back and his mouth opened over the lip of the container. His throat all but invited the ink inside as his brain furiously demanded that this was wrong.