Charley And The Swap Machine: Re-Ink'd

CHAPTER 4: Part 6 - Into The Angel's Web

The Voice Of Wally Franks

So turns out it's my lucky day!

I got to cleaning some of the offices around 2 AM last night, and what do ya think I find on one of the chairs? A big freaking chocolate cake. Just sitting there! Practically yelling my name!

You know, I work hard. I earn my pay. Every darn dollar. But you know what this company's missing?

Little, benefiting perks. And this here cake? It's a perk!

Hopefully no one finds out what I done. Cause if they did, I can tell ya what would happen:

I'm outta here.

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Henry stretched himself out before flipping the final switches to power the haunted house, walking towards it as the doors opened up. Eerie organ music and recorded laughter rang through the worn speakers as he stepped through, sitting himself down on a cart with a cartoonish smile printed upon it.

He waited a few seconds until the ride creaked to life, the singular cart moving at a snail's pace into the entrance of the track.

Alright, Edgar, let's see what you have in store for me.

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"Haunted" house was right, at least to a child. The cart grinded against the track as the audio from the speakers looped and skipped. Cardboard ghosts popped up from behind fake gravestones in an attempt to scare Henry, who sat there with nothing but a straight face. Either this is unfinished or this is where the budget went out for Joey.

The music cut out and he sunk back in his seat as the intercoms popped on once more, awaiting whatever Edgar would bring him.

"It's a funny thing, how so much can fall apart oh so fast.... We never had control in the studio. Either you were a puppet, or the puppeteer..." The angel gave a sigh and paused, before continuing his monologue.

"I just wanted to be good enough. I just wanted to be perfect for Joey. If you were in my place....wouldn't you understand?"

Henry thought back to the past for a second, his face turning sour almost instantly.

"Why are you here, creator? We're all dying to know why you took the dark path into this damned studio. Do you just enjoy the terror of the drop into hell? Because if so...hang on tight, I've got a treat for you."

The cart soon came to a screeching halt in the middle of the track as Henry found himself in a large theater of some sorts. Curtains lay shut on the gigantic stage as the dim room was softly illuminated by warm, yellowish lights. Empty seats were powdered with dust and cobwebs, a few stray splotches of ink occasionally staining them.

He couldn't help but feel at peace, yet so unnerved at the same time. A lingering feeling of tension filled the room as Henry stared up at that stage.

The dark drapes slid open to reveal nothing but an axe laying on the wooden floorboards, a small piece of paper laying by it. What kind of setup is this? Is he playing some shitty prank on me?

Taking a deep breath, he lifted himself out of the ride and stepped towards the stage. Once he had climbed unto it, he grabbed the note and read the contents. The letters were small and neatly swirled in cursive, reading:

"Dearest Creator,

Consider this a parting gift before your demise.

From,