The Beast Made of Ink

Chapter 2: The Decision

-Your P.O.V.-

You stared into the cutouts inky black eyes, heart racing from the after shock. In all honesty, you weren't sure how you were supposed to feel. Scared, startled, pissed at whoever the fuck placed this thing in front of you?

Already too emotionally drained from Henry's letter, you just shook your head back and forth as you walked past the damn thing, shutting and locking the storage facility with a grunt.

"I'm too sober for this shit." You somewhat irritably joked with yourself as you walked over to your vehicle, hopping back into the already running machine. Quickly buckling your seatbelt, you then headed off back to your studio apartment, the entire drive with your thoughts focused around that second letter, and the one question that has yet to be answered.

Who's Joey Drew?

.........

30 minutes later, and you had arrived back at your studio apartment. You lived in the somewhat ghetto area, as your $600 dollar a month paycheck from the bookstore that you work at part time along with your inking-comics job that pays you $100 dollars each month can only allow you to afford this crap dump. However, as crappy as your apartment may be, you were proud to call it your own.

Despite the money that Henry had given you for college, you have yet to start attending. With all the mental health issues that you have suffered from his death(along with other things), you decided to not start college right away and instead find a job or two along with a place to live till you were more stable. Labor is easier than studying, in your eyes at least.

Hopping out of your vehicle, you press the lock button on your keys, a satisfying beep being heard from behind you as you made your way into the building, down the hall, and to your apartment.

"You fucking slut!"

"Shut up you piece of trash!"

"Welp... Looks like the neighbors are fighting again." You thought to yourself with a sigh as you unlocked your door, revealing your apartment.

Everything in your apartment was located in one room, the only other room being the bathroom. To the right of the door against the wall is your stove, fridge, and two cabinets along with counters. A microwave sat on the counter farthest from the other appliances.

To the left across from your cooking area was a small glass table that had two chairs between it and a vase of your favorite flowers placed inside.

Midway into your apartment you have your living room, complete with your worn down loveseat (which is practically your only relationship at this point) along with your 40 inch flat screen tv.

The back of the room becomes wider, as that is where you're bed is placed at, along with your dresser than houses all your clothes and a mirror.

The bathroom is to the left of your bed, and a window faces out to the city in the very back of the room.

Despite the crappy neighborhood, your apartment is quite nice. You had replaced all the appliances with new ones, installed a washer and dryer in the bathroom, and furthermore, your walls and bed were adjourned in your favorite colors! You really really did like your place, and luckily, the noise from the neighbors is always blocked out thanks to the insulated walls. The only time you have to hear them is when you come home. Makes you wonder how much time during their day that they argue.

Plopping down your keys onto your counter right along with the contents from your pockets, you found a groan escaping your lips as your eyes landed on the still empty Xanax bottle.

"Fucking bitch..." You muttered under your breath, dead set on getting your prescription tomorrow. You always forget to refill, that's why you have started carrying the bottle on you. However, it looks like at this point it just doesn't matter, as knowing yourself, you will forget to get a refill tomorrow yet again.

With a sigh and a run of your fingers through you're H/C locks, you made your way over to the couch, plopping down as you reached behind the cushions for a bag of your favorite chips along with your computer.

Turning your screen on, you decided to do some research.

"Let's see... Joey... Drew!"

You spoke to yourself as you typed up your search, hitting the enter key a moment later. After a few seconds, the answers to the name had generated, and the first thing that your eyes landed on was an old short article. Clicking on it, you had begun to read its contents.

.........

On May 3rd 1962, Joey Drew Studio's closed down due to an ink overflow, thus causing a freak accident that made the studio owner, Joey Drew, a parapalegic. This, along with the fact that many employees had recently quit due to the cut in pay since the proud owner of Bendy the Dancin' Demon refuses to change to color animations, the business had decided to shut down for good. However, just because their business shut down doesn't mean that the events of the inky studio can be forgotten! Music director Sammy Lawrence went missing during these events, and still has yet to be found. If you have any sighting of Sammy Lawrence, please contact (XXX) XXX-XXXX.

.........

"Joey wanted Grunkle Henry to meet him there?" You couldn't help but think to yourself. "Even after an employee went missing, and the place was flooded with ink, he still decided for the studio to be the meet up spot? Especially considering that this Joey man became a parapalegic at that exact site! Why in the heck would he wish to return and meet Henry up there?"

At this point, the whole situation is looking a lot less like a situation of finding out more about your Grunkle, and more of a situation about finding the true mystery behind the old animation studio.

After looking up the studio's address, you found that the place is still in fact intact and it has been completely abandoned. Apparently the city down from yours owns it, as nobody wishes to buy an ink soaked wooden shack. Wonder why.

Determined for answers now not only for your Grunkle, but the studio itself, you have decided that you were going to head to the studio tomorrow.

That night, before heading to bed, you quickly packed a bag with two bottles of water, a six pack of granola bars, your pepper spray that you usually keep in your purse, as well as a pocket knife and a flashlight. Once fully set and prepared to head out first thing tomorrow morning, you slid underneath your covers and fell asleep.

They say that curiosity killed the cat, but like hell were you gonna let it kill you.