Turning away from the office, Henry noticed another new detail: an Ink Output schedule signed by T. Why do you keep the lights on in this old shack? He walked up to it and jiggled the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t open. To Henry’s surprise, he noticed light emitting from beneath a door down the hall. The studio’s expanded so much, I doubt Joey would’ve stayed in that ol’ broom closet, anyway. He vaguely recalled Joey’s office being nearby, but it was such a maze to him that he barely remembered the right way to go to reach it. Henry couldn’t remember much about the eastern side of the studio. Guess it took a few people to replace me,” Henry scoffed. “Looks like they knocked out a wall or two after I left.
In the corner was a single-stall bathroom, which was boarded up and emitting a foul odor. Where there was once a locked supply closet was now a sprawling room filled with artist’s desks. “I’ve wasted so much time in this chair.”īehind his desk, however, was a sight that was not so familiar. He retread the same old path through the same old hallway, and smiled as he spotted a familiar sight. Everything looked so familiar, even all these years later, that it looked as if someone had literally drawn his memories to life. He stared, wide-eyed at the environment around him. Henry walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing off the wooden floorboards. Sammy felt it deep within him, a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t quite explain. Sammy was confident he was in no danger here. But a sheep had been sacrificed recently, a loyal follower who ceded a bit more of their soul to the ink.
The Demon was known to wander those corridors, warping the walls themselves to reach the dark tunnels. Such a shortcut was not without risk - there was no telling what horrors lay in the darkness between the walls.
Sammy Lawrence slipped out from the crack in the wall. The perfect place to write a song that would appease him. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.” “All right, Joey.” Henry smiled, suddenly filled with a strange sense of conviction. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting himself experience all the complicated emotions that came with the smell. The place smelled strongly of wood and ink, and to Henry’s surprise, the familiar odor calmed his nerves. The studio’s exterior was completely different to how Henry had remembered it, but when he opened the door and stepped inside, it was as if he had stepped back in time. But even as he convinced himself to turn back, to ignore Joey’s request and return to his wife and daughter, his feet continued forward, the muscle memory of his walk to work 30 years prior overriding the fear of returning to the old workshop. There’re too many demons to face at that studio. His stomach continued to turn somersaults as he walked up the familiar road. There’s nothing left, just wood and paper and ink. Should I really do this? The last time I was here… Henry shook his head.
His stomach fluttered as if it was filled with butterflies, flitting about alongside his scattered thoughts. He had opened and closed the letter so many times the ink was beginning to smear, smudging on his fingers. Henry read over the letter from Joey again on the way to the old studio.