Inkling

  “Interesting,” said Mr. Worthington. “Maybe if we combined the two of you, we’d get a superartist.” He raised his eyebrows ominously at Inkling. “Something to think about, huh, Inkling? Convince me that I still need you.”

  After Mr. Worthington left the room, Vika went up to the jar.

  “Come on, Inkling, you better draw something.”

  She actually sounded worried, and that made Inkling worried. He shuddered and wondered if any part of him would survive if Blotter got hold of him.

  Chapter 19

  Outside during recess, Ethan was tossing his banana peel into the compost bin when suddenly Vika was beside him. She looked flushed and a bit out of breath, and Ethan wondered if she was planning on blasting him into a garbage can again.

  “I don’t really want to talk to you,” he said, and turned away.

  “Wait.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a key. “Here.”

  Ethan blinked. “What’s this?”

  “The key to my dad’s building, and the passcode to the office. He’s moving Inkling there today.”

  Incredulous, Ethan stared at her. “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m helping you get him back, dimwit!”

  “Why?”

  “I’m worried about him. There’s another one now.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Another one? From where?”

  “Inkling. I cut a bit off of him—”

  “You what?”

  In the schoolyard, people looked over, including Soren and Heather Lee.

  “By accident!” Vika hissed, shooting him a fiery glance. “And we gave the little piece food and it grew. A lot. He’s called Blotter. My dad likes him because he draws for us. Inkling won’t.”

  Ethan felt a flush of happiness. Inkling had stayed loyal to them! He didn’t want to be there!

  “Anyway,” said Vika. “Dad says if Inkling doesn’t draw, he doesn’t get food.” Her mouth wrinkled up a bit. “And if he still refuses, he might get fed to Blotter.”

  “Blotter would eat him?” Ethan said in horror.

  Vika nodded. “I think so.”

  The banana felt suddenly heavy in his stomach. This was a lot to take in. “Okay.” He reached for the key and paper in her hand.

  She pulled back. “You have to promise me, though. Promise you’ll leave Blotter for us. He’s going to make those comics my dad wanted. We need him.”

  “Fine. I don’t care,” said Ethan. “As long as we get Inkling back.”

  Vika pressed the paper and key into Ethan’s hand. “He’s in the supply room. Good luck. Give the key back to me tomorrow, okay?”

  She started to walk away.

  “Vika,” Ethan called after her. “Thanks.”

  He hurried over to Soren and dragged him to a deserted part of the yard.

  “What’s going on?” his friend asked, wide-eyed.

  Ethan told him everything. “So I’m going to have a sleepover at your house tonight. We’ll sneak out. We’ve got a rescue mission.”

  Soren stared into the distance, unblinking. “Nighttime. A dark building. Dangerous, gooey creatures.”

  “You okay with this?”

  His friend nodded slowly. “I think I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.”

  In a strange room, in a locked cabinet, in a glass tank, Inkling knew it was only a matter of time before Blotter ate him.

  Right beside his tank was Blotter’s. On the bottom were two blank pieces of illustration board, and just a few scraps of comic book that had been devoured long ago. Mr. Worthington said he’d keep Blotter hungry at night, and if he produced well, he’d get a big feed in the morning.

  STLL HUNGY!!!! he scrawled in pointy letters.

  Inkling had already searched every corner and seam of his tank for gaps or cracks, but he tried again now with the same result: there was nothing he could squeeze through. He couldn’t climb the walls, too slippery and high. And he was getting weaker. Since he’d been moved into this new room, Mr. Worthington had sprinkled only the tiniest scraps of comics for him. And he’d left behind two blank pieces of illustration board, same as for Blotter.

  “Draw me something, Inkling,” he’d said. “Last chance.”

  HUNGY!!! Blotter scribbled now. He swelled across the tank and pressed himself against the glass wall closest to Inkling.

  Suddenly Inkling felt himself dragged closer. He fought hard to back away. Had Blotter felt it, too? They’d never been placed this close to one another. It was like a magnetic pull. Was this their bodies trying to reunite? Right now, it was a horrifying idea to Inkling.

  EET!!!

  HE’LL BRING MORE AFTER YOU DRAW, Inkling wrote, trying to calm him.

  NO DRAW!!! HUNGY NOW!!!

  Blotter backed up and then slammed himself against the glass, hard. His inky body boiled halfway up the side before sliding down.

  YU FOOD!!!!!

  Inkling retreated to the far end of his tank, quaking.

  Blotter gave himself a bigger running start and crashed against the glass wall again. Inkling felt the shudder through his own tank. This time Blotter climbed higher, just a few inches shy of the top of the tank.

  It wouldn’t be much longer now.

  Ethan had visited the Prometheus Comix office a few times over the years, but never at night, when it was dark and deserted. It occupied the entire fourth floor of an old warehouse. The high ceiling was lost in shadow. The big windows let in a pale wash of light from the street. Amongst the workstations stood giant cardboard floor displays of the company’s most popular characters—most of them from the Kren series. In daylight they were colorful and fun, but now they loomed like sinister sentinels.

  “No flashlights,” Soren reminded him as they made their way deeper into the office. The windows had no curtains or blinds, so someone outside might notice a flashlight beam.

  Ethan wasn’t sure where the supply room was, but he guessed farther back. He should have asked Vika. He led them past empty cubicles with swirling screen savers and rows of bobble-headed toys that rocked creepily back and forth.

  Soren wore a black tuque, which Ethan thought was unnecessary. It made him feel like a burglar, even though technically they hadn’t broken in. They’d used Vika’s key to get inside the building, taken the elevator to the fourth floor, and opened the office door with the passcode. His stomach gurgled nervously.

  Soren grabbed his arm and he jerked. “What?”

  “What if it’s all a setup?” Soren whispered. “She gives you keys, but once you’re inside, the cops are waiting. We get arrested and thrown in jail!”

  It was a terrible thought, but he shook his head. “Vika seemed legit.”

  “Okay,” said Soren, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

  Beyond the workstations was a long hallway. There were no windows here, so Ethan took out his flashlight. Soren took his out, too. It was smaller and more powerful, as befitted someone who was always ready for the end of the world. Their twin beams illuminated several doors. The first few were bathrooms, but the one at the end wasn’t marked. Ethan turned the knob and swung the door open.

  Shelves rose floor to ceiling against the walls. Some held books and comics; others held reams of paper and toner cartridges and bottles of ink. So many bottles. Along the floor were stacked boxes, still taped shut.

  He slipped inside with Soren. Behind them the door whispered closed and clicked.

  “Where do we start?” Soren muttered.

  “There.”

  With his flashlight he picked out a deep metal cabinet against the back wall.

  “Mr. Worthington wouldn’t keep Inkling in plain view, would he? He’d hide him from his workers, right?”

  Soren rattled the cabinet’s locked doors.

  “She didn’t give me a key for this,” Ethan said. The back of his neck prickled. Maybe Soren was right, and this was all a setup. In the distance he heard a police siren and looked at his friend i
n alarm, but the sound soon faded away.

  Soren flicked the metal doors. “Not so thick,” he murmured. “Probably not a deadbolt.” From his pocket he took a thick army knife. He opened one of the attachments that looked like a nail file.

  “You’re pretty good at this stuff,” Ethan said, impressed.

  Skillfully, Soren slipped the file between the doors, jiggled, and then lifted gently. Something clicked, and the cabinet creaked open.

  Ethan shone his light inside. On the middle shelf, side by side, were two big glass tanks. From each came a dark flash of movement.

  “Inkling?”

  Ethan looked from one tank to the other. In both were a couple of pieces of blank illustration board and a medium-sized ink splotch.

  “Which is Inkling?” Soren whispered.

  In the left tank, the ink was bouncing around excitedly and quickly writing on the board:

  ETHAN! YOU CAME BACK!

  “Hang on,” said Soren, and shone his flashlight into the right tank. The other ink splotch was also writing:

  ETHAN! IT’S ME!

  “Oh no,” Ethan murmured, swinging the light back to the left tank, where the ink splotch was now writing:

  HE’S LYING! I’M INKLING!

  “I think he’s in this one,” Ethan said. “Vika said they weren’t feeding him. He hardly has any food in his tank!”

  “Neither does this one,” Soren pointed out. “And he hasn’t drawn anything. Did you say Inkling refused to draw?”

  “Neither of them has drawn,” Ethan said, checking.

  The ink splotch in the right tank was now writing hurriedly:

  HE DRAWS AT NITE! HE JUST HASN’T STARTD YET!

  Ethan frowned. It wasn’t like Inkling to make spelling mistakes anymore, but he was writing very quickly.

  At the exact same time, both ink splotches wrote:

  ETHAN, IT’S ME! ETHAN, IT’S ME!

  “Okay,” Ethan asked them, “what’s the name of my cat?”

  Both ink splotches quivered but made no reply.

  “Why aren’t you writing?” Ethan demanded.

  The splotch on the left wrote:

  IF I START WRITING, HE’LL COPY ME!

  Ethan grabbed a file folder from a shelf and slid it between the two glass tanks. Now Inkling and Blotter couldn’t see each other.

  “There,” he said. “Go!”

  Right away, the splotch in the left tank wrote:

  RICKMAN!

  In the right tank, the splotch swirled and fumed.

  “Don’t you know?” Soren asked him.

  Blotter swelled and belched ink against the side of the tank.

  BLAAAAAAARG!!! WHT A STUPD QUESTN!

  Only now did Ethan notice the slight red tinge in this splotch’s darkness. Farting out little bits of ink behind him, Blotter propelled himself around the tank and slammed against the side.

  GIMME MRE FOOD! HUNGY!!

  Ethan wrinkled his nose—he felt like he could almost smell Blotter. Ethan turned away from him, reached down into the left tank, and lifted out the board with Inkling on top.

  THANK YOU, ETHAN, THANK YOU FOR COMING TO GET ME!

  “Sorry it took so long.”

  Inkling slid eagerly onto his hand, and Ethan felt the familiar and strangely comforting cool breeze against his skin.

  In his tank Blotter was writing in huge, angry red letters:

  HEY! HEYYYY! HE’S MINE! MY FOOOOOD!!!

  Ethan felt Inkling quake against his skin. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” Soren said, but he kept his flashlight on Blotter’s tank, because the ink was swelling and growing, like squid ink filling an aquarium.

  “Uh-oh . . . ,” Soren squeaked.

  Ethan turned back. Blotter hurled himself against the sides of the tank, back and forth, and on the fourth try, his inky body crested the side.

  Like a huge tentacle, Blotter flung himself out of the tank and across the room. Ethan tried to track him with his flashlight but lost sight of him when he hit the shelves.

  “Can you see him?” he asked Soren.

  Their beams darted frantically.

  “No! Come on, let’s go!”

  Soren ran, Ethan at his heels, slamming the storage-room door behind them.

  Racing through the dark office, Ethan kept looking back over his shoulder. He had a terrible creeping feeling at the base of his skull. Blotter was just ink, only ink. But he’d never forget what Inkling could do if he got onto your face.

  He rushed past a life-sized floor display of Kren, and all the shadow suddenly poured off it and puddled on the floor in front of him.

  “Blotter!” he shouted, swerving into the office kitchen.

  The oily mass boiled toward him, swirled round his shoe and then up his ankle.

  Blotter’s touch wasn’t a cool gust like Inkling’s. It was a hot, clammy hand.

  “Soren! He’s on me!”

  He knew what Blotter really wanted. Inkling. He wanted to eat him! Ethan slammed his hand down on the counter near the sink and whispered, “Inkling, get off me! Hide!”

  The moment he saw Inkling’s shadow on the counter, he stepped clear. Blotter swirled up his leg like a sweaty tornado.

  He smacked at Blotter, and Soren did, too, but the red-tainted ink just swelled past their fists and fingers.

  “How do we get him off?” Soren asked helplessly.

  “I don’t know!”

  Blotter covered so much of him now. When the ink reached his jacket, Ethan quickly shrugged it off and tossed it to the floor—where it grazed Soren’s shoe. In a second Blotter surged up Soren’s leg and encircled his chest.

  “It’s on me! It’s on me!” Soren bellowed, his eyes wider than ever before. He swatted uselessly at the swirling shadow.

  In desperation, Ethan grabbed a spray bottle from the kitchen counter and squirted it at Blotter. A blast of cleaning fluid hit Blotter and made him pause. A tiny little bit of him began to drip down Soren’s leg.

  “I think it works!” Soren said.

  Ethan sprayed again, and again, but he got too close, and Blotter leapt onto the bottle itself and poured across it.

  Ethan hurled it across the office, but he was too late. Already Blotter was on his hand, his arm, his shoulder.

  Then his face.

  “He’s—” Ethan shouted, but was silenced because his mouth was covered, and seconds later his nostrils.

  He couldn’t take a breath.

  He couldn’t let one out.

  He couldn’t make a sound.

  Ethan felt like he was going to explode and crumple all at once.

  “Blotter! Stop it!” Soren was shouting, and to Ethan it sounded a long way off because Blotter must’ve been covering his ears now, too.

  He flailed around, swatting himself as if he were being swarmed by hornets.

  All he could think was, Breathe, breathe.

  But he couldn’t.

  Inkling saw Ethan stagger against the kitchen counter, Blotter covering his head like an executioner’s mask.

  Inkling surged toward them. It was easy to get Blotter’s attention. The closer he got, the more Inkling felt that strange magnetic force trying to pull them together. Blotter must’ve noticed it, too, because he seeped off Ethan’s face to his shoulder.

  Ethan gasped, looking wildly around, his hands flying to his face.

  Inkling’s attention was fixed on Blotter as he oozed down Ethan’s arm toward the counter. Inkling retreated and bumped into a big cleaning sponge. It started to slurp him into its yellow foam, but Inkling fought hard and pulled away.

  He looked back. Blotter swirled around Ethan’s waist, building up speed, and then flung himself through the air right toward Inkling.

  Inkling was speedy, and he darted out of the way. Blotter landed right on top of the sponge. Before he could flow across it, he was slurped down like someone in quicksand. The yellow sponge turned a dark reddish black.

  “He’s trapped in the s
ponge!” Soren shouted, pointing.

  “Come on, Inkling!” Ethan said.

  Inkling surged across the counter onto Ethan’s outstretched hand, and moments later he was in the cozy safety of Ethan’s pocket. He knew the boys were running, then felt a jarring thud as Ethan tripped and fell.

  “You okay?” he heard Soren ask, and felt Ethan hauled to his feet.

  More running. A door swooshing shut behind them, pounding footfalls on stairs, another door, and then he was outside in the cool night air.

  Chapter 20

  Ethan cycled with Soren through the deserted nighttime streets of their neighborhood. When he reached the turn to his house, they stopped their bikes.

  “Mission accomplished,” Soren said.

  “Thanks, Soren.”

  “Try not to lose him again,” his friend said as he pedaled away.

  Ethan headed home. He could’ve gone back to Soren’s and slept over, but he was too excited. He wanted to be in his own house, and tell Dad.

  He let himself in with his key and turned on the lights in the living room. Reaching his hand into his pocket, he felt the cool gust of Inkling and lifted him out. He put him on the coffee table.

  HOME, Inkling wrote.

  “Yeah,” said Ethan. “Are you okay? Can I do anything for you? Get you something to eat?”

  I’M FINE FOR THE MOMENT.

  “You sure?”

  YES.

  Ethan heard the click of his father’s bedside lamp, then his father’s tread down the hallway. He appeared, squinting and rumpled, in his bathrobe.

  “What . . . um . . . what’s?” he asked in confusion.

  Ethan pointed at the coffee table.

  GREETINGS, MR. RYLANCE!

  “How?” was all his dad managed to say.

  When Ethan had told him the whole tale, Mr. Rylance leaned back in the sofa and had a good scratch of both sides of his head, as if this might help him wake up and think better.

  “That was a crazy, risky thing you did,” he said. “But you pulled it off!”

  “They can’t get him back either!” Ethan said. “What’re they going to do? Call the police?”

  His father sniffed. “No. We just have to make sure we keep Inkling safe so no one can steal him again. It’s so good to have you back, Inkling!”