Work Text:
Adam turned his book to a new page. Music murmured from the speaker in the corner. The only other sound was the soft scratching of pencil on paper from across the room as Holly doodled in her sketchbook.
This was nice, he thought.
That peace was broken by a soft voice: ‘What the fuck?’ Holly’s chair – and Holly herself – crashed to the floor, followed by a much louder, ‘What the FUCK?!’
Adam jumped to his feet, his book falling to the floor, forgotten. ‘What? What is it?!’
Holly stood up, pointing an accusing finger at her sketchbook. ‘The drawing fucking moved!’
‘It what?’
‘I said it fucking moved!’ She repeated. ‘Look!’ Holly grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the desk.
Adam tensed as Holly’s nails came dangerously close to piercing his skin, but it soon became clear that he had bigger concerns. Holly’s sketchbook was open on a half-coloured drawing of what appeared to be a robotic snake with links connected by masses of wires.
And as the two of them watched, the snake slithered around the page and gave a small hiss.
Adam felt a shiver go up his spine.
‘There!’ Holly pointed. ‘Right there! It moved!’
Adam stepped closer to get a better look. The snake slithered contentedly around its page, occasionally stopping to ponder the gap separating it from the more realistically-drawn spider on the next page, which remained perfectly still. He started flipping through the pages; every other drawing remained perfectly immobile.
Holly perked up from behind him. ‘Hey, that’s private stuff!’
‘This is the only drawing that’s moved?’
‘Yeah. Trust me, if all my drawings were moving then I’d have set that shit on fire by now.’
He flipped back to the snake. ‘So what’s different about this one? I mean, it’s not like you used a “magic pencil” or something, right?’
Holly avoided eye contact.
Adam raised an eyebrow. ‘Holly?’
She didn’t reply, only bent down and picked up a pencil from the floor, holding it up for Adam to get a proper look. It seemed to be made from a dark oak wood, with a pattern winding across it from the base to the tip of jagged lead.
‘I… found it on my way home the other day.’ Holly muttered.
‘So you found a random pencil in the street and just decided to use it?’
‘Art supplies are expensive!’
Adam opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by what sounded like a strangled hiss from the sketchbook – the snake was now trying rather unsuccessfully to eat its own tail.
‘Hey!’ Holly grabbed one of her non-magical pencils and struck the snake on its head. ‘Stop that!’
Disentangled from its tail, the snake gave a perturbed hiss before resuming its idle slithering.
After making sure that the snake was behaving itself, Holly turned back to Adam, only to find him staring at her in confusion. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘What was that?’
‘I wasn’t about to let him hurt himself!’
‘Just a second ago you said-’ Adam cut himself off. ‘…What do you mean, “him?”’
‘His name is Arnold.’
‘Since when?!’
‘Since now.’
‘Just a minute ago you were talking about setting it on fire!’
‘There’s nothing wrong with getting attached to something you’ve created. It’s like you with that novel you’ll never finish.’
‘I told you, I’m working on it!’
‘Sure you are.’ She said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I’m still keeping him.’
Adam sighed. ‘Are you keeping the pencil as well?’
‘Yeah, probably.’
‘In what universe is that a good idea?’
‘It’s one of my less dumbass ideas; give me some credit.’
Adam closed his mouth before he could shout. He took a few deep breaths before speaking again. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘All it takes is one bad drawing, and this whole thing goes to hell.’
‘I don’t make bad drawings.’
‘You don’t.’ said Adam, picking up the pencil.
‘Adam…’ Holly said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Proving a point.’ Adam flipped to a new page.
Holly frowned. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
‘Can’t be worse than keeping haunted art supplies.’
‘…I deserve that. And they’re magical, not haunted.’
‘Same difference.’
Magic pencil in hand, Adam began to scribble, covering the page with formless dark lines until hardly any white space remained.
Holly glared at him. ‘You owe me 3p for that page.’
Putting the pencil down, Adam turned around to face her properly. ‘How does that work?’
‘Those sketchbooks cost three pounds each for a hundred pages, so you owe me 3p.’
‘You can still use the other side, right?’
Holly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘You don’t draw on both sides of the page, dude. Otherwise the pen’s just going to soak through the paper.’
‘It’s just one page.’ He replied, gesturing behind him. ‘You’ve still got…’
‘What?’ Holly asked him. ‘Still got what?’ She peered over his shoulder, and for the third time that evening said: ‘What the FUCK?’
Adam had been about to say “you’ve still got the rest of the sketchbook”, but when he turned back to the desk there was no longer any sketchbook to speak of. In its place was a vaguely sketchbook-shaped black mass which was currently preoccupied with – for the lack of a better term - devouring Holly’s pencil case. The thing seemed to be vibrating with a sort of low intensity comparable to television static.
As they watched, the blob finished its meal and lurched across the desk towards the pencil.
‘No you fucking don’t!’
Before Adam could react Holly shoved him out of the way and lunged for the pencil. Then she screamed.
In lieu of the pencil, the blob had settled for a more substantial food source and had grabbed hold of Holly’s wrist, spreading across her forearm. Holly yanked her arm back, pulling the blob off the desk with it. The blob’s tendrils of ink stretched like a spider’s web as it hung from Holly’s arm before snapping entirely and falling to the floor.
‘Fuck off!’ Adam yelled, trying to kick the blob away. The key word here is trying – the blob latched on to his foot and refused to let go. In the end, Adam was forced to remove his shoe to get free.
Adam backed away over to Holly, who was busy picking the remaining scraps of ink off her hoodie. ‘So what do we do with that thing?’
‘You remember what I said about setting that shit on fire?’ Holly replied.
‘How?’
‘I have a lighter.’
‘…Why?’
‘Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to kill that thing?’
‘Good point.’
With the help of a pair of tongs, Adam transferred the blob into the wastepaper basket. Holly lit a discarded page of Adam’s work-in-progress novel and dropped it in, setting the pile ablaze. The blob let out what could only be described as a strangled screech before falling silent.
As Adam watched the sketchbook blaze, Holly placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You owe me three pounds for a new sketchbook.’