Things were crawling over him. Black and wet; the dark patches littered over his skin like gangly spiders and he could not wash them off. The overwhelming taste of ink forever in his mouth. Chanting in his ear, the smell of candles choking him, clinging to his lungs.

"Thanks a bundle, Sammy-boy!" That thing whispered in his ear. "How 'bout ya take a jingle and turn into a silly symphony!"

Sammy jerked out of bed, mouth open in a loud and piercing scream, half expecting to see the wooden walls and floors of the studio once more.

"I'm sorry my lord I was unworthy of you, I pray for mercy, mercy, mercy!" Sammy's lips were chapped as he uttered a plea. Sammy hoped that his god would not punish him. Oh oh oh, there were tingly things creeping up his spine, pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Drips of paint in his ear, empty screaming, the smell of d...

Sammy shuddered as he grabbed the bed sheets. He felt the starchy material, a welcome change from the wet ink. Slowly, he raised his hands. Ten digits, fingernails newly clipped. No ink. His arms were wrapped in sleeves, his clothes freshly laundered and checkered, though Sammy could not discern the colour. No ink on the hem, just drenched in sweat. He rolled up his sleeves, half-remembering the dark patches that had overtaken pasty skin that had never seen the sky. Sammy could see the bones sticking out, but they were bare as he rolled up his sleeves. No ink, no ink, NO INK.

"I'm here. I'm safe." Sammy whispered to himself as he allowed his head to rest against the pillows. He allowed his fingers to rake across his scalp, tiny bristles of baby hair encountering callused fingertips. Sammy touched himself, finger by finger, once again wondering at the dry, clean feel of bare skin.

"Sammy?" He heard a voice cry out, and tensed. He curled his toes, almost ready to rise before the door vibrated with a knock. "Sammy, are you okay in there? Need me to come in?"

"I-I'm fine." Damn his stutter. Damn his uncertainty. Damn the fact that he still felt unsure of his surroundings, that he had to sleep with the lights on for fear of being devoured by the darkness. Damn him to hell.

"Can I come in?" Henry was still outside, loitering in the corridor. Sammy paused in the midst of thought, his fingers grappling against his arms, struggling to steady himself, to no longer show fear of his surroundings. Sammy knew he was better than this. He could be stronger, he could be brave to face everything. But still, his throat uttered no sound.

"I couldn't sleep, so I guess if you're awake, I can talk to you?" Henry ended in a questioning tone, still hopeful. Sammy bit his lip, feeling the metallic taste wrap round his tongue before he finally acquiesced.

"Come in." The door opened with a soft creak, and Henry's age spotted and wrinkled face poked behind the door. His glasses rested firmly on his nose, while his lips were upturned in a genial smile.

"Hey, Sammy." Henry grabbed a nearby chair before plopping himself onto it, next to the bed. Sammy watched as his nimble hands curled around his each other, and licked his lips before he realized what he was doing and stopped.

"Hella Henry." Sammy's voice was steady, but he did not think he could control the shakiness of his tone.

"I kinda had a nightmare about the studio, so I woke up. Couldn't get back to sleep, so I was planning on doing another round until the morning, but I heard you, so I thought that this might be better." According to Henry's niece, Henry was the head animator of their small studio, so it was no wonder that Henry had decided to get to work. In fact, Henry's workplace was a few floors below, so commuting was relatively easy to do so.

"Ya didn't need to see me." Sammy retorted, hoping to get some of his old personality across. Now that he was out of the studio, he could remember flashes of what he was before. Sammy knew objectively that he had been quiet in nature, productive in his output, but soft spoken in person. According to Henry, he hardly spent time with the animation crew, but Sammy thought it sounded right. After all, if he had got out more, maybe when he had been ...converted, he would not have been left to rot in there.

The studio's lawyer was still searching through the tax records for traces, but Sammy had forgot most of what had happened before, and Lawrence was a relatively common surname, so he did not have much hope of finding something concrete. Henry's niece on the other hand was helping him apply for identification papers, seeing that Sammy had nothing on him when they escaped, apart from a pair of trousers which they had thrown away as soon as he had gotten into the hospital. He hoped that they had been burnt thoroughly.

"Maybe I just need someone to talk to, and Louis doesn't hear while Jeanne sleeps like a log." Henry cheerfully said as he started fidgeting with a pencil. Sammy twitched in response, recalling someone doing a similar action.

"Boss, ya know I was thinking of..." Sammy stopped in mid-sentence as he stared at the bloody circle and pentacle inscribed in ink on the floor. He had been fed up with the ink bursting over his head for the umpteenth time, and decided to quit and find another job. After all, he had been taking up the workload of those who had quit earlier, and thought it was high time he left as well. Sammy was sure that the coffee machine was barely working as it is; whatever he had taken that morning was sitting unhappily in his stomach and the toilet was choked yet again.

"Ah, Sammy! Just the man I was looking for." Joey limped towards the door, eyebags having grown darker each time Sammy had seen them. This time, Joey's eyes were sunken in beyond belief, and his hands were dripping with ink. Joey's leg looked even more painfully twisted than usual; Sammy suspected that he had been using his crutches far more than advisiable.

"Boss, 'ryeah okay?" He asked, lips trembling as he thought of a good way to escape the office and Joey's grasp. Unfortunately, Joey had decided to wrap his fingers tightly around Sammy's wrist and firmly dragged him into the pentacle.

"Boss, what 'cha doing! Leggo!" Even as Sammy protested, the former World War One veteran overpowered him, and Sammy was left to struggle in vain as he was forced onto a wooden chair and bound tightly with thick hemp rope. Not for the first time, he regretted he was born with a weak chest. He was still young, but was often caught breathless as he climbed up the flights of stairs that went from music department to management. It did not help that Joey towered him by a foot, and proved how difficult it was to struggle against him when Joey was determined on outrageous. Most of the time, it was somewhat sane, like bribing the big guys with doughnuts and setting up their studio with no start-up capital. On this occassion, Sammy was more than happy if his old friend would just relent on this and let him go-

Soon, Sammy could hardly moved a muscle, and was gagged with a wad of paper thrust down his throat. Sammy felt his screams choked within his throat, every urge to twist in vain as Joey started chanting something strange.

"Bendy, this is your host. This is the one who will set you free." What emerged from Joey's mouth was both a mixture of blasphemy and heresy, but Sammy was more distressed by the inky black patches that were creeping up from behind his sleeves. He thought that they were just stains from the ink machine pipe that was just outside his office, but now he suspected something else. Cold shivers wrecked his spine as he continued to holler for aid, but there seemed to be no one listening to him at all.

Sammy's eyes darted around him as he felt growing numbness from his feet. As he bent down, a growing horror emanated from within as his feet started to dissolve into ink itself. He tried to move his body out of the pentacle, hoping that it would interrupt the ritual, but whatever was left of his legs had no traction at all. Sammy felt something wet streak across his face; more ink. There was ink everywhere, from his darkening shirt to his face to his arms...

Sammy found the Bendy plush that was sitting within his line of sight, mouth sewn in an eternal grin. He could have sworn that the ever-present cutout of Bendy was moving, opening its mouth up and down and saying something...

Bendy...Bendy...BENDY WAS REAL! Sammy could feel his consciousness slipping away, while his mind remained focused on Bendy as he felt his body disintegrate into nothing but ink. Out damn spot, he thought feverishly, but still the darkness drew him in-

"-Hear me Bendy. Arise from the darkness-" Sammy felt himself muttering under his breath. Still, his Lord whispered in his ear, lamenting the lack of sacrifices, the lack of obedience due to him. Sammy was ashamed, how could he have forgotten? Joey had martyred himself for Bendy, and Sammy had done nothing but-

"Sammy! Sammy!" Sammy's eyes rested onto Henry, finally regaining control of himself. His throat felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other while blood was dripping down his chin. Meanwhile, his hands were not only gripping against the bed sheet, but were in the process of tearing the sheet apart. Meanwhile, Henry had started rubbing circles down his back while speaking softly, calmly. Sammy took in a harsh breath, feeling the hoarseness of his throat. He must have been screaming, he thought, deadened to the rest of the world. But now everything was becoming clear, unfocused.

"Do you think you can drink something?" One hand was taken off the sheet and around a cup, and Sammy was forced to sip from it. As his lips left the cup, Sammy allowed the cool sensation to rest upon his tongue, welcoming the lack of taste before gulping it down. His throat soothed, he started to breathe deeply, feeling his stomach rise up and down as his body struggled to inhale. Sammy's cheeks reddened as he discerned his surroundings, bare skin and clothes and a warm bed and Henry.

It had only been a memory, but still, his entire body was paralysed. It was as though he was just watching himself in Joey's office, being wrapped in that dark abyss yet again...

"Oh my god Henry I'm so sorry." Wracking sobs burst from his chest as tear drops, not ink, dripped onto the now ruined sheets below. "I just thought I was back there again and I can't stop seeing Joey and that blasted ink and...and..." He could not say anything else, but continued to weep as Henry awkwardly patted him on the back.

"It's okay, I've seen this before." Henry consoled Sammy as he allowed the former music director to lean on his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay..." They stayed in this position while Sammy continued to keen noisily on his former colleague, fear and regret roiling in his chest as he tried to stop himself, only for new worries to emerge anew and causing him to continuously cry. Sammy was disgusted with himself. How could he lose control just because of a bad nightmare? He should have had more dignity, his pride that had seen him through life vanishing after...after...

"Why am I so useless?" He finally whimpered. All the tears seemed to have dried up, but he still felt a stone laden heavy within his heart. Sammy hated being weakened, but he could do little else but go to sleep, wake up in the middle of the night and stay in bed till dawn. Perhaps he might fall asleep in the middle of the day, but otherwise he spent his time either lying in bed or going to the park, sitting down and just listening to the outside.

"...Sammy, I was thinking." Henry spoke as he gently grabbed Sammy by the shoulders. "Jeanne and I have been discussing if you would want see a doctor about this...this sickness. I knew some of my old army friends did."

"You mean see a shrink!" Something hot and messy blazed within Sammy's chest. He screeched, "I don't need to meet some quack who thinks he knows what's wrong with me-"

"Not a quack. Shell shock!" Henry interrupted, looking sterner than usual. Sammy blinked. He knew about shell shock, it was what Joey had sometimes mentioned and some of the men who had came back from the Great War had discussed in the break room. But for something like this...

"But I don't think I have shell shock." Sammy muttered under his breath.

"A version of it, I guess." Henry declared. "We can't keep ourselves together like this." Sammy's mind wandered through the subject. He knew that by himself, he could never be normal again. Each time he attempted to play the piano, that beloved instrument reminded him of the hymns he had sung to invoke Bendy. Or the time he had painted on the walls with one finger. Already, Henry's workplace was out of bounds of him due to his tendency to faint upon smelling ink or the weakening urge to preach to Bendy whenever he caught sight of one of Henry's old Sillyvision merchandise. Sammy wanted to do something about it, but still...

"I know a good one which I saw after the Pacific War. Want me to contact him? I think he's still active." Henry piped up, reading Sammy's face.

Sammy bent his head down, dazedly examining the ruined sheets, feeling the sweat coated pajamas sticking to his back. Well, he told himself. I need to get over this. I want to go back to being normal.

"Okay. I will do it." Henry grinned in approval as he patted him on the back once more.

"Then it's settled. I'll book an appointment with him in say, two days time." Henry replied as he wrapped an arm around Sammy, breath sending warm sparks underneath his skin. Sammy hugged back, craving for the day where he could touch a music instrument without bursting into tears.