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Bendy and the Ink Machine: Ch1. Inheritance
I don’t own anything! Shiny_Zango’s Bendy AU is being used so go and check her out.

She never completely understood why she liked the smell of his house, she just does. The ink on paper, the old, tanned leather, that small hint of overused apple cinnamon air freshener, those gag reflexing smells all came together to remind her of her adopted Great Grandfather. When he sat her on his knee to tell the amazing adventures of the Dancing Devil Darling, when he taught her how to build that perfect pillow fort, when he’d make that homemade vanilla ice cream so cold that the only way to eat it without hurting yourself was to sit in the hot summer sun, all those beautiful memories wrapped up in those smells.

It honestly hurt.

Sighing, Amber Vale finished unloading the last of her stuff in the old house. The 24 year old had finally landed herself a job as a secretary for a big news company when the call came in.

Henry had died.

His caretaker had come in to take him for his monthly visit to the doctor’s when she found him slumped over in his recliner, white as a sheet. She immediately panicked and called 911 only for the paramedics to announce him deceased. The doctor’s told Amber he died in his sleep, peacefully, and without suffering, not that it eased her pain any.

He was like a second father to her.

The funeral was quiet, only a few close friends and Beth and Sarah, his nieces, came. He had never gotten married or had kids. He used to have a sister, but he had long outlived her. It was almost… Lonely, though it was probably the way he liked it anyways. Then after the silent burial came the Will reading. Surprisingly, he had left Amber his house and all the belongings within it. She honestly thought he was going to leave it for the bank, he always told her he didn’t much care for stuff, but then again, she did tell him that she wanted to move in again. She just never expected it to be this soon, though she probably should’ve. His health was declining and he was on the verge of hitting triple digits. His doctor used to joke that he was going to retire long before Henry left this world. Hell, they even made a bet on that statement. It was unfortunate the doctor lost, he was retiring later this year. She should probably give him a call…

She mentally put it on her checklist as Amber scanned her new room. It was small with white walls and ugly brown carpeting she hoped to get replaced soon. A small wooden dresser was placed to her left, currently empty and void of cloths with a round mirror on top. A small bed was placed against the right wall with simple white sheets and an iron wire bed frame that had curls and loops to unnecessarily decorate it. A simple wooden nightstand sat next to the bed as bare and empty as the dresser. She hoped to put a lamp on it soon.

And then, of course, there were the boxes.

Boxes upon labeled boxes were stacked up and spread across the room like a minefield, each containing some of her stuff. Cloths, decorations, those Christmas gifts that were never used, books, it was honestly amazing. Amber never realized just how much stuff she actually had till she had to pack up and move. A good portion was probably either going to a garage sale or put up in the attic… Or stay in her room in the back of the closet.

And speaking of closets, she really needed to unpack her cloths. She was heading in to work tomorrow and she didn’t need the surprise of missing professional attire. She gave an ugly snort at the thought of arriving in her more than comfortable sweat shirt, complete with dog pajama bottoms and fuzzy green slippers. Amber could practically hear the sirens of the fashion police.

Sighing, she proceeded to start opening boxes and dig through the contents.

Slowly but surely, shirts found themselves on plastic hangers, pants found themselves pushed back in her drawers, dresses where stashed away probably never to be seen again, every article of clothing found their place.

Pushing the final drawer shut, she finally had a chance to look at herself in the mirror.

Her dark hair was the perfect makings of a bird’s nest. Strands were sticking every which way forming knots that were guaranteed to be ripped out if she tried to brush normally. Bangs were curled the wrong way and a cow lick like style seem to form on the side of her head completing the messy look. A quick shower would fix it, but at the moment it was –her brown eyes glanced at her wrist- 10:15 at night, she really just wants to get a hot drink and head for bed. A brief mental debate later, she decided a quick morning shower would work, sleep was a little more important than her hair crisis.

Amber stumbled out of the room and down the stairs.

The house was nothing fancy, just like the man who had lived there. Simple brown furniture, a light wood floor, a brick fireplace, even the mantle above said fireplace was simplistic. No design was carved into its wood, it was just… there. And a single thing was placed on it.

A bottle of ink.

Amber was compelled to look at it for a moment. Gramps had never had anything on that mantle except that bottle, no vases of flowers, no decorations, nothing. It was just so strange. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. There was no fancy design, nothing to indicate it had value. It was just a simple clear bottle filled with ink. One day, she managed to gather the courage to ask about it. She remembered the bittersweet smile that graced his face as he told her

“It’s an old friend”.

It’s an old friend. That phrase always managed to drive her insane. Did he mean that it was the ink he used during his animating career? Or maybe it was a gift from a long deceased friend? No, no, that wasn’t quite it. The way he looked at it was almost like the way someone would look at an urn holding their long gone relative. Maybe there were ashes mixed in with the ink?

‘Ok, now that’s just creepy’.

That final thought made the decision to leave it well alone for the rest of the night. Amber didn’t need to freak herself out, especially if she wanted any sleep.

Pulling herself away, she headed for the semi-recent refurbished kitchen. Henry had it redone two years ago due to one of his caretaker’s insistence on not living in the 50’s. Honestly, it surprised her that he had even considered the request, but then again, as soon as it was finished, he fired the rude brat making sure he never even got to use it. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it was all just to troll him.

Paddling around, she got the kettle filled and on the black stovetop. It was then she noticed the lights.
Outside the window, there were two yellow beams, swinging around and scanning the backyard. Most normal people, at this point, would panic and call the police, however, Amber wasn’t a normal person.

She grabbed the megaphone next to the door.

“All right ya turds, you know the drill, by the count of three ya’ll better start jumping over that fence before I start bashing your heads in”

A series of cusses rang out.

“1”

The lights started swinging wildly about as they ran and practically flew themselves over the fence. An annoyed grunt escaped her mouth.

“Damn teenagers” Grumbling under her breath, she continued to go about making her tea. Somehow, many years back, a bunch of high schoolers decided that the place was a cultist worshiping site due to the rumors decades ago that a demon was running around. Since then, it’s been a test of courage to try to break in and steal an item from the house. At first, Henry got the police involved, but it soon became evident that they weren’t going to stop and it was getting too expensive to keep calling 911, so he decided on a plan B.

A megaphone and a bat.

After a couple of times she ran out with the bat swinging wildly, they got the idea to finally run before the number 3 was shouted. It still didn’t stop them from trying though.

Sipping her peppermint liquid, she decided then and there to start investing in an electric fence. Might as well give them a challenge, right?...

…It was so dark…

…He couldn’t see anything…

…He couldn’t feel anything…

…He needed to break free…

Something cracked.

To be continued.