Lucas’s face went white. He hadn’t expected it to actually work . “I—I wish for—”
Silence.
Megan Inky wasn’t her real name. Her real name was Megan O’Connor, but she’d earned the nickname in fourth grade when she accidentally uncapped six permanent markers in her backpack during silent reading. The resulting explosion of blue, black, and red left her hands, face, and the entire inside of her desk looking like a Jackson Pollock painting. From that day on, she was Megan Inky. megan inky
Lucas paled. “You—”
Lucas stared at the mess. Then at Megan. His face cycled through shock, fury, and finally—something like respect. Lucas’s face went white
“I’ve got more,” Lucas said. “Your little menagerie of animated doodles? I’ve been documenting it for weeks. You help me, or this goes to every news outlet, every science blog, every creepypasta forum I can find. Your life as you know it? Over.”
She walked out into the rainy October night, leaving Lucas Vane standing alone in a room full of drying ink. And on the table, where the creature had been, a single drop of ink trembled—then shaped itself into a tiny, smiling raven. It spread its wings, flew to Megan’s shoulder, and dissolved into a happy smudge on her collar. Megan Inky wasn’t her real name
He left, and Megan was alone with her raven drawing. The raven’s head turned, its beak opening in a silent caw. It knew she was scared.