Ani-Murder

To Baby Esther, the original Betty Boop.

1

Los Angeles, California. 1936, 8:30 AM. Eleanor Bailey sits in an office of Walters’ Toon Studios. She takes a drag from the cigarette betwixt her cartoon fingers. Exhaling, adding more to the smoke that was already floating around the room.

Avery Walters, the Founder and C.E.O. of the studio, sits at his desk across from Eleanor – also contributing to the smoke-filled room. “I’m afraid we have to go with someone else,” he said, trying to appear guilty and sympathetic. Eleanor knew better. “What?” she asked.

Eleanor was always struggling to get her career going. Life was always difficult for African American entertainers. Let alone one someone who was also a woman…and a cartoon character.

“We have been working on these serials for months, you’re just throwing them to the side?” Eleanor added.

“Look, Eleanor, I appreciate all that you’ve done for the studio. But we have to go with Lucy,” responds Avery.

A knock at the door disrupts the silence that followed Avery’s comment. It opens to reveal Camille Hobbs entering the room. She was the spitting image of Eleanor. Same black, flapper girl dress; golden hoop earrings, style of make-up. All in all, she was drawn the same exact way – except there was only one thing that was different between the two women. Lucy…was white.

“Hi, you must be Eleanor? I’m Camille Hobbs,” said Camille, extending her hand to shake Eleanor’s.

“Oh, I see how it is,” stated Eleanor, upon giving Camille a once over.

“Now, I’m really sorry, but…” Avery started to say.

“You shut your lying, little mouth,” interrupted Eleanor, “You don’t what some negro-led cartoon up in here. You’re afraid of how that will make you look. How it will impact the money that comes to your little studio. The studio that I helped you build from the ground up, because you told me you were going to make me a star. Now I can see that you’re nothing more than a traitor and a fucking liar.”

“Please believe me when I say, that didn’t know this was going on,” said Camille. “I thought you were in on my hiring.”

“So, he lied to you too?” retorted Eleanor. “Was that before or after he had you get on your knees?” Eleanor turns back to Avery. “You always liked having a little ink on your dick, didn’t you?”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” responded Avery.

“It’s too late for that, Avery,” snapped Eleanor. “I will get back at you for this. Just you wait, you fucking lowlife.”

Eleanor puts out her cigarette, stands up and walks to the same door that Camille entered from and left, to see all of the other studio employees (both human and cartoon) standing in the adjacent room. It was obvious that everyone was listening in on the conversation between her and Avery, even though everyone was pretending not too.

“For a bunch of people that work in the picture business, y’all can’t act worth shit,” thought Eleanor, as she walked out of the room.

She was now in the cast locker room, packing up her stuff before she left the building. A note hung from the locker door, which read:

So long, Eleanor. Time to settle down with a monkey or raccoon.

The last four letters of “raccoon” being written in all caps and underlined.

Three other cartoon characters enter the room. There is Bella, a bat in a sparkling dress and long blonde hair. She starred in the studio’s late night musical reels. Secondly, right next to Bella, was Poppy, whom had a green, lanky body and a rose-like flower for a head. Poppy was the studio’s resident junkie, and it partially surprised Ethel that he wasn’t kick to the curb a long time ago. But no matter where Ethel went – they were going to fire someone who’s black over the drug-addicted flower every time.

Lastly, the leader of the trio, was Bernie. The literal top dog of the studio, and the second metaphorical one after Eleanor. Given that his design was based off of that of a Saint Bernard, Bernie was definitely the most intimidating character of the other cast members. He towered over everyone, and his bulky frame made it so that it was difficult to walk past him.

“Look at what we got here,” stated Bernie, in a menacing tone as he walked up next to Eleanor. “It’s Little Miss Out on Her Ass.”

“Leave me alone, Bernie,” Eleanor clapped back.

“Or what? You’re going to chuck a spear at me or something? That isn’t really polite now, is it?”

Bella and Poppy begin to laugh at Bernie’s racial taunting of Eleanor.

Eleanor looks back at the note. “I take it you’re the one that left me this ‘kind’ message in my locker,” she asked.

Bernie responded, “Why would I do that?”

“Because you were always tired of being Avery’s second fiddle compared to me. I which all I have to say is ‘You could’ve gone over to Walt’s to look for work. But wait! He already has a dumb dog over there and I don’t think he would be too keen on one named Bernie,’” Eleanor clapped back again. Bernie growls.

“Don’t listen to her, darling,” said Bella; in a thick, Hungarian accent.

Bernie stares down Eleanor. “You will never work in this town again. I’ll make sure of it now that I’m going to be on top. You are a worthless piece of dry ink, that no one will ever want to work with…ever,” he shouted.

Though she tried to ignore Bernie’s outburst, a tear rolled down Eleanor’s face. She continued to pack her stuff. While doing so, she came across a knife that she put in there for protection. She stared at the knife.

“No response, that’s a shock. Why don’t you go back to the jungle,” remarked Bernie, as he laughed and walked back to Bella and Poppy.

That was it, that was the last straw. Eleanor was sick of the racist jokes and names at her expense and being fired & replaced simply because of her skin color. “Do it!” whispered a bodyless voice, in her ear. “Show them that enough is enough.”

In that moment, while staring at the knife from her locker, Eleanor…snapped.

2

An hour later. Harry Hays sits at the same table at Café La Goof and eating the same plate of bacon and eggs, like he did every morning. Also like every single morning, his food and coffee has barely been touched within the hour it arrived and right now. He was focused on his drawing pad, aggressively drawing a new cartoon character. He even takes moments to pull at his oiled, brown hair when he takes time to think.

Freya Garland appears at the café, living in her own world until she gets closer to Harry. “Hey, go easy on that thing. At least, by it some dinner first,” she says, breaking Harry from his concentration.

“Huh,” says Harry, as it takes him a bit to put two and two together in order to be in the here and now. “Shit, sorry, today’s a big day. My father got me an interview with Avery Walters today. So, I’m trying have some characters to present to him.”

Freya sits down at the table, as she steals a piece of Harry’s bacon and glances over his should to see his drawing. Harry’s drawing is that of a large goldfish, wearing boxing shorts and standing on his hind fins and giving a gloved thumbs up. On its head, the fish wears a fishbowl filled with water as though it was an oxygen helmet. “He’s cute. Did you name him yet,” Freya asks.

“Yeah. Gilbert Finley, the Fish out of Water! But not sure if it’ll be what they’re looking for though.”

Freya looks at Harry straight into his eyes, almost as though she’s staring right in his soul. “I need you to listen to me,” she says, “You are a fantastic artist, and if they don’t see that…fuck ‘em.” Doubt still hangs on Harry’s face, like a pimple that just won’t pop. “You have to walk into Avery Walters’ office and make him know that you are just the animator that he needs. Make him love you, just like you did with me.”

“I guess you’re right,” Harry finally utters, after a moment of silence.

“You bet your ass I am,” shouts Freya, almost drawing of the other customers to them. “Now what time is this interview?”

Harry looks down at his watch, his eyes suddenly bulge out of his head. “Shit! It’s in 15 minutes!” Harry rushes out of his seat, places money on the table, and hauls ass. Freya follows him close behind.

They arrive to Walters’ Toon Studios, only to get an eerie feeling as they get closer to the buildings. It had nothing to do with the African Americans protesting outside the front gate, with signs calling out Avery for being “a racist piece of shit” and asking for justice for Ethel Bailey. But it may have to do with the ominous clouds hovering over the studio…and only the studio. It made the pits in both Harry and Freya’s stomachs drop.

“That’s some cartoon stuff right there,” noted Freya, referring to the clouds.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Wait! Freya, why are you here?”

“Moral support,” she answered, as though it was obvious. “Plus, I had nothing else going on today.”

They approached the gate, staying out of the way of the protesters. Harry told the guard who he was, and why he was there. The guard found his name on the visitor’s list and opened the gate. Harry even said that Freya was a guest of his to avoid any conflict they might have.

While Harry and Freya were walking through the gates, one of the protesters took that moment and attempted to run in behind them. Before the protester could take one step passed the gate, the guard drew his gun and opened fire – killing the protester instantly.

“I am so tired of those niggers. Always causing trouble up in here,” stating the guard nonchalantly. Harry and Freya were in shock of not only because of the blatant murder they had just witnessed before their eyes, but at the guard’s raging racism and how it allowed him to kill another human being and seeing it as though it was an everyday occurrence; like getting the mail or taking a shower.

The guard turns to them and breaks the intense silence by saying “Go on, Avery’s waiting,” before returning to his booth and picking up a newspaper. If Harry and Freya weren’t spooked already, the whole interaction with the guard and the protest sent so many shivers down their spines that they would need to put on snowsuits. After a moment, Harry wraps his arm around Freya and the two of them start walking towards the studio – not noticing that there wasn’t a crew member or cartoon character around the empty lot.

“Should we call the police?” Freya asked, “That man shouldn’t get away with killing someone.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “We can call when we get inside. We’ll stick around after the interview, wait for them to show,” he said finally.

Harry and Freya, in that moment, thought what they witnessed was going to be the most horrifying thing they were going to see that day. Little did they know that the incident between the guard and the protestor was going to be the least of their worries once they got inside the studio.

3

Harry and Freya approached the studio door that led to the offices. Harry knocked…no response. Then, Freya took a turn at knocking. Still nothing. “That’s odd,” they said collectively. “I wonder where they are?”

“Maybe they went to lunch,” suggested Freya.

“Why would they be at lunch, when it’s still morning,” Harry counterargued.

“I don’t know. All these Hollywood types do their own thing,” refuted Freya. “Besides who needs a clock to tell them when to eat? If you’re hungry, find some food and chow down.”

“Still seems weird that no one is answering,” Harry said to himself. He lifts his hand again and reaches for the door, to knock one more time. But, this time, the door creeks open all on its own. “That’s not overdone…at all,” Harry thought to himself. He pushed the door further in and cautiously stepped inside, with Freya right behind him.

The inside of the studio was trashed, as though someone broke into the building. Papers covered the floor, desks and typewriters are toppled over. Posters for the multiple shorts and features, produced by the studio, lay smashed on the floor or barely hanging on the walls for dear life. But the thing that was the most eye catching was the black and red ink that was on the walls. It wasn’t just splattered on there, in some areas there was writing – that appeared to be finger-painted on. This is Our Studio Now and Humans and Whites go back, this is the Toon’s World are amongst the sayings. Freya walks up to one of the sayings written in red ink, as Harry circles the room, “What in God’s name happened here,” asks Harry rhetorically. “I don’t know,” answered Freya, “But, Harry, I think you should look at this.”

Harry turns to Freya and walks to the wall. Freya points to the ink, and says “That doesn’t look like ink to me, does it to you?”

Harry takes a closer look, squinting his eyes. Harry leans in and takes a sniff. His eyes widen. “No, it’s…it’s blood,” he says. “Jesus, I really wanna know what happened now.”

A pile of boxes in another room crash to the ground. Freya and Harry jump. They make their way over to the sound. “Why are we following the noise? Shouldn’t we be running the other way,” Freya thought to herself, just as they had made it to an empty office where the noise came from.

There was no one to be found. Like the lobby, the office looks like a complete disaster zone. Things still toppled over, and on the ink and blood covered wall, another writing:

The World Belongs to Eleanor

“Eleanor? As in Eleanor Bailey, the cartoon picture star?” Harry asked aloud.

“What the fuck does she have to do with this?” Freya followed up. Harry shrugged. They searched the room looking over, under, and around every fallen item in the room.

“Found one!” shouted Freya from behind the desk. Harry walks over to her to see her picking up a phone. “We can call the police about that security guard, and whatever THIS is.”

“Freya, I think we should figure out what happened here first before we do anything to that extent,” retorted Harry.

“Well, this isn’t necessarily time for vigilante justice,” yelled back Freya, “The police are better equipped for this sort of thing.”

The room goes dark, then the lights turn back on. A menacing cartoon figure, holding a knife, watches them from the shadows of the hallway. “We don’t need the cops; we need a damn electrician,” Harry comments. The lights go out again and come back on in a matter of seconds. The toon in the hallway is now gone. “All right, let’s get out of here.”

“What about your interview?”

“There’s no point when the offices are in shambles.”

Harry and Freya exit the office. Once they reach the hallway the lights flicker a third time. “What the…” Harry starts to say, when right at that moment the figure jumps on him. This causes him to drop his sketchbook. The two struggle with each other for a bit and Harry finds an advantage and kicks the figure off of him. Harry gets to his feet and turns to whatever it was that just attacked him. The figure picks up their blood-and-ink-soaked knife and gets up and it turns out to be Eleanor, also covered in ink and blood.

“Holy shit,” says Harry and Freya, simultaneously.

Eleanor expresses a Cheshire-like grin, which becomes emphasized by the Glasgow smile that appears at the edges of her mouth. She unleashes the most menacing of laughs that the Devil himself would have chills running up and down his spine. Suddenly, Eleanor is taken aback. A look of shock and fear now appears on her face. “Help…me,” she pleads, as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Eleanor, whatever’s going on, we…we will get you the help that you need,” says Freya as she tries to approach the crazed toon. Eleanor semi-lunges towards her, with the crazed, demonic look in her eyes making a return.

“Why I am getting all the help I need,” Eleanor shot back. Eleanor licks the blade of her knife, slicing her tongue in two. Ink gushes from her mouth, pouring all over her mouth, the floor, and her knife. She wags her tongue at Freya and Harry in a snake-like fashion before raising her knife and sprinting towards them, like an Olympic runner on steroids.

Just before she can reach them, a shot is fired. A bullet flies towards Eleanor’s face and comes to a screeching halt just before it hits her. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone with your own dimensions, you crazy bitch,” says the cartoon bullet, in a strong Brooklyn accent.

In Three Stooges fashion, the bullet pokes Eleanor in both of her eyes and grabs her by the arm to spin her and eventually throw her towards a wall, creating a hole in the shape of Eleanor’s outline. Harry and Freya look on in awe.

“Hey, enough standing around. Let’s get the fuck outta here,” instructed the bullet. Finally finding the strength to move, Harry picks up his sketchbook and he, along with Freya, follow the bullet.

“Thanks for helping us back there…,” Harry started to say, but pausing to get the bullet’s name.

“No problem, shit has gotten crazy around here really fucking fast over the last 2 hours,” said the bullet. “The name’s Nicky, by the way.”

“Wait? All of this happened in the last two hours?” Freya asked surprisingly.

“Yeah,” replied Nicky. “Eleanor’s lost her fucking mind and went ape-shit all over the studio.”

“Did you say that because she’s, she’s…ya know,” asked Freya.

“What? Because she’s black, oh fuck, no,” said Nicky. “I say that about everybody. Black, White, porcupine, crocodile. You name it. I don’t appreciate those kinds of allegations, Ms…?”

“Garland. Freya Garland, and this is my boyfriend, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you both, though I wish it was under better circumstances. It’s that kind of racist bullshit, that got us into this mess. We gotta meet up with a buddy of mine, the one that shot me at Eleanor’s face. He’ll explain everything.

Harry and Freya follow Nicky into a nearby locker room. This specific one, happens to be the same one that Eleanor was in earlier. Just like every other rooms they have seen since they’ve arrived, the locker room is a complete ink and bloodbath. On the floor are the bodies of Bernie, Bella, and Poppy. Bernie and Poppy are both slice up into teeny, tiny pieces – while Bella had her head completely taken off…as if someone had bitten it off.

A short, cartoon man, in a trench coat and fedora, crouches by the bodies. He’s investigating the three bodies. He then stands up and begins to analyze the blood and ink, covering the walls. He puts his hands on his hips, which brings back his coat a little to reveal his gun.

“Hey, Charlie! I got a couple of kids here that wandered into this shitstorm. Had a little run-in with Eleanor,” shouts Nicky.

Charlie turns to them. He looks like he could be the love child of Humphrey Bogart and Elmer Fudd, from his balding head to his gruff demeanor. A cigarette hangs from his mouth, he spits it out and lets it land on the floor.

“Charles Blanc, P.I. It seems as though you two have wandered into some serious shit,” says Charlie.

4

Everyone stares at the corpses of the murder cartoon characters. “Is this all of Eleanor’s doing,” asked Freya.

“I’m afraid so,” Charlie answered, taking off his fedora and tussling his remaining hair. “We need to find Avery. He may be the only way to stop her.’

“He’s still alive,” interjected Harry, to which Charlie responded with a shrug. Concern and disappointment appeared on Harry’s face.

“Avery and Camille Hobbs are the only ones we haven’t found,” said Charlie. “Every human and toon in the studio have been stabbed, slashed, or dismembered. Some toons that made it, not counting Nicky and myself, also went crazy and teamed up with Eleanor. But Avery and Camille, their bodies haven’t been seen yet – so there is no way of knowing if they are alive or dead.”

“You said that finding Camille and Avery can fix this,” Freya pointed out. “How would they?

What is their connection to Eleanor losing her shit?’

“Because Avery had her replaced,” said Charlie.

“With blonde hair, blue-eyed, white assed Camille Hobbs,” Nicky added on.

“Why’d you have to comment on her rear end,” asked Charlie, in a disapproving tone.

“Like you haven’t noticed.”

Charlie lets out an Elmer Fudd-esque laugh but stops himself. “Whoops! Don’t wanna be sued by bunny rabbits.”

“Calm down. It’s that asshole mouse and his antisemitic boy toy that you gotta worry about,” reassured Nicky. “Anyway, between that and having to work with a bunch of cunts day in and day out is what led to her becoming what you saw back there by that office.”

“Have you checked Avery’s office yet?” asked Harry. “That maybe a good place to start looking.”

Nicky turns to Charlie, “Kid’s got a point.”

“So, you didn’t even think to consider the office of the company’s founder,” asked Freya.

“In a way…we did. But, for some reason, the door was locked, and we went to look elsewhere,” claimed Charlie. Harry and Freya just stand still in negative awe, as they realize that Charlie is one of the most incompetent people, either human or toon, that they have ever met. “But…I think we should go back! Should we go back? Yes, yes...we should.”

Charlie turns around and starts walking towards the toilets. Once he gets into that part of the locker room, a splash can be heard.

“Charlie? You okay, buddy,” asked Harry, genuinely concerned about Charlie’s wellbeing.

“Yep. Just had a little trip, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” responded Charlie. “I also discovered that I went in the wrong direction.”

Charlie exits the bathroom, his trench coat soaking wet and leaving a trail of water being him.

5

Eleanor stands up from the debris left over from being thrown through the wall by Nicky. “How could you let your guard down,” a voice asked. Eleanor looks around to see if she could the person that is talking to her, no one can be seen.

The room she was in was one of the “Toon” bathrooms. Just like how humans had separate bathrooms for blacks and whites, Avery made the decision to apply the same “philosophy” in his studio for the toons – after several of the human employees had complained about sharing a private area with their animated co-workers, claiming that they were afraid of any…fluids…being left over.

“Hello?” Eleanor was finally being able to let something escape from her lips. She moves forward into the bathroom. “What happened here,” she thought to herself. She finally reaches the door to leave. She reaches for the doorknob and is about to turn it, until she hears the voice again, this time calling her name, startling Eleanor to the point that her skeleton literally jumped out of her skin.

She slipped her skin back on like an Oscar’s Night gown, before looking in the opposite end of the room from the door. She was now face to face with her reflection. Though there was something strange about her reflection, something different, something…evil. There was a dark aura, around her in the mirror. She squints her eyes in an attempt to really get a look at it, but they remain wide open in her reflection. Taking note of this, she also noticed that her eyes were completely and utterly white. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” offered Eleanor’s reflection.

Eleanor’s eyes bulge out of her head, and she makes a run for the door. “No, no, no. You can’t outrun me,” said the reflection, still standing in the same position in the mirror and thus begins to ooze out of it – the ooze itself being as black as the ink splattered on all of the walls throughout the studio. Eleanor gives the door a few good tugs, with all of her strength, but it won’t budge. She looks to the wall with the giant hole and starts to sprint towards it. The blob of ooze hits the floor, and it quickly begins to glide in Eleanor’s direction.

Eleanor closes in on the hole, but just as she’s about to make it the blob makes it right in front of her and takes Eleanor’s form, staring her down. “Who…what the fuck are you,” Eleanor fearfully asks of the creature, waiting for the piss to start running down her legs. The creature laughs.

“I am you,” it answers. “Well, a part of you.” Confusion now mixes in with the fear on Eleanor’s face. “Like the Fairy Godmother, I answered your call.”

“But…” Eleanor started to say. The creature presses a still inky finger on Eleanor’s lips to keep from finishing her thoughts. It places another finger against its own lips, shushing Eleanor.

“I am here to help you, are you actually going to say no to that,” it asked. Eleanor shakes her head in response. “Good, now Ms. Bailey, I have seen the way these, prejudiced humans – as well as your fellow toons - treat you. It’s not right, not fair, not morally sound,” the creature starts lecturing. “You may be tempted to deny it, but you can’t from me. I’m literally from inside your head, and I have seen everything from those movie projectors that you call eyes. I knew that you weren’t going to seek any help, I don’t blame you. Who in their right mind would help someone a black person? Or, in your case…a black toon? So, I took matters into my own hands.”

“What? What are you saying,” asked Eleanor, breaking away from the creature’s finger. “You know exactly what I am saying,” said the creature. “Tell me. Do you remember anything from the last couple of hours?”

Eleanor thinks over the creature’s question, but she doesn’t know how to respond. “That’s right, you know why,” continued the creature. “You couldn’t take it. The nasty comments, the horrible letters in your locker…being replaced by that white, toon cunt in your own fucking serials that helped define this company from day fucking one.” The monster’s voice gets louder as it’s speech continues. “Things weren’t going your way, and they never were going to, simply because of the skin you were drawn in. Something that wasn’t even your own damn fault. So, watching what you had to endure day in and day out, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started taking over your consciousness in small intervals in order to get you ready for whatever needed to be done.”

“You left the knife in my locker,” asked Eleanor, finally finding the courage to open her mouth. “Yes, it was me and I don’t regret it,” replied the creature. “You weren’t going to do a single damn thing, and I wanted all of them to pay for their blatant prejudices and self-hatred.”

“But there must have been another way to do this,” Eleanor complained. “You do realize that this will make things worse for toons and people of color. It will make both groups look like they’re even more unstable than the preexisting stereotypes that the white, human masses have already tossed into society.”

“That may be,” the creature rebuked. “It’s too late now, my dear, too much damage has been made on both sides.” The creature takes one of it’s hands and lets it hover next to one of Eleanor’s ears. The hand begins to transform into the inky, blobby chaos that it was when the creature came out of the mirror. It begins to crawl into Eleanor’s ear, allowing the creature’s whole body to get back inside her head.

Eleanor falls to the floor, clutching her head, and screams at the top of her lungs. After a few moments, she stops and let go of her head – her arms dangling by her sides. She begins laughing; not just chuckling, but manically as if the funniest joke in the world was just whispering into her ear. Her eyes are now completely milky white. Eleanor has taken a backseat inside her own mind, as the creature had now taken over all functions of her body again.

6

Charlie and Nicky lead the way to Avery’s office. Freya, following them along with Harry, looks down to see that Harry is still carrying his sketchbook. “Why the hell are you still carrying that thing? It’s not like you’re still having that interview,” she finally said. This causes Harry to look at sketchbook, realizing that’s what she was referring to.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “Comfort, I guess. Today’s been really fucking crazy.” Freya looks at him, with a slight smirk. She can respect that, anything that can make people forget the daily horrors of everyday life – plus the rare ones, where homicidal cartoon characters run at you with knives.

“If you two lovebirds are good to go, we’re here,” announced Charlie, interrupting their moment. He was gesturing to a door, with the number 1205 hanging on it. “Wow! He must have a real fetish for the other guy,” noted Harry. “Or at least the writer of this story,” added Freya.

Nicky floats over to the doorknob. “As you can see,” he said, trying to open the door. It won’t budge. “No bueno.” Harry and Freya look at each other, both obviously thinking “Really,” as they walk up to the door and face it together. “One…Two…,” they start counting. Shouting “Three,” as they both simultaneously life their legs and successfully kicking the door in.

“Was that so hard,” Freya asked. Nicky and Charlie look at each other and turn back to her. “Well, yeah for us,” said Nicky. “I’m a fucking bullet. I ain’t got no legs. So, Charlie would be doing all the damn work.”

Freya nods her head, as she never even considered that before she judged them. The three of them follow Harry, who already stepped inside, into the office. They are in shock to see Avery sitting behind his desk, he appears to be dead with his head leaning back and his mouth wide open.

“Oh my god,” said Harry, in utter disarray.

Avery lets out a moan and begins to move. “Holy shit! He’s a zombie! Kill it! Kill it,” shouts Nicky hiding behind Charlie. Avery looks to see the four people standing on the other side of his desk.

“Oh fuck,” he says, jumping out from his seat. He then zips up his fly, and Camille gets up from underneath his desk – wiping off some semen from her mouth.

“Oh! That’s just sick,” shouted Freya, angrily. “People are getting murdered out there, and you’re getting your pool stick polished by slutty Betty Boop.”

“Hey now! Keep it civil,” pleaded Avery.

“Is this why you replaced Eleanor, Avery?” asked Charlie, in full on investigator mode. “Because Camille was able to show you a good time, and she wouldn’t.”

“That is…not 100% a lie,” said Avery, in an attempt at a comeback. “Look, she wasn’t proving to be as popular as she usually does…”

“Translation…because she’s black,” interrupted Nicky.

“No, No. That is not the case. Here at Walters’ Toons Studios, we want to make sure we give the audience what they want,” Avery continued.

“Well, Camille was definitely giving you something YOU wanted,” Harry clapped back.

“Come again?” asked Avery

“Wait! Already?” joked Charlie

“Look, people are dying in your…” Freya started to say.

“That is the second time you said something like that,” interrupted Avery. “What are you trying to say when you say’ people are dying’?”

“Have you seriously not left this office today?” asks Harry. “Did you not hear screams and crashing coming from outside that door?”

“No, I am a busy man,” answered Avery, growing genuinely concerned. Nicky laughs at his statement. Avery ignores this. “Is there something I should know?”

“Eleanor, went on a killing spree in the studio today,” offered Harry. “We think it had to do with the fact that you replaced her with Camille, and if you personally didn’t want to do it because of the color of her skin, audience members and investors probably did.”

“Then, on top of all of that, she had to deal with the constant prejudice around the studio – not just from the humans, but her fellow toons,” added Freya.

Avery walks out from behind his desk and walks to the open-door frame. “Listen,” he says. “I appreciate all of the concern for Eleanor. But I promise you, she…has…been…fi…” Before Avery could finish his sentence, he gasps, and blood starts to run down his mouth. Everyone looks down and to see a large cartoon arm protruding through Avery’s stomach. “Oh fuck!” he says, as the arm retracts through the hole in his stomach – causing him to topple over and reveal a mutated Eleanor behind him.

Eleanor was now a hulking figure, as the ink monster inside of her allowed for her to grow in size and disfigure parts of her body – such as turning her hands into massive claws. Camille lets out a gut-wrenching scream. This attracts Eleanor’s attention to everyone else in the room. She lets out a deafening scream, and charges towards the remaining bodies in the room.

Everyone except for Camille, who was frozen in place, jumps out of the way. Eleanor destroys Avery’s desk, as she rams Camille into the nearby wall and pummels her into over, and over, and over again. When every inch of Camille’s life was gone, Eleanor grabs her by the room and tosses her across the room, like a crumbled-up piece of paper, causing her lifeless toon body to land right next to Avery’s.

Those who remained were now huddled in the corner, shaking for dear life. “What are we going to do?” asked Harry.

“Go fetal until she gets bored,” suggested Charlie.

Eleanor turns to them and begins to prepare for another charge. Right as she lunges forward, she is punched in the face by a gloved hand. Though it wasn’t a hand, it was a fin. The group of four looked on in awe, especially Harry, as they somehow Gilbert Finley, Harry’s character design, jumped off of the page and was now living breathing toon – like Charlie, Nicky, and Eleanor.

“But how is that possible?’ asked Harry, both awestruck and confused at the same time. Trying to wrap his head around Gilbert’s presence.

“There’s some kind of magic in this place, that allows toons and humans to coexist,” answered Nicky. “Nobody knows how Walters got a hold of it. It’s just always been here.”

Eleanor stumbles back up to her feet. Meanwhile, Gilbert is jumping around with his fins up like James Braddock, the Cinderella Man. Eleanor lifts up her fists to do the same.

The four observers in the corner, watching what’s about to happen, have their hopes up and wish for the horrors to be over. But their hopes are diminished as Eleanor charges towards Gilbert and takes a powerful swing. When Eleanor’s fist hits Gilbert’s head, it takes his head completely off of his shoulders – spraying ink all over the place.

“Well…,” said Nicky. “…that was fucking anti-climactic.”

Eleanor turns to them and begins to charge at them. But right as she is about to reach them, Freya breaks through the huddled group and shouts, “Wait!” Her hand is outstretched, and Eleanor comes to a complete stop.

“Eleanor, you don’t want to do this,” says Freya. “I know you’ve been hurt. People have said and done horrible things to them. But this is not the answer.”

“Why should we listen to this white savior cunt?” says the ink demon, inside Eleanor’s mind. But Eleanor tries to shake it away.

“I can never understand the struggle you are facing,” Freya continued. “But if you need an ally. Someone to help you fight the fight, to make you seen as someone who is equal as not only a toon…but as a person, I’ll be there. Things will and should change.” As Freya says this, Eleanor begins to shrink.

“Me too,” says Harry. “Also, my dad has connections to people that can help with mental health.”

“No! Fuck you!” screams the ink demon, causing Eleanor’s head to explode. Eleanor grabs her head as though a migrate is pounding.

“We’ll do what we can,” said Charlie and Nicky, simultaneously. Eleanor finally returns to her normal form.

There is an awkward silence, before Eleanor looks up – breathing heavily. “Do you really think things will be different?” she finally asked Freya.

“One can only find out,” responded Freya.

7

Thirty years later…1966.

After the events of Walters’ Toons Studios, Eleanor was arrested for the multiple murders she committed. But Harry’s dad – who has been asked to remain anonymous for the purpose of this writing, and I hope that they are reading this and are more than satisfied (Can I have my money now?) – was able to pull some strings in order to get her a lighter sentence.

Upon release, Eleanor has been able to get help with her mental health by seeing a therapist twice a week. Again, with the help of Harry’s dad.

She has also become a prominent Civil Rights Leader and going on to work with the likes of Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. This led to Eleanor having a career resurgence.

Harry and Freya, who are now married with children (with one, a daughter, named after Eleanor) were true to their word. Harry was able to start his own animation studio and hired Eleanor to be a writer, creative consultant, star, and occasional director of her own short films that deal with the issues that African Americans are facing in the United States. This even created more acting work for Charlie and Nicky, who appeared in each and every film alongside Ethel. This also allowed Harry to recreate Gilbert and introduce him to the world with these shorts.

Another ten years later, during the bicentennial of the United States…1976.

At the ages of 67 and 65, Harry and Freya died in a car accident - leaving behind their teenage children and their extremely successful studio (though still nowhere near the success of a particular rodent). In their will, the Hays children were left under the guardianship of aunts and uncles. As for the studio, it was left to Eleanor. She would continue to make movies for all ages, races, ethnicities, and sexual orientations…for generations to come.

That’s All, Folks!