By Melissa L. Webb
Tiffany awoke to a thought. It was the strangest thought she’d ever had. It overpowered her mind, causing all rational thought to flee from its presence.
She bolted up in bed and sat there, her eyes focusing on nothing. Her mind was too busy forming a plot. It would have to be bloody. The bloodier the better and the body count had to be astronomical. The serial killer prowling through her imagination had a taste for mayhem.
She froze, her thoughts coming to a grinding halt. What was she doing? This wasn’t her genre. She wrote romance, not horror. Hot and heavy, she could do. Light and fluffy? She could knock that out of the park. But write about people being butchered? It took a sick and twisted mind to be capable of that.
Tiffany laid back down and closed her eyes. She had to forget about this. Let it silently drift away to the place where abandoned ideas go. She didn’t want anything to do with this insane thought.
She tried to fall back to sleep, but the killer kept slicing and dicing through her mind, leaving bloody smears on the back of her eyelids. With a sigh, she sat back up and looked at the clock. It was only midnight. It wouldn’t kill her to work for an hour. She pushed the covers aside and slowly got out of bed. Maybe if she wrote some of this awful story, she could get some sleep.
She plopped down in her computer chair and turned on her laptop. The screen’s soft glow welcomed her as she settled in. With a deep breath, her fingers met the keyboard as she started in on the perverse tale.
Time seemed to drift away, as Tiffany was lead, by force, through the night as the killer picked his prey. Slowly the fodder culminated in a deadly chase scene, when a child had escaped from the killer.
Her fingers froze as she stared at the screen in horror. Her depraved words seemed to mock her from the screen. She looked away in disgust. How would she ever live with herself is she finished the story? She couldn’t. It was that simple.
She quickly deleted the document, not wanting it to remain on her hard drive. She shut down the computer and made her way back to bed. Repulsed with herself, she crawled under the blankets and shut her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she tried to will sleep to come.
Tiffany’s eyes popped open and she stared into the darkness in her bedroom. Something woke her up. She tried to focus as she looked around. Was someone in the room with her? “Who’s there,” she spoke, the fear turning her voice hoarse.
There was a chuckle from somewhere in the room. “Good. You’re awake,” a man’s voice spoke. “I wanted you to be conscious for this.”
She breathed in, her fear turning into pure terror. A shadow moved closer to the bed. Tiffany’s body was frozen.
“You’re not even going to put up a fight?” the voice asked.
“Please, don’t,” she whimpered. The shape moved in a blur. A body suddenly jumped on her, pinning her to the bed. Cold metal dug into her neck. The man leaned closer, his dark eyes burning into hers. She gasped in shock as his stringy black hair brushed against his face. It was him.
The man grinned, showing her brown, stained teeth. “Yes, it’s me. The one you were supposed to write about,” he hissed as he dug the knife deeper into her flesh. “You couldn’t let me have my moment of fame, could you?”
Tiffany cried out as he sliced into her flesh. A ribbon of blood flowed down her throat. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll write your story.”
The man laughed, the sound completely devoid of humor. “It’s too late. You had your chance. I gave you the inspiration, all you had to do was write the words.” He looked at her, anger flaring in his eyes. “We could have been famous.”
“No,” she begged as she squirmed against him. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“It’s all the purpose you have left,” he told her as he jerked the knife across her neck. Her blood flowed freely, covering his hand. He looked at the red liquid as her life ebbed away. It seemed like such a waste. “Why couldn’t you just write the damn story?”
© 2011 Melissa L. Webb