Each week, I send out a story via my email newsletter. Each story is around 1000 words, sometimes less, sometimes more. The stories are in a variety of genres: supernatural, thriller, sci-fi, horror, and sometimes romance, and all of my stories typically feature a gay protagonist.
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This is story number 14 of the series. Enjoy!
The Manuscript’s Revenge
Tyler sighed heavily as he dragged the dusty box of manuscripts out of the back of his closet. He hadn’t looked at them in years. Not since his last novel bombed and his publisher unceremoniously dropped him.
His fingers brushed the crisp manila envelopes housing his carefully typed pages. The rejected stories. The unfinished drafts. The half-formed ideas hastily scribbled on notepads and napkins. They were all here, a graveyard of his failed writing career.
It was time to let them go. Time to admit defeat and move on with his life. Find a real job, maybe even a boyfriend. Stop chasing this ridiculous pipe dream of being a bestselling author. He was done.
Tyler gathered up an armful of manuscripts and strode purposefully to the kitchen, intent on stuffing them down the garbage disposal. But as he flipped the switch, the machine groaned and sputtered. Smoke began pouring out. Sparks flew.
Tyler leapt back, manuscripts scattering across the tile floor. What the hell was happening? He cautiously peered into the sink, expecting to see a mangled mess. But the disposal was empty, not a scrap of paper to be seen.
Perplexed, Tyler turned to gather up the fallen pages. But they were gone. Vanished into thin air. A cold prickle ran up his spine. This was impossible. Manuscripts don’t just disappear…
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, making Tyler jump. He whirled around and froze. There, materializing out of the shadows of his living room, were the characters from his stories. The brooding vampire. The telekinetic teenager. The serial killer with a heart of gold. Dozens of them, all blinking and stretching as if awakening from a deep slumber.
“What…what is this?” Tyler stammered, rubbing his eyes. “I must be losing my mind.”
“Oh you’re not crazy,” purred the vampire, Damien. He ran his tongue over gleaming fangs. “We’re quite real. And we’re not happy about your little stunt with the garbage disposal.”
“Stunt? I…I was just cleaning house. Starting fresh,” Tyler said weakly.
The characters began closing in, their faces darkening with anger. Tyler’s heart raced. This couldn’t be happening. They were figments of his imagination…weren’t they?
“You created us!” cried Liam, the brooding detective. “You can’t just crumple us up and throw us away! We deserve better than that!”
“You’re not real!” Tyler shouted, stumbling backwards. “None of this is real!”
“We’re real to you,” said Damien softly, suddenly mere inches from Tyler’s face. His eyes flashed crimson and he seized Tyler by the throat, slamming him against the wall. “Real enough to make you pay for your betrayal.”
Tyler choked and sputtered, clawing at Damien’s cold hands. His lungs screamed for air. Spots crowded his vision. So this was how he would die. Strangled by his own character in a bout of writing-induced psychosis.
As his knees gave out and the world began to fade, an idea sparked to life in Tyler’s oxygen-starved brain. Of course. The only way to destroy a character…was to write them out of existence.
With his last ounce of strength, Tyler croaked out the words. “Damien released his grip and staggered backwards, clutching his throat. He collapsed to the floor, dissolving into mist.”
Damien’s hands immediately went slack. He stumbled away, eyes bulging as he grabbed at his neck. And then, like a special effect in a low budget movie, his body seemed to collapse in on itself, dissipating into curls of smoke.
The other characters froze, shock dawning on their faces as they realized what had happened. What Tyler could do to them.
He pushed himself up on trembling arms and faced the crowd of characters – his characters. “Get back in the closet,” he rasped. “All of you. Or I’ll erase you from existence.”
There was a beat of tense silence. Then Liam stepped forward, hands raised in supplication. “You don’t want to do that, Tyler. We’re a part of you. Destroying us…it would be like destroying a piece of yourself.”
Tyler barked out a humorless laugh. “You’re not a part of me. You’re a bunch of words on a page. Scribbles in a notebook. I gave you life. And I can take it away.”
The characters exchanged uneasy glances. Tyler could see the fear in their eyes, could practically hear the gears turning in their imaginary brains. He had them backed into a corner.
Finally, the teenage girl – Mara, the one who could move objects with her mind – spoke. “What do you want from us?”
Tyler smiled grimly. “I want you to inspire me. I want you to help me write a story so original, so electrifying, that the publishers will be tripping over themselves for a chance to print it. I want you to make me the writer I’ve always dreamed of being.”
The characters considered this. Liam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So let me get this straight. We cooperate, and you’ll let us live?”
“Scout’s honor,” Tyler assured him.
“Deal.”
One by one, the characters filed back into the closet, returning to their manuscripts. To the half-formed dream worlds Tyler had created for them.
He shut the door firmly and leaned against it, pulse still thundering in his ears. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe this was all some sleep-deprived hallucination brought on by the stress of giving up his writing.
Or maybe, just maybe, he had touched the spark of something brilliant. After all, wasn’t that what writing really was? Giving life to the little voices in your head, letting your creations off the leash to wreak havoc?
Energized, Tyler sat down at his dusty typewriter. He slipped a fresh sheet of paper into the carriage, listening to the satisfying click-click-click of the keys.
Oh yes. His characters would inspire him. He would write the most twisted, deranged, captivating thriller the world had ever seen. And with an imagination as wild as his…it might turn out to be more fact than fiction.
Tyler grinned and began to type.
The End