I don’t often have nightmares, but it does happens, lately more so than needed or expected. Definitely, more than I wanted. I don’t remember what, in the dream, terrifies me, but I want to know. I need to know. I need to know what to fear.
Then again, it’s not what we fear which haunts us; it’s what we don’t even know how to fear. There are strange things in this world. There are monsters among us wearing all kinds of skins, walking upright in daylight, mirroring darkness in their eyes.
My monster will find me eventually. I have lived in it for so long, burning inside my throat and belly; whispers promising everything as we make our pact.
My life turned around. My books were snatched up by publishers large and small. Tours for book signing. Hollywood coming to call. Talk shows and Readings. Money pouring in faster than I could spent it,
Then came the undoing. Everyone, everything, vanished. I sit at my desk for eight to ten hours a day now, but no one comes. Publishers, friends, characters, gone. I call empty phones. Waiting for the one tiny moment of light – tempting, teasing, – before I fall into the darkness of forever.
At that last moment will I beg? Wet it’s feet with tears, offering myself, ourselves, up for one more moment of fame and glory? Will they judge me up somewhere in the clouds? Good, Bad. Ugly. Beautiful. Sane or crazy.
The doorbell rings. And again. Much as I want to hide, there is no purpose. It can find me anywhere, everywhere. I rise, characters appearing around me as we walk to the door.
I know it is beyond the door.