I dropped out of college after a particularly bad burnout. I didn’t want to study programming anymore just because my parents told me to. I was disowned and spent the next year crashing around at some of my friends’ couches while trying to find myself.
The money was, you guessed it, tight. I even considered crawling back to my parents when things got particularly bad.
I picked up writing in hopes of making it big as an author. Only for that to lead nowhere, too.
Then, one night as I slept on Jack’s couch, it hit me. I woke up in the middle of the night, my brain just burning with all these amazing story ideas. I never was into horror and survival but this? This was just too good to not write down.
I got in touch with the publisher and they loved the first draft. Just a few tweaks and I was good to go!
Now, I didn’t get to be rich. But I could finally get my own place and even pay back some of the debts I racked up. The life was sweet - I finally found myself.
And then they asked me for the next book. The first one ended on a cliffhanger - my protagonist surviving the first year on some strange island but still stuck there.
I agreed immediately once I saw the advance on the book. So I sat down in front of my computer and got to writing. I spent hours and then days crafting the perfect sequel.
My publisher asked me if this was a joke when I presented it.
The structure and settings and characters were all there. But the story lacked the same feeling to it. Too distant, too detached from the urgency and thrill of the first one.
I spent the next two weeks in writer’s block. What was different? What could possibly be missing?
Then I remembered where I got the idea. Jack’s couch. By that time, Jack was looking to move in with his girlfriend and his landlord was looking for a new tenant. The place was smaller than my current one but I was desperate for the same rush of inspiration so I signed a lease without a second thought.
My prediction was correct.
I woke up not just with ideas rushing through my head but my entire body covered in cold sweat. I never was so glad to have a nightmare before.
I wrote it down, pouring all that fear and terror I felt through the night into the book. I walked away with the sense of pride and security of knowing that money would keep coming.
I spent the next year living it up. While my friends all worked 9-5 jobs, all I needed was one night in Jack’s apartment to make a small fortune. There were even rumours of a movie deal and I felt like a king.
I was ready to write one final book for the series when I woke up to the message messily cut into my forearm.
“L E A V E”
The fear crawled into my soul as I looked around in panic. Who could have done this to me without waking me up? I tried to dismiss it but I just couldn’t.
I bought some security cameras for the place (both of them). I decided to take a few weeks off for myself as well.
The cut went away quite quickly and became a distant memory when I received the call from a publisher. I knew it was time to go back to writing before I lost the momentum.
I went to my little apartment and relaxed on the couch. I went to sleep with the heavy feeling of sudden unease.
I woke up with the scream and sudden knowledge of just what I had done.
This world - the world of rot and disease - was my home. Has been ever since I woke up here years ago. I fought to survive for so long.
Only to be captured by its inhabitants. They have tortured me for years. Used me for their own sick and twisted games.
And, as in my last book, they now knew about our world. The world untouched by rot. The world so weak and volatile they could claim it as their own.
Inside my cage, I looked down at my body. It was thin and dirty, covered in scars and bruises. But what terrified me the most were the words cut not my flesh.
L E A V E
R U N
S T O P
I found the stack of dirty pages in the corner of the cage next. The diary entries all written by me. All telling the very same story that I turned into books back in my world.
I grabbed the nearby shiv and pressed it to my throat. The world of rot was at the door to ours. One final book is all they needed to find their way inside.
As I slashed the blade across my soft flesh, I prayed that I never woke up again.
In either of the worlds.
“Okay, wow. This is actually pretty grim.”
I couldn’t help but agree.
“You don’t like it? I can always change the ending.”
Tony waved me off.
“Nah, I like it. Still, I can’t even imagine how you come up with this stuff.”
I chuckle awkwardly, my hand reaching for the odd cut on my neck I woke up with.
“I guess I got a talent for it.”