The Manuscript

INHERITANCE

Walter sighed with disdain as he opened the door to his father's house. The musty smell and clutter strewn about the old Victorian home served as the final tribute to the old man's legacy. The dust lay like a delicate sheet over all the books, empty glasses, and unopened mail that covered nearly every surface of the home.

He scoffed aloud as he took it all in and casually shut the door behind him. It was a fitting reminder of everything his father worked for and subsequently lost in the end. A man who was once renowned for his literary feats was eventually reduced to little more than a bitter recluse and a fractured shell of his former self.

Of course, all of it meant little to Walter, who had long since been estranged from the man before his thirteenth birthday. But standing in the foyer now as he did those years ago, he couldn't help but be reminded of the day his mother left with him in tow. His father's words to them both would forever be etched in his memory, and he suddenly found his deeply seated hatred for the man rise up inside of him again.

As he made his way through the home, touring each of the rooms with a passive disposition, he couldn't help but wonder why the man left the old place to him after all. As they were each concerned, life was better if they simply pretended neither of them existed.

But still, even as hard as Walter tried to distance himself from anything remotely close to his father, the efforts proved futile. He still grew up to look exactly like the man, became a writer, and eventually found reasons to push everyone he cared about away. And now, he owned the same house.

Typical... he thought to himself.

Eventually, he found himself in the study where chaos was the casual order of the house, if not more so than the rest. But there, perched on the shelf beside the desk, sat a half bottle of Bourbon just waiting to be sipped.

He rummaged around for a minute until he found an old glass and wiped the dust out with a scoop from his shirt.

"Good enough," he said, and poured the amber elixir into his cup as he lowered himself into the chair.

After a healthy sip, he began to sift through the papers which had been strewn about and eventually moved on to the drawers. The antique mahogany desk seemed smaller than he remembered, and he glanced down toward his feet as he remembered his former hideout. But his attention was drawn suddenly to a single photo which had slipped from the bundle of papers in his hand. He picked it up and studied it for a moment.

He couldn't have been more than six by the looks of it, and his parents actually looked happy for once. Walter stood between them both as they all stood at the base of a redwood tree which stretched far beyond the camera's view. He remembered that day well, but what happiness he recalled was quickly drowned beneath the contempt he felt for it.

After another stiff sip from his glass, he tossed it aside and continued his haphazard search, eventually coming upon a large manilla folder that contained an unfinished manuscript.

The ink denoting its title appeared to have been smeared somehow and the pages had begun to turn yellow with age.

Intrigued, he turned to the first page and began to read it. Then before he knew it, the sun had already set, and he was entranced by it.

It was dark and unsettling, but it was brilliant. Why his father had never finished it, he couldn't understand but he would happily be the one to do it. After all, Walter had been strapped for his next story for some time now, and this would certainly do just fine. His father owed him that much at least.

He quickly retrieved his laptop from the satchel he left in the foyer and returned to the task at hand. As he lowered himself down, he took one more sip, and then another, plotting his course. Until finally, the night had faded away.

***

THE HANGOVER

The next morning, he awoke to find himself slumped over the desk where a small puddle of drool had pooled where his face was planted.

His head throbbed to no end, and the beam from the morning light peeked through the curtain making him cower from its harsh presence.

Some strong stuff, he thought to himself as he lifted the empty glass. But he quickly found his attention drawn to the screen in front of him. He must have hit a stray key or two as he awoke, bringing the computer to life as he shifted on the desk. He carefully wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked at the opened document. And much to his surprise, he noted that several pages had already been written.

He forced himself to hold his headache at bay and read the eerily coherent lines aloud to himself. He couldn't remember writing any of it, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. It was good.

The words painted a picture of a dark force which eagerly sought to feed its insatiable hunger. Some hapless woman was the next of its victims, and her own thoughts to end her life served as the vector to which the creature would feast.

And, well, the rest was history.

He nodded with approval and finally made his way toward the bathroom.

As he turned the knob over the sink he leaned forward and scooped a handful of icy water over his face, making him gasp. He hadn't quite prepared himself for the overwhelming shock to his system, but it certainly did the trick.

He took another frozen scoop and quickly grabbed the towel nearby, burying his face deep within its refuge. And after sliding it down toward his chin, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror.

But to his horror, two feet suddenly dropped into view behind him. They were clearly the legs of a woman. Her bare feet were petite, and her nails bore the color red. Above them, a pale skirt draped loosely over her ankles, and the delicate floral design sewn within the lace, signaling the simplicity of her taste.

The legs swayed back and forth as the woman's body hung from something up above. The feet twitched rapidly beneath the weight of the woman's body until they eventually slowed.

"Geeze!" Walter recoiled at the sight and turned with a look of terror in his eyes. But to his surprise, there was nothing. Just as quickly as the body appeared, it was gone. He searched in every direction and struggled to steady his racing heart.

He cursed aloud and worked to slow his breathing as he grabbed his chest. As real as it was to him, he struggled to reconcile the absurdity of all. Impossible even. But logic and reason did little to calm his nerves. After a moment longer, he lowered his head as he considered it all and chuckled softly to himself.

"Some hangover..." he said and quickly left the room.

As he made his way down the hall, he made it a point to pretend as though nothing had happened. And much to his relief, it worked. He suddenly noticed the aggravating pangs of hunger writhing within his gut and searched the kitchen.

Nothing.

But why should he have been surprised? Nevertheless, something needed to be done, and a quick trip to the store would make everything right again.

***

A few hours later, Walter returned from his outing, and flipped the television on as he unpacked the several bags of groceries he had placed on the counter.

He listened passively to the local news and began sorting through the goods.

The weather was next on the docket and then some random reports of road closures due to maintenance. But the next topic made him pause as he listened to the host mention the death of a council woman just the night before.

Suicide.

He quickly made his way to the next room and watched carefully as the news was relayed through the screen, taking in every bit of the information which had been relayed.

But the more the news anchor spoke, the more he could feel his heart begin to race and a sense of dread quickly fell over him.

Everything which was spoken, had been typed within the pages of the manuscript the night before and he had noted at the time how beautifully articulate all of it was.

***

SQUARE ONE

He paced back and forth for several minutes, occasionally glancing over at the laptop on the desk. He bit nervously at the bed of his thumb nail, a habit which now caused it to go raw.

But he just couldn't seem to reconcile the coincidence of it all. There were far too many similarities for his comfort, and the incident in the bathroom didn't help either.

After several more minutes had passed, he finally pulled the chair back and lowered himself down, powering up the computer once more.

He clicked open the document and stared at the curser as it blinked endlessly behind the final period. And scanning through the parts of the manuscript which he had apparently added, he tried desperately to recollect where it was that he was going with it all. But he ended up with nothing.

So, with the deep-seated pit in his stomach, he decided at last that he just couldn't bring himself to carry on with whatever direction he had chosen. And after he highlighted all the text, he looked it over once more as he hesitated, but finally relented and hit 'delete'.

The large mass of text which covered several pages at least, suddenly disappeared, but he was surprised with the shroud of relief that had fallen over him. If anything, what was written was far better than all the work he had done in the past three years combined. But whatever apprehension he felt over the matter just moments before, suddenly faded like a dissipating fog and he was content with that.

Whatever happened the night before and the morning after would no longer be of any consequence to the young writer. The woman's apparent suicide had nothing to do with him as far as he was concerned, and any evidence that might convince him otherwise no longer existed. He had wiped the slate clean, and that would have to be enough.

He leaned back in his chair and contemplated his next strategy, hoping to leave the matter behind him. And after a few minutes, he pulled himself forward, poured himself some whiskey, took a healthy sip, and placed his fingers over the keys.

"Let's try this again," he said and began typing away into the night.

***

He jumped from his slumber as the clock began to chime. Once more, he found that he had fallen asleep at the desk and looked to see that his glass along with the bottle were empty.

It was completely dark outside, and his watch read 4 am.

As he searched his surroundings, he was suddenly reminded of how much he had to drink that night and pressed his head against the palm of his hand as he groaned aloud. The room was now spinning and the only light which was on sat at the corner of the desk where he was sitting.

He instantly regretted having consumed so much, but as he recalled, it was just the one glass. Made no difference now though since he had obviously blacked out due to his apparent lack of self-control.

But it was nothing a long convalescence on the bed couldn't cure.

So, he carefully rose to his feet and made several attempts to steady himself with little success. But he eventually made it out into the hall and felt his way to the light switch which was further down the wall.

After a quick flick of the button, the path toward the bedroom was finally lit and he took another step.

Though a faint sound had caught his ear and he carefully turned back to see what it was. The way from study was clear, and there was nothing out of the ordinary that he could tell in his current state. So, he brushed it off and turned back toward the bedroom.

But as he shifted, his gaze suddenly fell upon a man dripping from head to toe in water. He was tall and his face was gaunt. His peppered hair fell over his face like sharpened spikes dipped in blood. A gaping wound had split through the top of his skull and the skin had been ripped apart, revealing the dark and clotted matter which lay beneath it.

The man's eyes were opened wide as the horror lay trapped beneath them. His mouth hung open as though the very life had been sucked from his body and his crackled breath escaped his lips like a wind that howled from deep within.

Walter screamed and tried desperately to pull himself away from the man, but he lost his footing. In his drunken stupor he tripped over his own feet and his head smacked hard against the wall behind him.

Then before he knew it, everything went dark.

***

CONFIRMATION

He woke to the sunlight peering down at him through the window up above. Stabbing pains rang throughout his head and he could feel a small spot at the back where blood seemed to have dried within his hair.

He felt sick to his stomach, and he could suddenly feel the impending rise of a volcanic eruption from within his gut. So, with what remaining strength he had, he pulled himself up and ran to the kitchen where he heaved forcefully into the sink until there was nothing left for him to vomit.

He steadied himself in place for a time as he was suddenly reminded of how he ended up on the floor in the first place.

That man...

Drunk or not, he couldn't have possibly imagined something so grotesque. So real... And the equal look of fear in the man's eyes sent a chill through his body. It was as if he was as equally helpless to stop the horror and all but begged for it to end.

As Walter relived the ordeal, he noticed that his hands had begun to tremble. He balled each of them tightly into fists, knuckles white and strained against his own grip. But with little else to ease his mind, he turned the water on and began to wash the vomit away. It was all he could think to do in the moment, and he leaned into the stream, catching the flow in his mouth as he hoped to rid himself of the foul taste that lingered behind.

Coffee, he thought to himself. His stomach was too weak for anything substantial, and just the idea of having a hot cup to ease his nerves was more than enough to comfort him at that moment. So, he wasted no time in getting a pot started, and made his way toward the television in the other room.

But as he crossed into the hall he peered over to the spot where he had seen the man that was drenched in water.

Nothing.

Except for the small bloodstain on the wall where Walter had hit his own head, no sign of the man's presence existed. And he couldn't help but wonder if it really happened at all. But just like the woman he saw in the bathroom; he began to feel that same overwhelming dread creep up inside of him. So, he went into the living room and lifted the remote to the TV, hesitant to switch it back to the local news.

But he needed to know. He needed to see that none of this was real, and that what he saw the day before was all just some horrifying coincidence. Some kind of sick nightmare.

He stood there and watched it for a time until he was satisfied enough with his confirmation. No news of anything related to what he saw last night. So, at last, he relented and made his way back to pour himself some coffee.

With the news carrying on in the background, he casually took a sip from his cup and slowly headed for the bedroom. Still reeling from his injury along with the hangover, he needed to take his steps carefully. But as he made it closer to the doorway of his room something caught his eye from down at his feet.

Two small droplets of dried blood were plastered on the hardwood floor. He would've missed them if he hadn't paid so close attention to where he was going, and they happened to be in the exact spot where the man appeared before him.

He nearly dropped the cup in his hand until the words from the news in the other room caught his attention yet again. He slowly rounded the corner and stopped in front of the screen as a scene unfolded before his eyes.

A large semi had overrun the embankment of a water reservoir on the outskirts of town. Numerous police and emergency vehicles dotted the scene as the view from the helicopter lingered up above it all.

No official reason had been given as to how it all occurred, but the general consensus was that the driver had most likely fallen asleep at the wheel. And according to the anchor, no other fatalities had yet been reported.

The rest of their words faded into a jumbled haze as his gaze shifted back toward the hall.

Impossible…

None of it made sense, but he knew for a fact that the man he saw in the hallway just hours before was the same man who had been driving that truck. But unlike the woman he saw hanging in the bathroom, there wasn’t a single word that he had written about it in the manuscript that he could recall.

The manuscript…

He had blacked out again, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the last words were. But they couldn’t have possibly been what he was thinking.

He quickly made his way back into the study and powered the laptop on. Suddenly his hands were clammy, and they started trembling all over again. Even his rapid breaths were becoming increasingly difficult to restrain.

As the screen lit up, he quickly opened the manuscript and began to read the words which had been written.

His heart dropped.

***

FINAL DRAFT

Everything which he had written had been erased. And the part about the woman had been reinserted as if he never touched it. After that, the story transitioned seamlessly into a dark exposition regarding the death of a man who drove a semi-truck for a living.

Every detail, down to the color of his shirt matched the driver exactly, and Walter found himself recalling the look in the man’s eyes once again. Those eyes which peered so forcefully over Walter made him feel as if he was the one responsible for the man’s excruciating demise. And in that moment, he came to the very realization that it might have actually been true.

“No, no, no…” he kept repeating to himself. It couldn’t be. Walter made it a point to take the story in a completely different direction, and there was never any mention of something like this in what he had written. It just didn’t make any sense!

But there before him, was something else entirely. Someone had written those words and it certainly wasn’t him!

He quickly highlighted everything on the page and forcefully pressed the ‘delete’ key but to no avail. He waited for a moment longer, but the words remained upon the page. So, again, he pressed the button. Nothing.

“Come on, come on!” He continued to press it, but the small cursor at the end of the line continued to blink and taunt him from within the page. Finally, he resolved instead to simply delete the document altogether, but nothing worked. He thought that perhaps the computer had frozen, but he frantically typed a jumbled mess of words to test his theory and they promptly appeared on the screen at his command.

He shouted in disbelief and angrily lifted the laptop into the air before ultimately throwing it against the wall. And like the vanquished dragon that towered over him, and with its dying breath, the screen flickered for a moment before it finally faded into oblivion.

He sighed sharply with a dismal relief but jumped at the sound of his phone ringing from within his front pocket.

He hesitated and eventually lifted it out as he looked down to see his friend’s name highlighted across its width.

“Hello?” He struggled to steady the tremor in his voice.

“Walter, hey!” His friend’s jovial disposition left a sour taste in his mouth. But he remained quiet as his friend carried on. “Listen, I received the first half of your manuscript this morning and I forwarded it to the publisher! I think they’re gonna love it. And it’s just in time too. You had me worried for a minute there.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a little dark for my taste, but at least it’s something.”

“No. Wait, John. What do you mean by my manuscript? I-I never sent you anything.”

He could hear the confused strain in his friend’s silence on the other end.

“Uhhh, well, I don’t know buddy, I mean, I’m looking at it right now,” John replied.

“I didn’t write that,” he said curtly.

“Well, somebody had to have written it.” His friend chuckled sarcastically before continuing. “Look, Walter, at this point I don’t really care where you got it from, just so long as you’re the one to finish it. I mean, I literally had to push for them to even accept the partial that I have now.”

“No, John-” he tried to phrase the words to sound as coherently as he could, but the more he thought about it all, the more ridiculous it seemed. His friend, however, carried on as if he hadn’t said a word.

“Look, I know you and your dad weren’t very close, but it still can’t be any easier to deal with. But I’ll be honest here, we really need this one to pan out, man-”

“I didn’t write the fucking story!”

His sudden outburst was met with a bitter sigh on the other line.

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?”

“What?!”

“You and I both know that it never ends well, when you start drinking, Walter…” the man replied.

“I can’t tell you that you’ll have any more bridges left to burn if you flake on this again… From one friend to another, Walter, I’m asking you. Please, just finish the story.”

“You don’t understand!”

“I’ll call you to check on the status next week.”

“No! John wait-” the abrupt tone over the phone announced that the call had been dropped and he cursed aloud as he kicked the desk with rage.

Screw this! He thought to himself and raced toward the front door. He was done with it all and didn’t care what would come of it. But he couldn’t stay in that house any longer, and he certainly wouldn’t be writing any time soon either.

So, he grabbed his satchel and yanked on the door as he turned the handle. But instead, he was met with a stiff resistance and came to the realization that it was locked.

He double checked the bolt and the handle to see that they were both in the unlocked position, but still, as he pulled on the door again, it refused to budge. He yanked several more times but was met with the same frustrating result.

He began to panic. And so, he ran to the door on the other end which also refused to open. He cursed even louder and angrily threw his bag on the floor before he turned his attention to the windows.

Each one seemed to be cemented to the frame of the house despite their worn and decrepit appearance. But it meant that he would only have to resolve to more drastic measures instead. He ran to the dining room and lifted one of the chairs from under the table and thrust it against the window closet to him but was only met with an iron-clad resistance.

So he ran to another, and then another, hoping that at least one window in this God-forsaken place would break. But like everything else, the old place had suddenly become an impenetrable fortress. And he was its prisoner.

But the last remaining hope for him was the window in the study that overlooked the residential street upon which the house resided. So, he raced through the hall, dragging the chair behind him, and tried one last time. Yet again, he found himself trapped. But in his panicked rage, he hit the window again and again, as he only grew more hopeless with each passing moment.

Unit finally, an older woman emerged on the sidewalk with her small terrier leading the way.

“Hey! Hey!” He quickly threw the chair aside, then began to pound his fists against the glass. And much to his relief, the woman turned to see where all the commotion was coming from.

“Yeah, hey! Over here!” He frantically waved his arms in the air and continued to call for her. But the woman remained unmoved. He couldn’t understand it. It would’ve been easy to see through the window and there were no obstructions in the way, but still, she remained stoic.

But as her eyes shifted to meet his gaze, he fell silent.

The woman had finally taken notice of Walter, but as she looked at him, a menacing smile emerged upon her face and she remained in her place as he swiftly shut the curtains and slowly backed away.

With every ounce of his hope beginning to wane, he pulled his phone out once more and frantically dialed the only number he could think to call.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a calm female voice emerged on the other end.

“Yeah, yeah, hello, I-I’m uh, I’m stuck in my house, and I can’t get out. It’s an emergency, please!”

The very notion of such a complaint would’ve made him chuckle if he’d heard it a day earlier, but now he was desperate, and he needed someone to help him now more than ever. But as he voiced his plea, he was met with only silence on the other end. And wondered if maybe the call had been dropped.

“Hello?”

“911, what’s your emergency?” the voice asked again.

“I said I’m stuck in my house, and I need help! Please!” But yet again, there was only silence.

“What the hell is wrong with you, lady?!”

“Hello, Walter…”

To hear the sound of his name come from the faceless woman on the other end made the hairs rise at the nape of his neck. And suddenly, he knew that the person he was speaking to wasn’t a person at all.

His heart sank and he felt himself losing control of everything. It was the last straw and whatever composure he once held was lost to him forever.

“What do you want from me?!” he shouted with every ounce of his being and the phone nearly slipped against his sweat-drenched grip.

“Help us finish the story…”

Not another word was spoken. And as the feminine voice faded away, he could hear the faint hum of his computer powering up behind him. In his despair, he slowly lowered the phone and tucked it safely within the comfort of his pocket.

He sighed aloud and hesitated for a moment before finally relenting to the inevitability that awaited him. He slowly turned to find that his computer had been brought back to life and was neatly placed on the desk with a freshly poured glass of whiskey beside it.