It was a ripe 3AM when Linda woke Tomas. "He's here."
"On it." He jumped out of bed, in full battle mode, knowing the drill by now. He put on "Hogwarts Library", Linda's favourite ambient mix to write to, and turned on the coffee machine.
"Now, that, is a cup of coffee," he said, putting the final touch. He wanted cocoa, Linda wanted "an actual coffee, not Disney in a mug", so they settled for a tiny sprinkle of cinnamon.
She squeezed the mug. Women in her family got unnaturally icy fingers and toes. But the mug kept her warm.
She took a big breath. It was time.
She opened her laptop -she always wrote on her computer- and tried her best to ignore him. But Mr. Le Blanc wasn't big on being ignored.
"Passive voice. So weak..." he sneaked into her mind again. "You should go back and fix it."
She made the mistake of looking at him.
He was just like in stories. White as snow. Not a single word staining his white abyss. Just looking at him sent shivers down her spine.
"Why bother?" the abominable creature continued to play with her mind. "You will never rank!"
"So what?" she summoned up the courage to say. "I may not rank, but if I can make someone's Monday morning suck a little less, then it's worth it."
She tried to focus, but to no avail. In his presence, writing one sentence was about all she could hope for.
"See?" Mr. Le blanc cackled. "You can't defeat me! I'll always be here..."
"Why are you doing this?" Linda shouted, exasperated.
"You haven't figured it out?" He paused dramatically. "You see... I used to be a writer myself."
That made her laugh. "Sorry, it's just... You're not what comes to mind when you think of a writer."
"I used to be. Sleep deprived. Coffee spilled all over my sweaters. I had millions of reads. I was a Wattpad star. But then one day..." Another pause. "I used the word roared."
Linda gasped in horror. "In a—dialogue tag?"
"That's right," he said. "It was a cold and stormy night—"
The girl interrupted him, "That's a big cliché for a first sentence, don't you think? Try using it was a ripe 3AM instead."
"Whatever! It was a ripe 3AM! My grammar corrector said I had too many repetitions of the word say, so I clicked on an article entitled '362 alternatives to say'. When I realised what I've done, I tried to edit it. But it was too late. I was exiled from Wattpadale. And that's when I pledged a vow. Never to rest until I destroy this city and its self-proclaimed writers!"
While he was busy narrating his revenge plot, she tried to focus on the little things. Tomas' fuzzy socks. His moles. His foggy glasses. His silly attempts at latte art. The cold sneaking in. The sound of raindrops on the skylight.
She wrote all of that down.
YOU ARE READING
Evil Mr. Le Blanc
Short StoryBiologist by day, writer by night, Linda, a twenty-something-year old, is leading a double life. She had it all. Followers. Reads. Words flowing out of her hands. But her entire world is turned upside down, when her nemesis pays her a visit; Mr. Le...
