Chapter 1
Liz was sitting in her room. It was 2 AM at night. It was dark and eerie and spooky and chilly. Dogs were barking bhau bhau bhau, wind was blowing whoosh whoosh whoosh, and leaves were rustling rustle rustle rustle.
Liz was used to staying up late at night. She would throw her long brunette hair into a messy bun, put on her nerdy reading glasses, and read books all night long. But on this particular day, something felt off. It was like her surroundings were trying to tell her something; something about the quirky paranormal activities that were about to take place that night...
"Nah, It's this damn book! These horror novels always make me feel like something spooky is about to happen. But eh, life is not a novel, not even close although I wish mine was sometimes." Liz thought. Boy was she about to be surprised with the happenings of this specific night.
No, It wasn't Friday the 13th or Halloween night. It was a Wednesday in the middle of the month of June. The date wasn't of keen importance. It was one of those normal, unsuspecting days when nothing unusual is ever expected. The only unusual thing tonight though, was the cold wind blowing through, on what was supposedly a hot summer night.
At the current moment Liz was reading the novel "IT" by Stephen King. Stephen King was her favorite author, the way his books were written always sent chills down her spine, they were heavy (not only in the physical sense) and always had a complex plot that required some degree of intellect to follow through. Just then she heard the familiar "tring" of the oven in the kitchen downstairs.
That sound was always like music to her ears, because that meant that whatever was cooking was now ready to be eaten! On this particular Wednesday though, she was baking cookies. Nothing like a plate of fresh homemade baked cookies with a cup of bitter coffee. The combination of the sweet buttery layers of the cookie combined with the strong bitterness of the coffee always hit that sweet spot on her taste buds.
Liz quickly ran downstairs to get the cookies out of the oven. The house was now full of the aroma of the freshly baked goodies. She grabbed her favorite blue mitts and carefully took the tray out. "That's odd" thought Liz as she placed the tray on the kitchen table. The cookies, something wasn't right with the cookies.
She remembered not adding any chocolate chips to hers, but now each round butter vanilla cookie had a single chip right in the centre. The cookies looked like they had funny little eyes, but rather soulless ones. "Did mom add these chocolate chips? But how is that possible! Mom wasn't even home when I shaped them. Is this a prank? What kind of prank is this anyway? If it is, why add one chip?" speculated Liz.
Gut instinct told Liz that she shouldn't be touching the cookies. Someone had tampered with them and she should definitely not be eating them. Something foretold her that these weren't in any sort of way harmless.
"Aaah" she exclaimed softly. Her hand was bleeding, it was the same hand she used to take the tray out. She didn't notice when it got injured, but it definitely did and the pain suddenly made her cry out. "How did the tray cut my hand??? This is so fucking absurd." she thought. The blood dripped onto the floor as she realized that something was very very wrong today. She couldn't point it out, she had no reason or explanation for it, she could just feel it. "Am I in a horror novel?" she slightly chuckled, as she grabbed a paper towel to deal with her hand.
Little did Lizard Johnson know that when she made a lil wish in her heart about her life being a novel, it was the exact moment that someone far, far away in an old, rustic, gothic, very aesthetically pleasing –so beautiful I cud live my life as a ghost there– cathedral in New York City had made the exact same wish of becoming a writer.
