The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

Fictional Fate

Randolph settled into his favourite armchair, a cup of steaming hot tea beside him. He had been waiting for this moment all day, and finally, he had the time to dive back into the latest novel from his favourite horror author, Malcolm Wychwood. The book, titled "The Shadow in the Night," had been a slow burn, but Randolph was hooked. He loved how Wychwood wove together intricate plots and terrifying creatures, keeping him on the edge of his seat.

As he delved deeper into the book, Randolph began to feel an eerie atmosphere settling around him. The words on the page seemed to leap off, painting vivid pictures in his mind. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice the darkness creeping in outside, the shadows cast by the trees in his backyard twisting and writhing like living things.

But as he turned the page to Chapter Seven, something caught his eye. A character, named Randolph, was introduced. He was described as a bookworm, a man in his mid-thirties with a passion for horror novels. The coincidence was jarring, and Randolph felt a shiver run down his spine. He tried to brush it off as mere happenstance, but the similarities continued to pile up. The character Randolph lived in a small, old house, much like his own. He had a fondness for tea, and his favourite author was Malcolm Wychwood.

A growing sense of unease began to gnaw at Randolph's mind. He tried to tell himself it was just a weird fluke, but the more he read, the more he became convinced that something strange was going on. The events in the book began to mirror his own life. The character Randolph received a mysterious package with no return address, containing a book bound in black leather. Randolph, the reader, had received a similar package just days ago. He had dismissed it as a prank from a friend, but now he wasn't so sure.

As he read on, the lines between reality and fiction started to blur. Randolph felt like he was trapped in a living nightmare. The character Randolph was being stalked by a malevolent entity, one that seemed to be watching him from the shadows. The descriptions of the entity's powers and habits sent chills down Randolph's spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched that the darkness outside his house was coalescing into something sinister.

Randolph tried to stop reading, but he couldn't tear himself away from the book. He was convinced that the key to understanding what was happening lay within its pages. The words seemed to be shifting, rearranging themselves to convey a message just for him. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, and the only way to hold on was to keep reading.

The hours passed, and the room grew darker. Randolph's tea went cold, but he didn't notice. He was too enthralled by the horror unfolding on the page. The character Randolph was running for his life, pursued by the entity through twisted forests and abandoned asylums. The descriptions were so vivid that Randolph felt like he was right there, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then, just as the character Randolph was about to meet his demise, the lights in the room flickered and died. The darkness was absolute, and Randolph was plunged into a world of primal fear. He heard pages turning, the rustle of paper as the book seemed to come to life. The entity was in the room with him, watching and waiting.

Randolph tried to scream, but his voice was frozen in his throat. He was trapped in a living nightmare, a character in a horror novel with no escape. The darkness closed in around him, and he was consumed by the very terror he had once revelled in.

When the lights flickered back to life, Randolph was gone. The book lay open on his lap, the words on the page shifting and rearranging themselves once more. The character Randolph was gone, too, but the entity remained, watching and waiting for its next victim.

The police found Randolph's house empty, the only clue the book still open on the armchair. They searched for him, but he was never found. Some say he's still trapped in the book, a character in a never-ending horror story. Others claim to have seen him in bookstores, searching for the next great horror novel to consume. But one thing is certain: Randolph was never seen again, and the book "The Shadow in the Night" was never found.

Years later, a new edition of the book was released, with a foreword from a mysterious author. It spoke of the strange connection between reader and writer, and the power of words to shape reality. Some say that if you read the book closely, you can still find Randolph, trapped in the pages, searching for a way out. But be warned: once you start reading, there's no escape.