The Author | Backstories #1

The Author | Part 3

There had only been one other being, on Earth at least, to ever bear the mark. A long time ago. And that particular being was only ever seen by two people; both of which were the ones that took to writing the books that happened to mention the mark. But of course, it was only taken as a fictional fanatical.

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Jessica glanced down at her watch for just a quick second, and her eyes widened. "Whoops. I guess we've been here for longer than I thought. It's really late, we should probably head home." Brock pulled out his phone and checked the time as well. "Wow, you're right. I can't believe we've been talking for so long!" He laughed. "You wanna meet back up here tomorrow, same time, so you can continue your story?" Jessica gritted her teeth, and nodded slightly. "Sure."

On her way home, the sky seemed to be even more black than usual. It was usually hard to see the stars from her city, but if you stared for long enough, and focused, you could usually make out a group of them. It's something she used to do every single night...until those particular events occured. But tonight when she tried to look for just a few twinkles up there, it was just blackness. All blackness. She kicked a pebble out of her way, off of the sidewalk, and continued towards her house, which was only a block away now. Once she reached the front steps she silently opened the entrance and slipped into her bedroom, tossing her jacket onto the computer chair sitting in front of her desk. She kicked off her shoes and fell down onto the bed, holding a pillow close to her.

Jessica wandered down a dark hall, the only source of light being dim, flickering lamps that were loosely dangling from the ceiling every eight feet or so. The hall seemed to stretch on for eternity, and there were dozens upon dozens of variously sized doors lining the walls on each side. She kept looking back over her shoulder, sensing a very clear presence...one of which she could feel in her bones had no good intentions for her. She squinted her eyes. It seemed like something was moving a few yards away from her, but she couldn't quite make out who, or what, the thing was. Suddenly it lunged for her, and she let out a nearly silent yelp before bolting off down the hall. She didn't know where to go; whether she should go through one of the doors or just continue on forward. Every few seconds she'd quickly look back, her eyes flickering around the area behind her to triangulate the thing's position.

Once she thought for sure that she was far enough ahead of it to stop for a quick second, she reached for a random doorknob and tugged hard, but the door didn't budge. Maybe it's a push-style door, dummy. She tried exactly what she'd thought, but to no avail. The door was stuck - almost like someone had cemented it shut. Trying another door on the opposite side of the hall, she cursed aloud, slamming her fist into the door, as it didn't budge either. Her ears perked up as she caught the sound of footsteps echoing about, and she took off yet again, running as fast as her legs could carry her away.

She had gained enough ground ahead of whatever the thing chasing after her was, and at the same time experienced the oddest sensation she had ever felt. It was almost as though something was pulling...no...tugging on her very heart, directing her to one of the doors. So in the most literal sense of 'following your heart,' she made an attempt to try and open at least one of these exits. At the very least, maybe she could hide in one and let that thing pass her up. Finally, in a flash of what had to be fate, the door swung open, and she jumped inside, closing it swiftly yet silently behind her. It was pitch black, and her eyes didn't adjust whatsoever. The only way she could see just the door alone was due to the extremely low light leaking into the room from the thin slit underneath it.

She curled up in a ball on the ground, facing the entryway. Watching intently, her heart began to speed up as her mind filled with the worrisome thoughts of all the ways this winged plan could go wrong. Her breath was shaky, it sounding deafening to her even though in reality it was nearly undetectable. Suddenly the hairs on her neck stood straight on end, and her eyes widened as far as they could. She slowly turned around. She felt a rough, bony hand curl around her shoulders, gripping her tightly with the strength of what she assumed to be 10 men. There was an animalistic clicking, and she was whisked away into the blackness.

Next thing she knew, she was at a long table, one that looked like it was used for banquets thrown by rich people. It was covered in an array of high-quality foods, all of which smelled tantalizingly delicious. If the given circumstances weren't as scary as they were, she might have even found herself drooling quite a bit. On the platter set directly in front of her was the notebook that she used to write down basically every thought that had ever crossed her mind. Every joke, every dream. Every wish. The one that she thought she'd torn up, yet looked to be fully intact.

An evil laugh boomed above her, and frightened for her life, she looked up. And what she saw was on a new level of horrifying for her. Above her was a ginormous version of, well, herself. It had a large kitchen apron on, a massive knife in one hand and a fork to match in the other. The giant Jessica licked her lips, and lowered the silverware right towards normal Jessica's head. Normal Jessica screamed, tears beginning to pour down her cheeks as she unwillingly accepted that her death was upon her.

Jessica shot up in her bed, yelling. Her shirt and shorts were drenched in sweat, along with the rest of her bed. "What the hell..." She breathed, more so exclaiming a statement  than asking a question. After getting over the mess of a nightmare she'd unfortunately just experienced, delving into her own thoughts to try and pick it apart was her next step. She rubbed her temples as she took in all of the confusion. What could that dream have meant?