The ghost suddenly got a hold of my writing hand. It speaks of different language and teaches me the things I need to know. I let it, treating it as if it was the holy ghost. "Have mercy on me," I whispered to it one night. "Write what needs to be written," it spoke. And so I wrote and wrote and wrote. Those words reanimated in a ghastly fashion. 

I smile.

... if you want to read the author's earlier works, mostly unedited, here is the link to his first account : https://www.google.com.ph/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.wattpad.com/story/1600161-7-days-of-horror&ved=0ahUKEwiapKHZ2K7XAhXLIpoKHSprBdsQFgglMAA&usg=AOvVaw3s-TlMkeY6K8Rxu8r2JkF5