Chapter 10


                                                                                                                   Chapter 11

Andrea sat in her chair, attention riveted to the book as she finished chapter ten. As she turned the page though, she was struck by a peculiar thought that tore her from the couple, who had been chased to an abandoned house by the shadowy figure. The author, Donald Kingsley, that's who was on the phone. She had thought for a moment that it had been someone from the fan club in charge of putting her review on the website, but she had listened to a few radio interviews with Kingsley, and that was him. She was sure of it. She looked at the phone and shook her head at the absurd thought. The writer was too busy and important to care about the speed of her review; he had to be too busy with his next book to worry about this one. She sipped the coffee from her cup, looking at the picture of a kitty on the front of it. The caption read, Hang In There, and Andrea smiled. She hoped Jack and Joan would hang in there too. Andrea returned to the book, eager to begin chapter eleven, and wondering how Jack was progressing with the stairs

John stepped slowly down the stairs, looking around the wine cellar and noticing the small door on the other side of it. He moved to the door, pulling Julie protectively behind him as he reached it. He could feel her breath against his ear and neck as she attempted to peer over his shoulder, and he smiled. Even in these circumstances she wasn't frightened, and her curiosity to see the room, despite the possible danger, amazed him.
The mumbling coming from the other room seemed as though it were in Latin, or some other unknown language. A strange scent emanated from the small crack under the door. His hand grasped the knob as if of its own volition and turned. The well-oiled hinges moved silently as the door opened revealing a room lit only by candles.
Kingsley stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by shadow. A blank book stood open in front of him and on either side of it lay what appeared to be human bones. "Dominus is est typicus."
As the writer spoke, he lay a picture of a Felix the cat clock on one page of the book and a coffee cup with the image of a kitten on the other page. A bit of incense burned in a brass holder beside the book. He picked it up and it waved over the book, repeating the words as he did.
John looked on in amazement, as the book's cover seemed to materialize around the open book. Kingsley closed the book. The image of a woman sitting in a chair, staring in horror at a broken window and the claw that had busted through it now covered the book.

John stepped closer as the writer began chanting quietly.
"Hey, what's your problem? Why don't you leave people alone?"
The words coming from behind John made him wish for a second that he had convinced her to stay in the car, but if the shadow creature had attacked her, he wouldn't have been able to help her there. The writer stopped his chanting and turned slowly, looking at them.
"I wondered when you would show John. I told you that you would regret cutting down my tree."
The sneer on the writer's lips sent a shiver down his spine and he felt a similar shiver from Julie, who was now clinging to the back of his shirt. The shadows gave the writer a sinister look and John was glad that he had shoved the gun into his belt before leaving the car.
"Why did -- How did --" He stumbled over the question, fighting the anger and fear that mingled within him.
Kingsley walked calmly to a table in the corner and uncorked the decanter of brandy that sat on it.
"Would you like a drink?"
John stared at him in disbelief. The author looked as though he were hosting a party and they were the guests. John thought of the unlocked front door. Of the doors inside the house standing open, of the lack of servants, and suddenly realized that it had been no happy coincidence. Perhaps he was the host and they the guests, but John had a feeling that this party wouldn't end the way that either of them expected.
"We're fine. Are you going to tell us how and why you did this? Or do you just want to wait for the cops." He asked with more courage than he felt.
Kingsley smiled and clicked his tongue. AOh Jack, I know you better than that, my friend. I know that you didn't call the police. What could you tell them if you did?"

Kingsley indicated a row of chairs that lined one wall with a lazy gesture.
"Please sit, Balrath doesn't like people to block his view."
A small cry of surprise came from behind him and as John turned Julie scuttled behind him, away from the shadowy creature that stood in the cellar. The black hole eyes stared into the room vacantly, sucking the candlelight into their murky depths. John stepped back, keeping his body angled so that Julie was blocked from both the shadowy creature and the psychotic writer.
"Well, if you're sure that you won't sit." The author said with exasperation.
"Do you remember being scared of the dark as a child? Afraid of the things that lurked there?" John's eyes darted back and forth between the two figures, he didn't answer, but Kingsley didn't wait for an answer anyhow.
"I never was afraid of the dark, or the creatures that hid in it. While you were pissing your sheets in fright at every sound that came from your closet, I was seeking them out. That is how I found Balarth. He feeds on fear, and my indifference intrigued him." Balrath moved forward into the doorway, sucking more of the soft light from the room.
"He had never met a child with absolutely no fear of him, until I came along. We made a pact when I was a child, you see. I would seek out the weak and fearful, and in turn, he would, shall we say, repay some debts that I owed."
Kingsley picked up the thick novel from the altar, and fingered the cover.
"By the time I was twenty, I was working all the time, and finding people to feed Balrath's wrath wasn't as easy. He had become a bit angry with me, I regret, but by the age of twenty-one, I was ready for him once again. I had become quite angry with a girl. I had tried to kiss her, and she laughed at me." For a moment, his jovial facade faded and was replaced by blinding hatred. "I hated her for it." The expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"Anyhow, I was planning my revenge when Balrath approached me and offered me a new deal. A deal that would give me the time and recourses I would need to find him victims. I would supply him with people to terrorize, and he would play out the part of the villain in my stories."
John had backed so far that he felt Julie's body touch the wall. She still clutched silently at his shirt, and John could feel her fingernails digging into his back.
"If the stories are written as they happened, then why was there a difference between what really happened, and what was written in the book?" John asked, hoping to prolong the conversation long enough to escape. It was obvious that Kingsley was excited to finally have someone to share his tale with. Hopefully he would keep sharing until John could figure a way around the looming beast that was advancing on them.
"Why, because any reference to me is removed to protect me, and anything that I would deem boring is extracted and replaced of course." He looked at John as though he were amazed at the stupidity of the question. "I do have books to sell."
John couldn't believe how casually this man spoke of what he did to other human beings. Perhaps the man was more monster than the beast that stood nearby. "He taught me a little enchantment for a blank book and when the enchanted book goes out the person that reads it unlocks the story. My friend here is only living it out, just as you are, but the fear feeds him and makes him strong and subsequently, it makes me rich."
Kingsley again lifted the book that he had been enchanting when they entered, showing them the cover once again.
"Don't be angry." He said calmly, gesturing with the book. "Your anger is pointless, really. After all, what can you do? Now that you know the truth, this story will have to have a tragic ending. You, my boy, are going to finish off this little book. You and Balrath here are going to fight to the death, which you will lose with noble heroism. Then he will rip your pretty little woman there to shreds." His tone was conversational, and John found himself wanting to shred the cocky writer with his own bare hands. "Perhaps there will be a sequel. Your mother -- perhaps your best friend --. Readers love a good sequel." The words were spoken more to himself than to the couple, but they sent John's blood boiling over. "Oh well, until you breathe your last, or my reader is finished reading it won't be over, and that bitch can never be counted on to keep a schedule. So we might as well end it now, don't you think?"

Kingsley turned with amusement toward the creature that stood in the center of the room. John stood his ground watching the dark eyes lift toward the sky and beneath the eyes, a set of sharp cannibal teeth began to give the nonexistent face the appearance of a grin. The teeth seemed to grow out of the darkness and didn't appear to be stopping. The sharpened claws and fangs were starting to dominate the dark figure as the grin turned into a snarl. John pulled Julie's clutching hands from the back of his shirt, feeling the gun slip from his belt as her finger's released him. He watched as the mouth opened, revealing more spiked teeth that continued down its throat, and wondered how he would ever fight this creature.
He stepped forward, catching the amused look on Kingsley's face as he watched them with rapt attention. Balrath stepped forward toward John, snarling. Great gobs of slime ran down its teeth into the blackness below. John grabbed a wooden chair from the line-up along the wall and smashed it across the teeth that seemed to float in the darkness. The chair thudded solidly against the creature and it reeled with the force of the blow. The creature turned its head as the second blow fell and bit into the chair, breaking it into firewood before his eyes. John took the broken chair legs that he held in his hands and thrust them both at the monster's mouth and eyes. The four feet that the creature towered over his six and a half foot frame made it difficult for him to judge where the blows would land, so he kicked out at the darkness at the same time, feeling his foot connect with a solid mass. Balrath reached for him, grasping his chest, as a father would lift a child into his arms. The way that the creature lifted him caused one chair leg to wedge into its open mouth and the other to slide into the beast's eye socket.
Balrath wailed in surprise and threw him to the ground. John's back adjusted with a loud crack as he hit the ground making him think for a moment that it had broken. He scooted back, relieved that he could move. Balrath was dislodging the chair legs as he advanced toward John. Just as Balrath pulled the stick free from his eye, a loud snarl came from the doorway. Before the beast could turn, Buster was flying through the air. The dog hit the creature and they both fell. Buster had a hold on something too shadowed to see and was shaking it vigorously as he growled.
"NO!" Kingsley seemed surprised and angered. AThe dog was supposed to be out of the story by now!" As he spoke he dropped the book and stalked toward the dog "I was very specific about this in my incantations. Why the hell is this mutt here?" He asked the darkness.

"Stop!" Julie said as the author bent down and grasped the dog by the scruff of the neck. He tossed Buster away from the creature, ignoring her words and then turned toward John.
"Damn you, I'll kill you myself! You're ruining everything."
As Kingsley turned, a gunshot rang through the small room. Kingsley froze for a second, looking at Julie with surprise as the blood flowed over his clutching fingers. He stumbled, and fell. He was dead before he hit the floor.
The creature lay on the floor looking at them for a moment, and then it stood again. Its teeth had returned to the shadows and it looked at the fallen writer. John tried to struggle to his feet as Balrath's eyes turned to him. It seemed to nod to him, and then with incredible speed it grabbed the fallen book and disappeared into the darkness.

John struggled to sit, looking at Julie who still held the gun out in front of her. He was sure that several of his ribs had to be broken and he felt like he had been stretched on a medieval torture rack. Buster came limping into the room from the cellar, one leg hoisted off the floor and a bloody gash on his head.
"Aren't we a sight?" John commented, laughing bitterly. "Are you ok, Julie?"
The shocked look had begun to fade some and she lowered the gun. John checked Buster's leg and didn't see or feel anything unusual so he assumed that it wasn't broken.
Julie came to his side a moment later and helped him up, looking around the room as she did.
"What are we going to tell the police?" Julie asked as the three of them limped to the elevator.

The end, or is it?