Chapter 11


                                                                                                                   The End... Or is it?

Andrea sat in the chair, feeling a bit unusual. There was no new Donald Kingsley novel this year. About a year ago, a woman who had apparently been dating the writer had tried to break it off. He had become enraged and tried to kill her. She shot him in self-defense while trying to escape. They found all of this weird, ritualistic, occult stuff in his house and a basement room, which was being used for unknown rituals. It was all quite unusual, but it only proved that you never really knew people.
Andrea had just received a copy of the first book by a new writer. Several copies had been given out a week in advance of the book's release as a promotional gimmick, and she had received one. Critics had said that Joanne Stone, the new writer, was the next Donald Kingsley. Andrea hoped that Joanne=s books would help to fill the void that was left now that Kingsley was dead.
There was something odd about it all though. Andrea felt a little strange that she held another writer=s novel in her hands, but that wasn=t exactly what was bothering her. The weird thing was that Joanne's first book was sitting in her lap right now, but she hadn=t gone through her ritual. There was no coffee next to her, and she didn't even have her cozy. For some reason she was unable to stop herself from opening the book to chapter one.
The title pages and dedications flew by her fingers, unread. What was going on? She wondered as she read the words on the page.
Angela sat on the oversized comfy chair with the newest Jane Stanly novel resting in her lap, when she heard the shattering of glass. A claw flew through the window grasping for the latch that would open the small frame and let the creature to which it belonged inside.

While Andrea read the words on the page, a cracking sound came from the window from across the room. Andrea screamed as a claw smashed through the glass windowpane, and began feeling around for the latch.


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