Ghost

“Mr. Riley! Can I please have a pic-”

“No, Mr. Riley can I have a picture with y-”

“Get back! All of you!” your bodyguard says. It has been an eventful day for you, and you start walking out of your hotel. The Plaza Hotel, located in the heart of Dubai, is for only, and only, the richest.

It had pools and views, bedrooms the size of houses, and jacuzzis in the bathrooms themselves. You name it, the hotel had it. Unluckily, today was the last day you were staying in it since The Association of the Most Brilliant Authors’ meeting had ended.

You’re ushered into the front seat of your car, a black Jaguar F Type with bulletproof glass and fire decals. It had cost you a lot, but it had proved to be a good investment.

The bodyguard makes sure you’re all well in the car, and signals to his team. He does a slight hand-wave, with a sharp jab in the air in front of him. It is one of the many signals that you have never figured out the meaning of.

You look through the short sheet at the back, to check if your security team is ready to accompany you on your way home. They are.

You keep your hands on the leather padded steering wheel. Your foot comes down in a swift motion and in a short time, you find yourself zooming across Dubai at top speed.

 You don’t worry about traffic police and whatnot, you have a specialized and completely legal sheet on your car’s windshield, the words “Allowed to break the speed limit” printed on it.

In a short while, you reach your home. It is a fairly large estate, full to the brim with luxury.

“We’ll be patrolling the grounds all night sir,” your chief bodyguard, named Pierre Deloumont, says.

“Okay,” you reply, “just don’t make too much noise, especially if it’s just a stray cat.”

You grin, expecting even just a small snigger in response to the joke you just made. You don’t get one. Ah, well.

You walk back into your mansion, situated in the center of the estate. It has been a long day, and you want to get some rest.

You slump onto a couch overlooking the fireplace. There is a hot lasagna beside you, waiting to be eaten. The fire crackles and sparks hit the wood all around it. It is mesmerizing to gaze and the amber remains of the logs.

It’s been half an hour since you sat on the couch, and the lasagna has gone cold.

You’re bathed with memories of how you got here.

 How painful it is, to experience the past again, even if it’s in your mind. How painful it is, to know that you don’t deserve this luxurious life. How painful it is, to know, that you did not actually write the book that paved your life for you. How painful it is to know, that you don’t even have an ounce, of creativity.

5 YEARS BEFORE

Why can’t you write? You’re supposed to be an author, aren’t you?

You’re in your bedroom, sitting on your desk with your laptop in front of you and your notebook beside you. A blank document is open on your laptop and the pages in your notebook are clear.

You need to get out of this writer’s block. A dark void looms in your mind, blocking the creative streak that you thought would come to you once you sat down and brainstormed for ideas.

What can you do? You need money, you need to pay the rent, for the landlord wants his payment, you need food, you haven’t eaten in 2 days, for you need to save money, and you need some rest, for your mind is spinning out of control, stressed. Maybe that’s why you can’t write.

You’re staring at the document on the laptop, hoping that words will suddenly appear and the book will write itself. Of course, as you knew in the back of your head, it didn’t. 

Why? Why does it have to be you who has all the lack of work and money? You went to Oxford, got a degree, and made friends! But you still have barely any work! All your friends do! Owen, who bought a Lamborghini. Sarah, who made a luxury purse company. And most of all, Kevin, who bought a mansion, became an actor, and only mingled with the most A-List people.

Is that why he won’t answer any of your calls, emails, or texts? Is that why any of them don’t? Did they think that since they didn’t see you on the news, or magazines, that you weren’t worth talking to?

You need to do something that proves that you’re better than them. Better, than what you thought were friends. Even if it takes anything. Even cheating.

The answer to your problem is, ghostwriting.

You could hire a ghostwriter to write your stories for you! No one would know. All you have to do is pay them, and the credit is all yours. Like you said, whatever it takes.

You open your laptop to search for ghostwriters. There are many websites. You click on one that looks promising and scan it.

Hmm, should you take Amy Watson or Ben Hallow? Arnold Potts is also a good choice. But what about Renata Fern?

You finally pick one. Jack Brown. He has 15 years in ghostwriting and has a literature degree from Stanford University. But the weird thing is, he doesn’t want to meet anyone. It has to be only on the internet.

Ah, well. He looks promising and you are desperate. You copy/paste his email into Gmail and start writing:

Dear Mr/Mrs. Brown,

I would like to have you ghostwrite a book for me. I shall give you more details once you have replied to this email and agreed.

Regards,

Stone Riley

After a day, you get his reply:

Dear Mr/Mrs. Riley,

I agree. What now?

Regards,

Jack Brown

PS. I’m a Mr, not Mrs.

Good. He agrees. Now to tell him what I want him to do.

Dear, Mr. Brown

I need you to write a book for me. I’m under writer’s block, and I need a story. It should be … fantasy. State your price.

Regards,

Stone Riley

His email arrives sooner than you thought.

Dear Mr. Stone

I’ll write your story for you. My price is $20,000. I hope you can make the deal.

Regards,

Jack Brown

You read his email. $20,000 as a price? That’s all your savings! But you need the book and the profit. This is a gamble. But no risk, no reward, right?

Dear Mr. Brown,

I agree. Give me your bank number and I’ll transfer the amount. But you need to guarantee me a great book. 

Regards,

Stone Riley

And on and on the emails went. Soon, you have a book ready. As you’re walking to the publishing office, you think about what you did. Was it ethical? Will it leak out? And most of all, what if the book turns out to be a failure?