Just a Story

“It isn't my fault,” her laughter has an hysterical bent to it, “it was just a story that had to be told. How was I too know it would do all this?” Her hands fist on the table causing the handcuffs to rattle. Her eyes look past the grey walls and the officers sitting in a semicircle on the other side of her.

“I think you better start at the beginning.” The lead detective says.

Her unfocused eyes blink a few times in rapid succession before turning to him. “The beginning? That is easy. It started with the story idea. It woke me up at midnight.”

“Midnight that just passed or…” it is another detective, junior to the original questionnaire. She ignores him. She is in the story again.

“I recall looking at the clock, watching it change from 2359 to 0000. It irritated me. Far too early to be woken up,” another bitter laugh,” but the story wouldn't wait. They sometimes do, you know. Can sometimes be placed to the side, into their own shelves, to be taken down, as needed. This one, it wouldn't be caged,” she shakes her head and the loose ponytail gets looser, more of her dark curls fall around her gaunt face, “mixed metaphors but maybe you understand. The rest isn't easy to make sense of.”

“We are listening.” The head detective says.

She looks down at her clasped hands trying to figure out how to start.

“It is the monster. I woke up dreaming of it. My writing is fantasy/ horror based. This one was unlike any I have ever imagined before. Maybe that should've been a sign to let it go. I just never expected what happened.”

They exchange looks. “Are you saying that the creature that… that he came from your imagination?” The detective rises his eyes, twisting the pen in his hand, around and round.

“As insane as it seems, yes. All that happened, all of it, I wrote last night.”

At their looks of disbelief, she continues, “Explain it otherwise? What is that thing? It isn't human. Isn't animal. So… It came from my imagination,” she lowers her head, her lips trembling as the first tear falls, “it was to be a story. Just a story I should have never written. It has never happened before. That something I wrote has…”

“Came to life.” He completes for her. As insane and improbable as it sounds, what she said is the only explanation. When all else is removed what remains has to be the truth.

“Yes.” she gets white and her hands start to shake. She feels her stomach twist. The detectives push the waste basket over and she manages to vomit in it and not the floor or table before her.

They give her a drink of water and someone fetches a cloth to wipe her face with.

“Should I fetch the nurse?” One of the junior detectives asks.

The lead detective shakes his head. “She will be alright. Won't you?”

She takes another sip and looks up at them. “I will. It is just… God! The idea that I caused…” she bends over and is sick again.

“As soon as you can, please continue.”

A few moments later.

“Like I said, the dream woke me up. I had no choice,” she shudders, “or thought I didn't, but to write it. It wasn't even serious. I mean, I wasn't writing it to publish it. More of a writing exercise. Just to get it out too. Sometimes you have to get it out.”

“After you get it out?”

“I went back to sleep. It wasn't until I woke up that I understood what was happening. As insane as it was, as it is.”

“And then?”

“I tried to write it away. To undo what I did. I wasn't sure it would work. I don't know how it went in the beginning. How any of this happened.”

“And?”

“You know!” She is screeching as the shock starts to wear off, “it is still out there! Still killing! And I have know idea how to stop it!” She breaks down into tears, laying her head on the table over her handcuffed hands.

“If you created it, you can uncreate it.”

She looks up at him, her face covered in tears and snot. Grabbing a fistful of tissues, she wipes her face, throwing them over her vomit. After taking a deep breath, she says, “Don't you think I want to. Don't you think I want to stop this, this horror!”

She grows quiet. Outside the room, they hear the sirens and the frantically ringing phones. Raised voices cut through the clatter of chaos. Inside the room, the only sound heard is her cries and the clicking of the pens.

“I tried to write it away. I need to write the end of the story. It exists. I can't erase it. I need to kill it.” Her voice is steady for the first time since she started talking.

“Do you need something special?”

She thinks before shaking her head. “A pad and pencil.”

Both are pushed over to her. She starts writing.

“It's destructive path ends when it reaches,” she looks up at them.

“A military unit is at the ball field.” The head detective quickly says.

“Thank you.” She returns to the page.

“The military covered the ball field. As much as it roars and claws, it can't breach their overwhelming might. Their weapons finally stopped the monster and its path of horror. It falls down, with a deep groan, and dies.”

After the detectives read it, the head says, “Reach out to the commander. See if…”

“What she wrote came true,” he nods and the other man stands and moves across the room to the phone. Before he can dial out, it rings under his hand.

“We killed it! Whatever it is. God… we will need to examine it, try to figure out what it is.”

“It is dead. You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”