As stories go, I don’t really expect this one to be the greatest ever written and the reason is because it is true.

I’ve never said that I was a good writer, but some people thought that I was, and some thought that I was good enough to bank on. It is these people that I would like to thank and in other ways I would like to meet them and kick the living shit out of them. They are the ones that started sending out my work and overall the mental torture I have experienced is also down to them. I could name their names but that could get me sued, and anyway, if I name them then they would I was after them. Revenge, ha ha ha.

I guess that I should start telling you the sorid story of how I ended up in the top security wing of St. Colm’s mental institution, though the food is good the conversation is not up to much. There is one nurse.....well that’s another story and one I’m sending to Penthouse next month.

So, I had just finished my tenth short story and it was a great horror story, with blood and guts everywhere, shouldn’t have written it in the middle of a slaughter house, joke. Anyway, a friend that reads my work and always gives it an honest evaluation, told that I should send it to this publisher.

The story concerned a hero, as all horror stories do, and a supreme evil, created in the burning flames of hell, to destroy all that is pure on earth. And as all these stories end with the hero coming untouched from the final battle, I changed my story so that the valiant hero gave his life to stop the evil from reaching the realm of earth.

So, I sent the story off and waited, publishing houses always have a lot on their plate, so since I have been writing my patience has grown. But normally material takes at least two months to get a reply, but this story seemed to strike the right note, it only took a few days, this was great shock.

They wrote a note, telling me how they would like to meet me a see further samples of my work. I had never heard of this company before, and in my long, ever so long journey to get my work published, which once again I wouldn’t have even tried to do if it weren’t for my well meaning but meddlesome friends. The companies name was Dark Flower Publishing, the paper the reply came on was good quality, far better than the 500 sheets for £4 that I buy, and it was sent through a courier, I had to sign for it and everything.

The meeting was set for the week after the reply came, I set out to find out all I could about the company and the person that I had to meet, Mr. Roger Falstaff. The surname reminded me of a character from a Shakespeare play, the name of which has left me for the moment. But anyway I used the link of ‘A Character from Shakespeare’ to remember his name. I set off.

You see being a writer, and getting the ‘Don’t call us we’ll call you’ calls and letters, I have learned to never take things at face value, and getting the reply so quickly, I was suspicious at the situation from the start. On my way into town, I had brought with me a copy of the story with me, maybe it was the best thing ever written and at first I didn’t see it. But reading and reading again, the story grew on me, like countless movies that I have seen. Even though I had wrote the piece I never had read it before, I never read anything after I’m finished, I always move on to another piece before I have a chance, this also restricts my reading, there is a pile of books that I have at home that I should have brought into me here, now that I have the time, though the Doctors would of course have to read through them and remove anything that might ‘set me off’.

But anyway, I really impressed myself, the piece was good, and could have been the best thing that I had written I would have to wait to read the other first though. I read the piece, called Right in the Dark, twice, and read it again for good measure.

I went into town, the rain had kept most people in doors, and if I wasn’t suspicious I would have stayed in bed. I made my way to the Internet Cafe which I used sometime in order to meet people who write also. Firstly I checked my E-mail, no new messages, popular fella me, then I checked out the notice board, nothing was new so I moved on, my cappuccino arrived and the waitress was smiling, she was probably happy to be working inside. Then I went and did a search, typing in the company’s name and there were a few articles that stated the company had won certain awards for introducing the industry to fresh new talent, but they only wrote war/western fiction, and my story being that of a horror genre, was going to look out of place on their lists. Then there was a list of their authors, big names, I never read any of their work but reputation alone in this industry was worth its weight in gold. All the authors have been in the newspapers over the past few month’s over their just barely legal exploits, womanising, excessive drinking and off course there were those activities that have only speculation behind them but could be true.

The rest of the search turned up nothing of consequence, so it was off to their home page, I take a sip of my caffeine filled drink and felt the usual buzz. The page was full of information on their writers, novels, books of short stories and so on, but very little was there about the management structure and there was no information about Mr. Falstaff, apart from which that he was the director of the company and someone else was the editor.

This came as a shock to me, a company with this many best-sellers, and a policy of bringing in fresh new talent, was not going to be able to read the fifty or sixty manuscripts that come onto the editors desk every week and answer them that quickly, nor should the director of the company give personal replies to manuscripts, but Mr. Falstaff was taking such a personal interest in piece, there must be something else going on other than a good story about to be published, or a writer about to receive his big break, I was suspicious, and whether these thoughts came to be true or not there was one thing for certain, I knew that my life would never be the same.

I finished my drink and then moved off to town to but more writing supplies, I tried to get thoughts of suspicion out of my mind but it was futile. There have been people that I know that have always felt that something or someone was out there, waiting for them to slip up so it, or they could devour their souls, or those of my friends that always believe that they are being followed. These feelings of paranoia have now come on me, but paranoia is not the right word in my case, it is reality, cars that pass by, all look as one, people I meet staring at me. not knowing anything to be true. No wonder I have been here for weeks.

After I returned home I found that there had been four calls left for me on my answer phone. All of them were from the same person. Someone I had never heard of before, but would hear a lot from over that next week. His calls seemed to have an urgency about them, but it wasn’t until the last call that the company’s name was giving as to what the calls were about. He had not left a name or a phone number, his voice was shaking, and he sounded that scared it frightened me. I knew that he would call back, and for now I would have to wait for that call.

Didn’t have to wait that long though, within the hour of my return to my house he called again, I was in the toilet and the answer machine had kicked in again, caught the phone as he was getting annoyed at my apparent avoidance of his calls, but when I answered he calmed down and his voice seemed very different, almost unrecognisable to the voice that had sounded scared and shaking on the phone earlier.

“Hello” I said, I could hear him sighing as I waited for an answer.

“Thank God, is this the Sam Gerald, that has a meeting, with Mr. Falstaff, from Black Flower Publishing next week ?” there was an urgency in his voice, he was calmer than before but still wanted answers quickly. And I wanted to answer his questions and ask a few myself.

After I replied there then followed a brief conversation, and at the end of that conversation there then moved to be an agreement that we should meet the following day, his voice seemed like he had downed a container of whiskey just prior to the phone conversation. At the end of the call he seemed to be relieved that we had talked and was as calm as he could be. Still, there was nothing solved about the reason that Black Flower showed interest in me, from what I could gather he was an ex-employee, and if that was the case then I would have to be sceptical about anything that he said, or those opinions about the company he held.

That night I never slept a wink, I tried to convince myself that these feelings I had were ridiculous, but I couldn’t sell myself that one, the only thing I would buy is that something is dragging me towards my destiny before I should going anywhere near there.

In the morning I went trough my usual routine, a cup of coffee, bowl of cereal, and then some toast, got changed and for some reason before leaving the house I decided the small silver crucifix that I had been given as a present on my confirmation would make a nice fashion accessory to wear in my shirt pocket, and I prayed that the religion that I had no time for in the past would keep an eye over me, just in case.

On my way into town, the bus drove slower than usual, and for some reason, there was this feeling of me being watched the whole way into the city. I wanted this trip to be over as quickly as possible, just so I could find out what in God’s name is going on.

Hopefully nothing was going on.

We had arranged to meet in the park, the rain had subsided for the day, but perhaps not for that long, those clouds that were overhead didn’t appear too friendly.

It occurred to me, only as I reached the agreed meeting spot that I didn’t know this man’s name, what he looked like or how he knew how to contact me. All that I could assume is that if he knew how to get in contact with me he would know how to recognise me.

He is now three minutes late and those clouds are getting blacker by the minute. The sound of the traffic outside the park was getting scarce. Part of me wanted to leave and another part wanted to wish to be illiterate, so that I never would have been in this situation in the first place.

After ten minutes I thought about leaving, but stayed, an hour passed and the only reason that I stayed was the fact the rain held off, as soon as one drop falls and that was it I was gone.

But finally someone came up to me, not the gravel voiced man that I was expecting, though this was better, somewhat, a nice looking girl, who might be misjudged by people on first glance as plain. She walked over to me with haste, she could have been anyone, maybe one of those people that come up to you sometimes and ask you to come to a bible meeting. For her, I would have gone. She sat down beside me, looking around for a moment and the people walking by could have been her greatest enemies, her face showed contempt for them. But to me she seemed grateful, she introduced herself as the daughter of the man that I was meant to meet, but still would not relinquish any form of identification, other than the fact that her name was Jessica. I really did not care who they said they were, if they could spread some light on why I was suddenly Irelands hottest property, then I would be grateful.

Jessica insisted that we walk around, she was more comfortable moving around rather sitting on the one spot, and to be very honest, I was wanting to move, another minute and my legs would’ve been numb and then moving wouldn’t have been an option.

As we moved around the parameter of the inside of the park Jessica, not Jessie, that I found out as I called her it, and received that look that the passers by should’ve got.

The story that she laid down, about Mr. Falstaff being the root of all evil, the company only a shadow for a crime empire and the money taken in for the authors work being laundered. It could have been a plot that I had written, however there was only one question that mattered to me, why me ?

We made it back to the main entrance, Jessica looked as though she was about to run at a moments notice, and still had not answered any question, the only thing that she had told me was how Black Flower was planing something for the new year, something big. New years eve was only three weeks away.

A car screeched two blocks away and that was all the excuse that Jessica needed, she was gone. All that I could hope for was that Jessica, or her father would contact me soon, but it would be too late.

When I had gotten home there was a car waiting for me, the insignia on the side was the shape of the watermark on the paper from Black Flower.

I knew that they silence from the driver was saying more than anything he could say, he held the door open and I got in, I was desperate for answers, desperate for a solution to the question that had kept me up all night. Now my wait was over.

The drive didn’t take that long, but if you asked me, asked me to bring you there, I couldn’t.

The building seemed to go on past the clouds, though it couldn’t, it wouldn’t have remained this un-noticeable until now.

Inside there were few people and the ones that were there seemed to have great interest in me, whispering as the driver lead the way into the elevator and pressed the penthouse button. All the way up, though feeling that the elevator was moving quickly we still were there for a few minutes, the driver remained quiet, nothing was said, and fear was leaving me.

The elevator reached it’s destination, the driver took steps backs as the doors opened slowly and the relaxing sound of classical music lofted through to me. I stepped out and felt calm, maybe it was the music, maybe not, maybe I gave up caring, all I know is that I felt the solution was close at hand and felt that one way or another, there would be answers.

The elevator returned down, leaving me there, apparently alone, the fact that the driver had gone was comforting to me.

Finally a man came out, something familiar about him, like I knew him. But I couldn’t remember from where.

“How are ya ?” he seemed genuinely concerned of my well being. After my usual reply of ‘alright, and yourself ?’ he pointed that I should sit down on one side of the desk whilst he sat on the other.

We spent a few moments getting aquatinted, talking about nothing in particular, then we moved on to the subject of my story.

He seemed to be quite knowledgeable about everything that I had ever written, even the works that I never showed anyone, the poems, my autobiography, everything.

Finally he wanted to know how I came up with the idea for my story.

Telling him that I just made it up sent him into a rage.

He pointed at the elevator and inside was Jessica and the driver, the driver slit Jessica’s throat and she fell to the floor bleeding.

Falstaff just smiled.

“You see, your work is not merely just a piece of fiction but a work of truth, well, let’s rephrase, truth in progress.” he was walking over towards the body of the girl that I wanted to find out more of, and Falstaff just looked at her.

I just wanted to do a Wizard of Oz and go back to Kansas, or rather go to Kansas, I’ve never been there before.

Falstaff continued, “The creature in your story will be created, and we’ll have hell on earth soon enough, but you see, I can’t have your story out there before my creation is brought to life. Just can’t be done.”

Falstaff, came closer to me, winked, smiled, and that was the last thing I remember. Next thing I know, I’m here, on suicide watch and only allowed these few pages to write on and the pencil to write with. But what they don’t know it that I shall break free, I can’t say when and where but I shall.

The end.