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One night I was typing on my typewriter, as expected for any good horror author with Halloween fast approaching. As a new, upcoming author, I would need great new material, and fear is my forte.
I began to type a random thought that popped into my head until I could think of a better story. “It was a dismal, almost dreary night, as stars just barely evaded my view, and clouds covered the crooked, talon-shaped crescent moon.”
“I had just entered the house of an old friend of mine: Sarah.” Just then, I heard the sound of what was familiarly recognizable as... the door opening, just down the hall.
I ignored the sound, because I expected company anyway. “Sarah must have thought I was her boyfriend walking back through the door to confront her again, because as soon as I entered, I was greeted by her good friend, the frying pan.”
“It hit the wall, knocking down a pretty picture of what was once the happy couple”. Just then, I heard sounds of the same sort. “Are you okay, Sarah?” I said hesitantly; ready to duck, in case she had more dishes ready.
“Then an idea struck me: she always seems to get mad at Darren when evening time nears, and she always seems to resolve her anger by arguing him right out the door. Something was up. So I had to see. I decided to make my way up the stairs.”
Next I heard the sound of feet hurrying up the stairs, just as I'd previously described. I had to see what was going on. I had to, for fear I would lose more interesting tics for my novel. What I saw next was, indeed, noteworthy.
I saw... me. I was only a few feet across the room, and had come to quite a twist in my already-twisted tale. Sarah was no lovely female anymore, but a horrible she-demon, merely using a beautiful body as a distraction from her beastly inside.
I gaped in horror as Sarah revealed her anger to me in the form of a sudden attack, all the while trying to explain I wasn't meant to see her like that, but that now I had to die. Soon enough, too, as I'd expected, I was cornered.
She unfolded ghastly bat wings, let down pearly-white fangs and extended serrated talons from her once-manicured fingertips. Her voice was no longer a pleasant sound, but a hissing, snarling, wrathful tone. This vampire was ready to kill. "Give me one reason I should believe that you aren’t wasting my time," the she-demon demanded.
Sadly, I could think of none. Yes, indeed she was ready to kill--- to make me another of her helpless victims--- and what could I do? Here I was, a mortal man, against a supernatural evil, possibly already wanting to kill me for quite a while.
And she did. Hers was a quick, but painful, wrath. Limbs and all, I was indeed torn to shreds. I looked across the room at my mangled body. Sarah was still sopping up my blood, when--- there came an interruption. I fade back to myself, and reality becomes real again. “Hi, Sam, how are you?” Is it...is it really---? Yes. My girlfriend greeted me, the real Sarah. Her voice was pleasant again, as she quickly skimmed over the paragraph I'd just barely gotten through.
“So, it’s a Vampire novel, huh? Quite a story, but not quite enough gore. I think she should rip his head off." She laughed and I kissed her, only half kidding when I said, “That's a bit too gory for my taste.” She laughed, too, but as I stared into her eyes, I could've sworn I saw a hint of red...