Chapter 10
This Book May Kill You
Evan stood frozen, hand still on the bathroom doorknob.
He counted his breaths.
One. Two. Three.
On four, his front door opened.
He spun. The hallway was dark.
He took a step back.
The darkness didn’t move.
Two points of light appeared.
Green. Luminous. Eyes.
They blinked.
Once. Deliberately.
HELLO, EVAN.
The voice was not from the hallway. It came from inside his head.
Calm. Gentle.
YOU’VE BEEN EXPECTING ME.
Evan’s mouth was dry. “I don’t want you here.”
LIAR.
The eyes moved closer, right to the threshold. Just outside his apartment.
Waiting.
MAY I COME IN?
Evan almost laughed. “You need permission?”
The eyes just stared.
His hand tightened on the doorknob.
“Fine,” Evan said. “Come in.”
The eyes moved forward. Crossed the threshold. And the darkness came with them filling the corners and swallowing the light.
Evan stumbled back, hitting the couch. The darkness kept coming. And in that darkness, a shape formed. Small at first. Then larger. Then smaller again.
Four legs. A tail. Pointed ears.
Gray fur that flickered between solid and translucent. White paws that seemed to float an inch above the floor. A face that was almost cat, but not quite. Like someone had drawn a cat from memory.
It jumped onto the coffee table. Sniffed the laptop. Looked at Evan.
HELLO.
“What are you?” Evan whispered.
The cat tilted its head. Opened its mouth.
Wider.
Evan felt his own mouth pulling. Grinning. He couldn't stop it.
The cat's jaw didn't stop.
Then its body convulsed.
Something dark pushed up from its throat. Not fur.
Letters.
They came out in clumps, wet and tangled, spilling onto the floor. Thousands of words stuck together, fragmenting as they hit the ground.
Evan recognized a sentence. Then another.
The deleted pages. Every word that had been cut.
The cat hacked again. More letters splattered out.
“Stop,” Evan said.
The cat closed its mouth, sat, purred. The text kept moving.
“It’s chaos,” Evan whispered.
EXACTLY.
Evan’s phone buzzed.
Message from Darryl:
“It’s there with you now?”
“Yes.”
“Mine is still here too.”
Evan looked at the cat. “You’re in both places?”
I’M IN ALL PLACES. EVERY MOMENT BETWEEN MOMENTS.
“That’s not how stories work.”
STORIES WORK HOWEVER THEY WANT WHEN THE AUTHOR LOSES CONTROL.
Another message from Darryl:
“It’s looking at the recycling bin.”
Evan’s breath hitched. He looked at his own recycling bin. The cat followed his gaze.
“Don’t,” Evan protested.
DON’T WHAT?
The cat walked to the recycling bin.
“Don’t wake them up. Don’t—”
It knocked it over with one paw, spilling paper across the floor. The cat purred.
The pages began to uncrumple. Slowly.
Evan tried to step forward. His feet stayed planted.
“No,” he said.
The cat smiled as the papers smoothed flat. The ink stirred.
The cat sat down and watched.
THIS IS GOING TO BE FUN.
Damnit, we have to wait another week. But holy cow! This is getting deliciously wild lol.
The (gross metaphysical feline) gun is fired and we wait for the impact of the (reality warping) bullet...