The Man From My Book: Episode 2.

“So what’s it gonna be?”

“Can you keep your voice down, please?” I said, hurrying out of bed and heading for the door. Moving with such superhuman speed, the man jumped in front of me.

“Not so fast!” He barked in my face and I got a spray of halitosis, his eyes, black pebbles that burned from the hollow of their sockets. “Boy, you don't know what you done did. Either you get on that chair and finish what you started or I...” he made a fist with his right hand, his left hand grabbed and squeezed the air near my neck.

I took a step back from his angry glare, and his stench. He smelled like a cellar where something that used to critter died and mummified long ago. It was a spicy, wet and old putrefaction.

The man looked sharply at the door. “What’s that?”
Wide eyed, I said, “My mom.”
The sound of her footsteps came through walls. I could imagine my mom in her oversized t-shirt—the one with Bart Simpson’s huge yellow head printed on it—and black tights; her face would be covered in green goo, a mixture of avocado and aloe, that she called Face Food. Barefoot, she’d land every step of the stares heavily, something I have come to believe she does to let me know she was coming.

Thump, thump, thump, came my mom’s footsteps.

The man looked at me, then at the closed door. In less than ten seconds there would be two light raps on the door, followed by my mom’s thin, girlish voice saying, "Wakey-wakey, wacky writer,” then she’ll open the door, poke her face in the crack and sweep my room with her hazel eyes looking for clutter. Those eyes would then go to my desk—no, they wont this time because Mr. Sinister would be—

I said hurriedly, “You have to hide!”
“I dont hide, you hide!”
“My mom’s going to freak out.”
“Oh, I love when they freak out…” he beamed, big teeth all over his face, red gums and all. It was like looking at a rabid dog about to pounce. He started reaching for the door. The footfalls stopped. The man’s hands paused over the door handle.

“Oh no,” mom said in the hallway. The goo on her face must have gotten on her shirt. Barth Simpson was getting face food. Mom would have a stroke if she saw a grown mendicant, a murderer in my room.

“Seth?” she said, then grumbled something. The murderer from my story turned with a conspiratorial look, he smiled and nodded as if we both planned his next murder. He giggled, a gurgling in his chest that chilled the skin on the back of my neck.

This isn't some nightmare that I hoped to wake from. This was actually happening. I brought this murderer into this world somehow, he is my responsibility.

“Seth, i got some aloe in my eyes,” mum said outside the door, “It's almost eight. Shelby called. I have to be earlier than normal.”
The murderer looked at me sharply. “Who’s Shelby?”
“Huh.”
“Who the hell is Shelby?” the stranger growled and I cursed under my breath at the same time my mom knocked on the door.
She said, “Seth? What are you doing?”

The knob turned. The murderer from my story stepped aside so that when the door opened he’d be behind it, and from that position he could prance, like a predator on prey.
“Mom, wait!”
The knob stopped turning, and I chuckled. “Oh, you're up, and—not decent, huh. Well, you have like ten minutes before principal Calhoun starts blowing my phone. I gotta get this…” she mumbled something to herself. “I gotta wash and get out.”

I was frozen where I stood by my desk, the hulking figure of the stranger by the door, waiting. And then mom’s voice floated away as she went back downstairs. She was saying, “Shelby’s calling again. Dexter must have shat himself again. Gosh, I hate my job. Seth, breakfast is in the kitchen, don't be late for school!”

The stranger looked at me, some confusion in his evil eyes. “She’s leaving! Get her back here! Call her now!”
“Are you insane? I can't do that!”
“Why not?!”
“I can't let you hurt my mom!”
“You know, you’re in the way of a lot of things at this point. I was just about to make a kill—”
“A kill? I can't let you kill—”
“What can you let me do, huh? In fact, what can you do? This is what I do, this is what I was created to do. Kill. You stopped the woman at the door from coming in, you stopped destiny, hers and mine. You despicable little interruptor!”