Celwriter: I know that I said that I would not start the Secret Window
story until I was done with the other, but I could not help myself. Here
is the first chapter, but first the disclaimer:
The characters and events found in the movie that this is based on is not my work. The characters not found in the movie, however, are mine. So, here it is:
* * *
Mort Rainy sat at his laptop, trying to start a new story. He had received word the day before that the Secret Window revision that he had sent in had been accepted and that the publishers wanted another story. The sun shone through the window at the edge of the room, but it gave Mort no inspiration. He looked around at his house, no one would guess that a few months before it had been plagued by a crazy yokel.
The walls were painted a light lime green and the wood ceiling had been redone. The bathroom mirror and shower door had been replaced as well as old, dull light fixtures. Through the windows one could see the brilliant glow of a mid-summer afternoon and a garden of corn planted neatly row by row. This did not appear to be the home of a madman, and it wasn't.
Nearby laid a small sheepdog, gray head sitting on a bright green pillow. Although Mort had thought that Chico had been murdered, the dead body was a cloth reproduction filled with clay. Chico had returned shortly after Mort had sent out the revised manuscript for his story. The ending had been terrible the first time, but now it was just right.
In the kitchen was a year's supply of butter and salt, perfect for the corn that Mort had found a taste for. Mort could not remember why he had planted the corn, but when he tried the first cob, he knew that it was the best he had ever tasted. He liked it so much, in fact, that he had decided that his new story would be about a Nebraska farmer who grew corn so fine that it sold for a dollar per cob. He could not figure out a plot, though, and had fallen into a state of writer's block. It was this fine day that Mort sat, thinking, but without avail. He had sat there since he had awoken that morning.
It had been the first time since he had figured out that his wife was cheating that he was able to wake up in the morning without feeling as if he had not slept at all. Instead, Mort felt very refreshed, so refreshed that he had taken a morning jog with Chico. Mort thought of the wonderful day and then, suddenly, an idea came to him.
Mort began to type, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mort decided that it was probably the sheriff of the nearest town, trying to bother him again so he did not answer it. Mort figured that if he did not answer it, the person would probably just leave, but the knocking persisted. Mort finally gave up trying to type up his idea and hoped that he could remember it later. He walked to the window and looked to see who was there. All Mort could see was a long line of footprints to his front porch. He mumbled.
Mort walked back to his chair in the hopes that the person might just leave when he heard someone yelling it was not the voice of the sheriff, nor of anyone he knew.
The characters and events found in the movie that this is based on is not my work. The characters not found in the movie, however, are mine. So, here it is:
* * *
Mort Rainy sat at his laptop, trying to start a new story. He had received word the day before that the Secret Window revision that he had sent in had been accepted and that the publishers wanted another story. The sun shone through the window at the edge of the room, but it gave Mort no inspiration. He looked around at his house, no one would guess that a few months before it had been plagued by a crazy yokel.
The walls were painted a light lime green and the wood ceiling had been redone. The bathroom mirror and shower door had been replaced as well as old, dull light fixtures. Through the windows one could see the brilliant glow of a mid-summer afternoon and a garden of corn planted neatly row by row. This did not appear to be the home of a madman, and it wasn't.
Nearby laid a small sheepdog, gray head sitting on a bright green pillow. Although Mort had thought that Chico had been murdered, the dead body was a cloth reproduction filled with clay. Chico had returned shortly after Mort had sent out the revised manuscript for his story. The ending had been terrible the first time, but now it was just right.
In the kitchen was a year's supply of butter and salt, perfect for the corn that Mort had found a taste for. Mort could not remember why he had planted the corn, but when he tried the first cob, he knew that it was the best he had ever tasted. He liked it so much, in fact, that he had decided that his new story would be about a Nebraska farmer who grew corn so fine that it sold for a dollar per cob. He could not figure out a plot, though, and had fallen into a state of writer's block. It was this fine day that Mort sat, thinking, but without avail. He had sat there since he had awoken that morning.
It had been the first time since he had figured out that his wife was cheating that he was able to wake up in the morning without feeling as if he had not slept at all. Instead, Mort felt very refreshed, so refreshed that he had taken a morning jog with Chico. Mort thought of the wonderful day and then, suddenly, an idea came to him.
Mort began to type, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mort decided that it was probably the sheriff of the nearest town, trying to bother him again so he did not answer it. Mort figured that if he did not answer it, the person would probably just leave, but the knocking persisted. Mort finally gave up trying to type up his idea and hoped that he could remember it later. He walked to the window and looked to see who was there. All Mort could see was a long line of footprints to his front porch. He mumbled.
Mort walked back to his chair in the hopes that the person might just leave when he heard someone yelling it was not the voice of the sheriff, nor of anyone he knew.