Prolouge

Ava is a writer. Talented, bizzare and slightly crazy. But what good writer isn't?
This story will take you inside of the mastermind that creates a story to chill your
meaty-bones, excite the unexcitable and leave your imagination wondering if there is
someone really standing behind you...

1.

I sighed as I looked at the blinking clock by the computer. 1:42, 1:42, 1:43. It blinked angrily at me. The red LED light nipped at my tired eyes. I couldn't stop writing, though. The words wouldn't let me.
"She rounded the corner...". No, not good. Delete.
"She slowly crept towards the corner." Nothing was working. This story was supposed to be scary. A triller. The reader was supposed to hang from every word. Eagerly turn every page. And that wasn't working. I am bored writing it. How would people be excited READING it?
"Well, let's call it quits. For tonight" I said aloud, just to hear a voice. The basement where I was sitting was what gave me ideas for the story. Not exactly the best place to be alone late at night.
I felt the wall like a blind person, inching my way forwards.
I'm creeping my way towards the corner. Hell, even when I think it, it doesn't sound scary. Something is pulling her towards the corner. She didn't want to look, but at the same time she couldn't walk the other way. She didn't know what would follow her.
That's it. Scary.
With that thought in mind, I ran back to the computer. Just another hour.
Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
"It will be worth it if this book goes big."
Go to bed.
"I'm on a roll."
I was normally one to talk to my thoughts. I was a writer. A creative spirit. I had a gift, as my friends would say. I had a imagination that created worlds.
And this world that I was creating, well. This was a good one. A psyco-murderer's ghost. Death in an asylum. Haunting of a teenage girl.
My mom would say I get the ideas from watching too many scary movies. And I do watch a lot of scary movies. My friends and I, well, lets just say Friday nights are the nights to be excited for. To rent the newest or the oldest or the one to always make you jump. Naturally, my friends were all excited about my latest embarking. And they all wanted to be included.
Nina, she was to be the main character. She was the leader. She was the drama queen. She was the one that would eventually be killed. Isn't that how it always is? You are rooting for the main person, but in the back of your mind, you always know they are a bitch.
Carmeen. Well, let's just say she didn't last long. She was the coward, the one that stayed back. The one that got killed first.
Kelsei, heroic. The heroine. No, not the drug. She would live. Well, unless this was going to be the kind of story where everyone dies. I haven't decided yet.
Kyle. Smarts. Brains. Ideas. Goals. Plan maker. Just some of the words to describe her. She was deffinatly going to be a lot of help for the plot.
And me, Ava. I was the one that-
hulah00psz: still up?
An instant message popped up on the computer.
scaryspice4352: Kel, you scared me.
hulah00psz: lost in that mind of urs again? dangerous place.
scaryspice4352: I'm workin on the story.
hulah00psz: have i died yet?
scaryspice4352: As if. So now I should ask you. Why are you still up?
hulah00psz: couldnt sleep. thinkin about the lovely josh harding.
Ahh, Josh Harding. The one main boy obsession of my group of friends. Some of us are, well, a little more obsessed then others.
scaryspice4352: Nice. Well, I gotta go.
hulah00psz: righty-o! tell me bout the story 2morrow.
Okay, so I didn't really have to go. Kelsei was a distraction. And I didn't need that from my already hard work.
Creeeak.
Footsteps on the floor above me. Shit. My parents hated me being up late. Bedtime was at 9. My parents. Strict, yes. Insane, yes. Incapable of punishment for breaking bedtime, no way.
I lept from the chair, turned off the computer monitor, and gracefully pranced to my room and jumped under the inviting covers. I've gotten the dance down to perfection.
I'd wait. Wait until the footsteps were no more.
2:32, 2:32, 2:32, 2:33...

I woke to pounding on the window. It was still dark. My room was dark. Outside was dark. The black mask of the killer outside my window was dark.
Wait.
I screamed.
I leaped, just in time to feel glass shattering down on my back. Just in time to be grabbed by my long brown hair. Just in time to see his face.
"You are BEEEEP! BEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEP!"

Huh?
I swear, these dreams are getting even more into the story. Giving me great ideas.
I loved it.
I rolled out of my sweaty bed.
Four hours of sleep. Not bad.
Thanks footsteps.
School. Bad.
I didn't want to face my friends. I hadn't seen them since Friday. They think I've been involved in the story. And I have. They want to know what's happening. Well, I've told the readers their names, and a little about them.
I'm so far behind. The readers wouldn't even know there is a killer.