Midnight. I was still awake, as usual, scribbling furiously on my notebook. The goal was to put together the last few key sentences of chapter three of my latest story. It was really a futile effort, one of those situations were no matter how you word a sentence it comes out sounding as though you've thrown a dictionary into a trash compactor.

I paused briefly and shuffled through some older stories for inspiration. They were all ideas I had started but abandoned for one reason or another. There was Sailor Venus dates Superman, Doctor who gets turned into a Warcraft Pandaren, and a story about the Charlie Brown baseball team vs the 1927 New York Yankees. After a few seconds of pondering the options I pushed the pile of half finished prose to the side. So much for inspiration.

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms behind my head. I was just considering the possibility of writing an actual original story for once when I heard a loud bang on my front door. The sound shook me out of my momentary daydream and back to reality. I still didn't move. Did I really hear that?

Of course, no sooner did the question cross my mind when a second, louder, bang echoed through the air. It certainly wasn't my imagination.

I pulled myself up out of my chair. The first few lines of The Raven flickered though my brain. As if I wasn't creeped out enough already.

Pulling one of my collectable swords off the wall, in case I needed protection, I skulked down the hall to the front door. I was just about to look through the peephole when there was a third bang even louder than the first two.

I reached down, grabbed the door knob, and shoved my eye right up into the peephole. There was someone outside, but it was impossible to tell who it was. The midwinter temperature had been hanging around -5 for around a week or so and whomever my visitor might have been, they dressed appropriately for the occasion. They were bundled up tightly under a thick coat, gloves, and a hood. Their face was completely covered leaving the only means of identification a pair of eyes that peered out from behind a well wrapped scarf.

My first instinct was to not open the door at all. I've seen enough horror movies in my life to know how that goes. Then again, I didn't have any sort of house alarm so there was nothing to stop my mysterious visitor from breaking in and chopping me into pieces if they had a mind to. Even if I were able to call 911 I would have been dead before the cops arrived anyway. Given the options I figured I might ad well at least assuage my curiosity.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Without being asked the person stepped across the threshold nearly pushing me off to one side.

"Honestly," a young female voice with a British accent chimed out from beneath the layers of clothing. "Are you trying to give me hypothermia?"

"Excuse me?" I replied indignantly. It was the only response I could muster.

The stranger ignored my stammering quarry. "Are you going to shut that?" She asked looking from me to the door.

I closed the door but gripped the sword in my other hand just a little tighter. I was just about to ask who she was and what she wanted but before I could she began to peel off her outdoor accoutrements. The person with whom I had been speaking was none other than Miss Lara Croft, herself.

I say this not in the context of a video game or even a fanfiction story but rather as a real living breathing person standing in my home in the same exact way that any of you reading this might say about me if I had the pleasure of your company in your own home.

And so, the explanations flew through my mind. Am I dreaming? Is this some bizarre cosplay at 12 am on a cold January night? Have I unwittingly ingested some foreign substance that will soon make me think that I am Grawn the Immortal and need to conquer the town before sunrise? Nothing seemed to make sense.

My visitor was less than helpful as well. "We need to talk" The young lady demanded throwing her coat over the back of a nearby chair.

I could now see that see was wearing regular street clothes, jeans and a plain shirt. I was extremely grateful for this. Had she been wearing shorts, a tank top, and pistols I think I would absolutely have lost my mind.

"Talk about what?" I asked, feeling more and more like I was in a daze. Any minute I expected to see a white rabbit scurry, pull a watch out his waist coat and complain that he was late.

Miss Croft motioned for me to follow her back to my office. I did so and when we arrived she produced a stack of rolled up papers from her back pocket and tossed them carelessly onto my desk. I set my weapon down, picked them up and stack, and began to scan through it.

"These are some of my stories." I observed. "What are you doing with them?"

"I have them," Lara explained, "because they are about me."

I took a second look through the papers. Sure enough, they were all Tomb Raider related stories.

"Yes." I admitted. "I guess they are but what about them? If you're wanting royalties I should tell you that I don't get paid for these."

I wanted to also mention that I couldn't pay her because she wasn't real. I wanted to, but I didn't. I thought it would be hard to justify a person's non-existence to their face not to mention it would have been a little insulting.

"Do I look as though I need money?" Lara snapped. "I'm here to address some of the more glaring mistakes you've made in these stores."

"Like what?" I asked indignantly, crossing my arms in front of me.

The young lady picked out one of the manuscripts that she had brought with her and flipped through about half way.

"There." She said, pointing to a specific sentence at the end of one page and continued at the top of the next.

I carefully read what I had written: "Lara Croft's hips were…" Here I turned to the next page. "…as wide as the Grand Canyon."

I took me a moment to stifle the surge of hilarity that was welling up inside me.

"I don't know where you got these." I chided. "but you have two stories mixed together."

I sat down at my desk chair and turned to face my computer. In a matter of seconds, I had pulled up the two stories that my guest had referenced. The first one read: "Lara Croft's hips…" I scrolled down. "…were never complete without her trusty pistols."

I then opened the file with the second story and found the offending page. It read: "The cave was as wide as the Grand Canyon."

"Very well, then." The other recanted. "But it's poorly written."

I reread the sentence. "Agreed." I admitted. "What else?"

"How about the fact that all of your material is poorly written?"

"What am I, Tolstoy?" I asked. "I'm writing fan fiction not War and Peace."

"Really?" Lara said staring down at me crossly. "How about Dickens?"

Again, she fished into the sea of papers on the desk and pulled one out. She held it up and cleared her though. "It was the best of pies it was the worst of pies."

I stood up and swiped the story out of her hand. "That one's not even about you." I told her. "That's from A Tale of Two Bakeries."

My guest sighed. "I suppose it's better than Ethel the Aardvark."

"Is this really why you came all the way over here on a cold midnight in January?" I asked. "To complain about pies and your perceived wide hips?"

"How about the time you wrote about me getting killed by a giant boulder?" Lara replied

I rolled my eyes. "How many times have you been killed by a giant boulder in your game?" I asked. "Speaking of which, do you bother the people at Eidos like this."

"I…" she stammered. "I used to…until they served me with a restraining order."

I had to admit the idea had already crossed my mind as well. I just wasn't sure if you could file legal action against a fictional character. I made a mental note to call my lawyer in the morning.

"Well, if there isn't any more business with me-" I started to say as an excuse to ask my critic to leave but she interrupted me.

"Oh, there's more." She stated. "What about that Doctor Who crossover you wrote about me?"

"That was almost twenty years ago!" I countered.

Lara placed her hands on her hips and gave me a disapproving look. I couldn't help but think that it was amazing her arms stretched across the Grand Canyon. I thought it, but I didn't say it, although I had to stifle a small chuckle that tried to worm its way out of my mouth.

"Ok." I relented. "What's wrong with Lara Who story?"

"I want to know," Miss Croft began to ask in a low accusing voice, "where do you get off writing a Doctor Who story and making me a side character?"

"You were not a side character." I countered.

Lara shrugged. She looked like she was about to say something when a cold breeze swept through the room cutting her off.

The next thing I knew my eyes were fluttering open. I looked up, intent on continuing my thoughts, but my guest had suddenly vanished.

Had I been dreaming? I was just starting to think so when I found a small folded note taped to my computer screen. I detached the message and opened it. In a very elegant handwritten script it simply said, "Next time write about Alynx's hips."

No more late-night pizza for me.