Another rejection letter. Tobias King sighed as he watched the hours on his minute grandfather replica tick by. How could it have come to this? He was a master of terror, an artist with a blood red pen; he made London Town's teenage population shake for nights on end with the simple sentences he crafted in his text. But that was over a decade ago. Youth had grown and become dated by the slashers of the silicone screen, and literacy rates amongst children were dropping like pies in a Chaplin sketch. Scaring people is a hard business, he thought to himself. You never know what'll properly pluck their heartstrings.

He took out his old phone and dialed Verona Hemmings, his publisher, to find out what had gone wrong. Their conversation went something like this:

V: Verona Hemmings, Lovett Publishing House, how may I help you?

T: It's me Verona.

V: Well, speak up. There's only one me in my life and she needs to be respected.

T: Honestly Verona, must we be so hostile? Or is this rejection something more than it needs to be?

V: Oh, hello Tobias.

T: Bingo.

V: Still sore because the heads rejected your newest novella?

T: No, I'm sore because I have a dark feeling that your input had something to do with it.

V: Your dark feelings haven't gotten you too far these past five years.

T: Touché.

V: Look. That doesn't matter right now. Actually, I was hoping you'd call-

T: So, you do miss me?

V: Tobias.

T: Can you blame me for trying?

V: I can blame you for breathing.

T: Verona, what are you really trying to say?

V: If I told you that, you'd probably cringe. But, nonetheless, Lovett's wants to offer you one last chance.

T: What do you mean "one last chance"?

V: Tobias, your past five or so spooks have been flops. We mostly published them on the basis that there was a name slapped on them.

T: Whose name?'

V: Yours.

T: Ouch, Verona.

V: We're giving you six months to make a new story for the next quarter. It has to be good, it has to be long, and it has to be romantic.

T: Romantic? Verona, are you insane?

V: Polls show that romance novels are doing better than ever this year. At least make it as a subplot or something, or maybe your hero could have a passion for-

T: Verona, do I tell you how to do your job?

V: Six months, Mr. King.

And then she hung up. Tobias sat head in his hands over his oak finished desk. Six months? Who in their right mind rushes genius? He needed to brainstorm. Most fears come from childhood psychology. What does one fear as a child? He used this formula for writing many times; his first bestseller was about a psychotic schoolteacher who would often "fail" her students. Dogs, homework, the boogeyman? No, no, no! Those ideas have all been done before.

He sighed and looked back his clock. Eight minutes to minutes to midnight. He sighed heavily as he rose from his seat. An old friend of his was visiting the city, and they arranged lunch together. Tobias would need his sleep for tomorrow.