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The Possession: Writer's Block, #1
The Possession: Writer's Block, #1
The Possession: Writer's Block, #1
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The Possession: Writer's Block, #1

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A famed horror author is on the verge of his magnum opus—a labyrinthine cryptogram that details the end of days.

"As much as I like Dean Koontz and Stephen King, none of them build such nice twists and turns into their plots." ~ William Greenleaf

"I honestly feel that you're a gifted writer." ~ Michael Garrett (Credited as Stephen King's First Editor)

"A.K. Kuykendall blurs the lines between fact and fiction to conjure a true nightmare." ~ Shane KP O'Neill, Author of "The Lucifer Agenda" Series

When Gregory Stillingsworth buys an antique doll in India, the bestselling horror novelist doesn't haggle over the steep price. He simply must have the beautiful, enchanting doll. Only months later, when it is far too late, does he realize that he's merely the latest in a long line of victims to become possessed by Christie, a pernicious tool of Satan.

As the battle lines between the angels of light and darkness are drawn, Gregory, his wife Jamie, and their unborn child become trapped in an ancient war that has no beginning and no end, a conflict that turns time inside out and reason on its head.

EVOLVED PUBLISHING PRESENTS a terrifying thriller that's perfect for fans of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and any spine-chilling tales of horror. This first book kicks off the "Writer's Block" trilogy, which explores the age-old War of Angels. Better leave a light on... or three or ten... for this one. [DRM-Free]


  • "The Confessional" (A Short Story)

  • Writer's Bock – Book 1: "The Possession"

  • Writer's Bock – Book 2: "Purgatory" [Coming Soon]

  • Conspirator's Odyssey – Book 1: "Imperium Heirs"

  • Conspirator's Odyssey – Book 2: "Sovereign Ichor" [Coming Soon]


  • The "Lorestalker" Series by J.P. Barnett

  • The "Big Sky Terror" Series by D.W. Hitz

  • The "Enigma of Twilight Falls" Series by Mike Robinson

  • The "Godsknife" Series by Timothy C. Ward

  • The "Zombie West" Trilogy by Angela Scott


Release dateSep 9, 2019
The Possession: Writer's Block, #1
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A.K. Kuykendall

A.K. KUYKENDALL was born in Albany, Georgia, but grew up as a military brat on the Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Base Hawaii (MCBH), and later at the Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base in Jacksonville, North Carolina. He is married to Magdiel Kuykendall (the love of his life) and, together, they are the proud parents of three sons—Felix, Kal-El, and Jor-El—two of whom are legally named after the Kryptonian House of El due to the author’s affinity for the story of Superman. He’s a corporate executive chef by trade, but his true passion in life is writing thought-provoking novels that blend the concepts of fact and fiction. His writing career has been heavily inspired and influenced by Rod Serling and his classic ‘60s television series, The Twilight Zone, and by The Mercury Theatre’s October 30, 1938 broadcast of “The War of the Worlds” over the Columbia Broadcasting System radio. He was then and still is wholly enthralled with the way these two examples showcased ordinary people in extraordinary situations. He especially loved the remarkable plot twists common to The Twilight Zone stories, and the fright manifested by H.G. Wells. When he’s not writing, he finds comfort in heading out to the golf course with his son and golf partner, Jor-El, where they altogether embarrass themselves on the fairway. He both creates and resides in Ruskin, Florida. To view his complete biography, please visit his website, where “truth reads through fiction.”

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    The Possession - A.K. Kuykendall




    Writer’s Block – Book 1

    Copyright © 2019 A.K. Kuykendall

    Cover Art Copyright © 2019 D. Robert Pease


    ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622533577

    ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-357-2


    Editor: Whitney Smyth

    Senior Editor: Lane Diamond

    Interior Designer: D. Robert Pease



    At the end of this novel of approximately 78,621 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) THE BEAST OF ROSE VALLEY by J.P. Barnett, the first novel from his Lorestalker series of creature feature horror novels, and; 2) GODSKNIFE: REVOLT by Timothy C. Ward, a dark fantasy/horror novel we think you’ll enjoy. We provide these as a FREE extra service, and you should in no way consider it a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.


    eBook License Notes:

    You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

    This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.



    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.


    Book 1: The Possession

    Book 2: Purgatory (Coming 2020)


    The Confessional (A Short Story)



    Book 1: Imperium Heirs (Coming Winter 2019/2020)

    Book 2: Sovereign Ichor (Coming 2021)


    Author’s Website:


    Publisher’s Website

    A.K. Kuykendall


    What Others Are Saying about A.K. Kuykendall’s Books:



    A.K. Kuykendall blurs the lines between fact and fiction to conjure a true nightmare.

    Shane KP O’Neill, Author of The Lucifer Agenda Series


    I honestly feel that you’re a gifted writer.

    Michael Garrett (Credited as Stephen King’s First Editor)


    It’s got such a chilling vibe to it, it draws you in even when you want to put it down and pretend it’s not there.

    Cianna Elizabeth


    The Reader can see the inspiration for the novel in many sources, like The Exorcist, or a Stephen King or Dean Koontz book, but the plot twists and turns were definitely something new and interesting that I hadn’t seen before. I was blown away!

    Jodi Henkiel


    If you are into Stephen King, or Dean Koontz, or those types of dark horror books, you are going to LOVE this book. It’s AWESOME. Kept me up at night a few times.

    Heather Badgwell


    Although admittedly inspired by The Exorcist, you’ll be hard-pressed to find scenes or symbols in A.K. Kuykendall’s Writer’s Block that are not unique."

    Serenity J. Banks


    I was fascinated with the historical aspects of the story and liked the way it was woven throughout the plot.

    Heather Chisholm



    A very distinct voice!

    K. D. Payne, Odyssey Reviews


    A great story line!

    Simon Barrett, Blogger News Network


    A proposed series ... It may work!

    Jack Quick, Book Bitch


    A compulsive page turner!

    Bill C., Alternative Reel

    We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.


    In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the First 2 Chapters of the creature feature, horror suspense THE BEAST OF ROSE VALLEY by J.P. Barnett.



    Barnett’s plot is clever and irresistible, and his book is a sheer pleasure to read. Horror, thriller and mystery fans alike will find much to their liking in this intriguing story about the unknown. The Beast of Rose Valley: Lorestalker #1 is most highly recommended. ~ Jack Magnus, Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews (5 STARS)




    The LORESTALKER Series at Evolved Publishing

    In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the First 3 Chapters of Timothy C. Ward’s engrossing GODSKNIFE: REVOLT, a dark urban fantasy/horror thriller.



    It is many things all crammed into one book. It was definitely horrific and you could call it a horror novel. And I also might call it an urban fantasy because it takes place in modern times but has a lot of cool magic. It is paced like a thriller. The story moves very fast. Even though the action scenes were a bit too gruesome for my taste at times, they were really well done and I really enjoyed them. ~ Dan Absalonson




    The GODSKNIFE Series at Evolved Publishing

    It is with a degree of excitement and a little trepidation that I embark on my first undertaking in writing a foreword for someone other than myself. A.K. Kuykendall is someone I know and admire and, as a writer of some distinction, it is my charge to do him justice with this introduction.

    The same as I, Mr. Kuykendall endeavors to probe and stimulate the darker recesses of your psyches—the amygdala and hypothalamus—and provide the catalysts to detonate those incendiary devices within your minds that manifest themselves in fear. He is, of course, a writer of the horror genre; a man after my own heart.

    All my life, no other genre in literature or film has interested me, or held my attention, the way the horror genre has. Of course, we all have our individual tastes. Romance will always be the biggest seller, closely followed by thrillers and crime novels, and now the trending fascination of late with BDSM and the Scottish Highlands. We all like what we like and with no disrespect to those who have a preference for anything from the above-mentioned list, little of it is of interest to me. None of these will ever give me that fear factor, or shock me, or leave me feeling numb. When all the rigors of the day are behind me or if I am finished writing and just wish to relax, I want to pick up a book and experience that rush from being scared before I close my eyes.

    I have been this way all my life, though indulging my penchant for such things was not so easy for me when I was young, my hurdle being a strict and overzealous mother. Of course, I found my opportunity every Friday night when babysitting my younger sisters, and usually enjoyed a serving or two of the Hammer horror films.

    Those images of the blood-red eyes of Christopher Lee’s Dracula, and of all the terrible things Vincent Price’s Dr. Phibes did to his hapless victims have never left me. I was quite an innocent pre-adolescent, and these movies often scared the hell out of me, but come the following Friday I would turn off the light and sit there in the dark, waiting to be scared senseless again, every shadow cast on the walls by the images on the TV screen making me more and more nervous. In particular I remember, at age 13, receiving permission from my father to stay up and watch Salem’s Lot, Stephen King’s classic vampire offering. The scene where Danny Glick’s mother awakened in the morgue as a vampire, her hand emerging from under the sheet while Ben Mears frantically built his makeshift crucifix and recited the Lord’s Prayer was one of the defining moments in horror cinema, though Danny Glick himself scratching at Mark Petrie’s bedroom window stayed with me much longer. Nothing has terrified me as much before or since, and I admit I had frequent nightmares for the next decade. Raised a staunch Catholic, I always had a problem with scenes of demonic possession, but still I watched. It was this I craved and, no matter how scared, I had to have more. Clearly the release of glutamate in my brain had become my drug of choice.

    Through my teens I began to devour dozens of novels by Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Shaun Hutson, James Herbert, and Robert McCammon. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s a steady stream of horror flicks came along to complement the literary horror boom, some of these adapted from the books of the men listed above.

    I found these tiresome after a time. The production teams on these movies became more and more visceral in their attempts to obtain shock value. As with most successful formulae that are re-hashed time and time again, they became much of a muchness. The horror was blunt and in your face, but it was not scary. Instead of having nightmares and remembering scenes from these movies when I was alone, or walking some dark country lane, I found myself getting bored and forgetting the majority of what I had seen. The genre had taken on a much more visual aspect and, to me, it was digressing from its principles and from the foundations laid down by the greats of literary and cinematic horror.

    At this point, as I immersed myself in my writing, I tried to evaluate the true essence of horror. Over the years I have asked many of my friends what they deem horror to be, and acquired a variety of different answers, though none matched my own idea of how horror should be defined.

    We see horror around us every day. The news on the TV and in the papers is full of it, and it is truly terrible. But it has little effect on us. We can turn the TV off or switch the channel, or discard the newspaper and pick up a romance novel and read that instead. It is something we can tolerate if it is happening to someone else. We know it is there, but as long as it does not affect us directly, or those we love, we do not dwell on it so much.

    Horror, though, can take on many forms. It does not necessarily have to be the devastation of a terrorist bomb, or some unbalanced individual going on a killing spree. Horror can exist for an infant experiencing that first shock of pain from a burn, or from getting their fingers jammed in a door. It can exist for an adolescent suffering physical or mental intimidation from their peers. Horror can manifest itself for the teenager suffering that first rejection from a love interest of theirs. For sure, we remember these things and they all serve to have an impact on our future lives.

    On the opposite side of the spectrum, there are those of us that like to take risks or live on the edge, in need of that glutamate fix. They want a glimpse of what could happen if they pick up that stranger in their car, or if they meet that mysterious but alluring person they spoke to online. What if they purchase that gun? Or drive too fast? Perhaps follow that impulse to travel alone to some exotic location, or involve themselves with that occultist group, jump out of that airplane, or take that tablet someone is selling in a nightclub. I have faced a few near-death situations in my life and in those instances where my every sense was aroused, I never felt more alive.

    To try and understand or define the true essence of horror, we also must understand fear. The master of the literary horror novel, Stephen King, defines horror as a rehearsal for death. In a way it is, a way to train our minds for that inevitability, because it comes to us all irrespective of who we are. No one is immune to it. Abigail Marsh, a Professor of Psychology at Georgetown University, correctly defines fear as seeing or hearing something that makes us anticipate harm. I feel if we are to identify the true essence of horror, then we must understand both these aspects and their relation to each other, for one cannot exist without the other. I always defined fear as the worry of dying in a horrible way, or of some terrible harm or suffering coming to us or to someone we love and care about. If this is a correct means of defining fear, then horror must be the physical manifestation of that. So when I have asked numerous friends over the years to tell me what they believe the essence of horror to be, I was hoping someone would define horror as fear for one’s life.

    The vampire or werewolf does not encapsulate horror—they are ingredients of it. The horror lies in the thought of what they could do to us should we encounter them. They might cause us great suffering, they might kill us, or even turn us into a beast or monster the same as they.

    As I grow older, I realize horror has to be more psychological as opposed to physical or visual. Fear for one’s life. The real horrors we experience in life are those that leave the mental scars. Physical scars heal with time, whereas the psychological variety are less likely to.

    With this in mind, I saw horror in a different light. A vampire ripping out its victim’s throat does not scare me. Ed Harris’s portrayal of Blair Sullivan in the movie Just Cause, that scared me. The image of Joe Pesci’s character watching his brother beaten senseless and then buried alive before enduring the same in the movie Casino had the same effect. Shaun Dooley’s character in the movie Eden Lake, where he played the father of the psychotic teenager, Brett, that also scared me.

    Through this newer perspective, I began to rely more on literary horror than the visual variety to get that glutamate fix. The beauty of the novel, and of being a writer, is that the writer has a unique and very individual relationship with each different reader. The images the writer conjures the reader re-creates in his/her own mind. Here is where the psychological aspect of horror becomes more apparent. To understand horror, one must jump into the heart and mind of the character and know what it is they are enduring: the fear for their life, and finding a way to somehow survive their impending death.

    This brings me back to Mr. Kuykendall. After the likes of Messieurs King, Koontz, and McCammon hooked and reeled me in, my need to discover new material and new writers in the horror genre became almost incessant. Therein lies the paradox, for it was Mr. Kuykendall who discovered me, and we have since become friends.

    Kuykendall is one such writer who understands the essence of horror, but more than that he explores the metaphysical aspects of it, which appeals directly to me, setting his concept within the Divine Drama, i.e. the battle between God and Lucifer, of Heaven and Hell.

    His is the story of a writer; Gregory Stillingsworth, the most successful horror novelist in the world. When Stillingsworth sits down to write his newest novel, he is impotent for weeks and months, his usual rapid fluidity all but spent. The dark forces around him that he has immersed himself in, converge on him until his world slowly, and then rapidly, begins to fall apart. What Kuykendall does so cleverly is blur the lines between fact and fiction, so that we no longer know the difference between Stillingsworth’s new literary creation and his real life, once he begins to write again. It is a lesson that if you spend enough time on the Dark Side, you might well find yourself trapped there.

    With fantasy we can stretch the boundaries and limits imposed on us by our physical form. We can use our imaginations to stretch the possibilities. But even in the realms of fantasy we are left to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this could happen to one of us. That is the essence of the horror movie, or novel, and of what horror really is.

    Where every cloud has a silver lining, so too can you find the beauty in horror, once you grasp the essence of it and you know where to look.

    Shane KP O’Neill

    Trondheim, Norway

    Table of Contents


    Books by A.K. Kuykendall



    Table of Contents




    PART 1

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 3

    Chapter 4

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    Chapter 8

    Chapter 9

    Chapter 10

    Chapter 11

    Chapter 12

    Chapter 13

    Chapter 14

    PART 2

    Chapter 15

    Chapter 16

    Chapter 17

    Chapter 18

    PART 3

    Chapter 19

    Chapter 20

    Chapter 21

    Chapter 22

    Chapter 23

    Chapter 24

    Chapter 25

    Chapter 26

    Chapter 27

    Chapter 28

    Chapter 29

    Chapter 30

    Chapter 31

    Chapter 32

    Chapter 33

    Chapter 34

    Chapter 35

    Chapter 36



    About the Author

    What’s Next?

    More from A.K. Kuykendall

    More from Evolved Publishing

    Special Sneak Preview: THE BEAST OF ROSE VALLEY by J.P. Barnett

    Special Sneak Preview: GODSKNIFE: REVOLT by Timothy C. Ward

    The battle against the Devil, which is the principal task of Saint Michael the Archangel, is still being fought today, because the Devil is still alive and active in the world.

    ~ Pope John Paul II

    For all those souls trapped within vacuous meat suits that are wholly oblivious to the Divine Drama and the fact that God is both the playwright and the director.

    One stormy afternoon in Berkshire, in the year 1348, the townspeople gathered to witness the end of Vivian Noose—a pregnant woman accused by the church of holding Lucifer’s child within her.

    Kitty Dossle, age four, looked on from a distance as she hung from the arm of her young mother, Maze Dossle. Kitty clutched a tattered, hay-stuffed cloth doll in her hand, a gift from one of her mother’s male suitors.

    Maze Dossle, a wretched-looking prostitute, offered men the kind of oral satisfaction they might not get at home. Suitors in want of a getaway from their everyday marital lives called on her by the dozens. She’d been beautiful once, with a sort of natural beauty that shone through her stringy hair and ragged clothing. She’d been tomboyish and innocent, capable of kicking ass and breaking hearts at the same time.

    Maze had reacted to her hard-working parents’ inability to focus on raising her by venturing out with her peers into a world that gave her a sense of self and attention. First-love bloomed with sixteen-year-old Cagin Vince, two years older than Maze. A month after their courtship, reality slapped them both in the face: she was pregnant.

    Despising the idea of societal embarrassment, her young male counterpart attempted to murder her by beating her unconscious, leaving her with welts and scars.

    Maze managed to survive the ordeal with baby intact, after which her parents tossed her out onto the streets in the dead of winter to fend for herself and her unborn child. Although embarrassment and shame had been a part of her parents’ motivation, financially, they couldn’t bear another hungry mouth.

    Mommy? Kitty said.

    What do you want, little girl?

    She’s pregnant, isn’t she? Kitty pointed to Vivian Noose, the day’s entertainment.

    Yes, she is. Maze looked on as the men set the branches ablaze.

    Mommy, I don’t want Christie to see.

    Cover her eyes, then, little girl, Maze responded in an aggravated tone.

    At the stake, Vivian Noose began to plead and scream for help.

    The townspeople spit at her and cursed her name. They threw stones as the blaze licked around her feet.

    Go back to hell where you came from.

    You wicked wench!

    No one cares of your suffering.

    That child will not live within our holy covenant.

    Die, you filthy serpent of Satan.

    On and on the crowd taunted, while the flesh of Vivian Noose’s body began to peel, forming bubbly reddish blisters under her skin. As tears rolled down her face, evaporating in the intense heat, she looked upon the crowd. Everything seemed to slow as her skin melted from her body to reveal the painful sight of her meaty flesh.

    As she died, the crowd suddenly became quiet.

    Kitty swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

    An ominous sensation swept in, aggressively grabbing hold of each member of the gathered townspeople.

    Within seconds of Vivian Noose’s passing, her charred eyelids snapped open, and she lifted her head to look upon the crowd. Her eyes, burning coals, glittered white. A voice spoke through her, using her as its vessel. It sounded ferocious—direct and full of fury.

    I thank you, for your hatred fuels me so. Damnation befalls this land and upon you. No matter the distance you travel, I will be your end. So say it, the shepherd.

    In a flash, the town’s population—presiding pastors, children, elders, and common folk—began to shake and contort in the seizure that swept through them.

    All except for Kitty, who watched in terror.

    Abruptly, stillness fell.

    The mob looked upon this hideous image with sudden empathy. So say it, the flock, the crowd shouted in unison.

    As one, they snapped out of this wicked trance, seeming to know nothing of what had happened, looking upon the still-smoldering body of Vivian Noose in the ominous silence.

    Frightened, Kitty dropped Christie to the ground, wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s neck, and cried.

    Vivian Noose’s stomach ripped open and a baby jackal fell forth, its eyes glowing red and its fangs razor-sharp.

    Screams rang out as the crowd began to pull away in fear.

    Maze, too, began to back away, pulling Kitty with her.

    The jackal threw its head to the sky and let out a blood-curdling shriek that sent the fear of God through the mob. When the howling stopped, the jackal gazed through the flames at the doll lying on the ground.

    Unobserved by the other onlookers, who were focused on the sudden appearance of the jackal, the stitched-cloth eyes of the doll began glowing red. Kitty thought its features grew more beautiful, cleaner, refined, and far more advanced than any creation of the time. Upon the end of the doll’s morbid metamorphosis, its eyes slowly faded back to normal.

    Within seconds, the jackal fell dead in the flames.

    Suddenly, Kitty broke away from her mother and ran forward.

    Maze screamed for her to come back, fearing the church would believe her daughter to be in league with the beast.

    Kitty snatched the doll off the ground just before her mother caught her and pulled her away, kicking and screaming. Kitty glanced over her shoulder at the doll dragged along behind her, and shivered at its newly formed, wicked smile.

    Author Gregory Stillingsworth, immersed in his latest novel, tapped away at his typewriter in the domain of his home office, which sat on the second floor of his glamorous house in rural Michigan. Here, in his private home-away-from-home, he found the personal comfort that encouraged his drive to push every over-stressed cell in his brain to endure hour after hour of creative work.

    Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead and poised at the tip of his nose. In the heat of his creation, he ignored the sweat. Here, in his most private moments, he needed to be alone, a solitary artist pushing his fingers to strike words onto his canvas, creating a world that, right now, existed only within his storytelling mind. Later, he would worry about the fan letters received through his agent. For now, the world belonged solely to him, and he remained, as always, jealously possessive of his creation.

    In this world of computer files and electronic transmissions, Gregory used Buford—a typewriter. This magical machine upon which he worked so diligently allowed him to do as he pleased. In this setting, at this task, he felt no less than a god.

    In his element, Gregory allowed himself to be driven by what his heart commanded: the love and affection toward his work, the passion for his characters, the admiration of places to which he might journey through his stories, and the honesty and truth that so effectively spoke through fiction. His love for his work occasionally revealed the jealous heart of a dragon, both loving and fiercely protective.

    He leaned forward and rushed toward the conclusion of another masterpiece. Words flew onto the page, and when he looked them over later, every letter would be crisp and stark against the whiteness of the paper. That was important to him. He valued paper—paper upon which no ink would smear, no matter how many times he shuffled through to admire a phrase here, a sentence there, or a character as he or she evolved through the pages. Quality was of the essence, and Gregory would work with no less.

    He pulled the sheet out of the typewriter and checked it carefully, praying there were no errors, however minor. No pages would leave his hands until he’d corrected all errors. Only then would he place his John Hancock upon the delivery form. This paper, so insignificant without the words that currently raced across the page, represented Gregory’s livelihood in an astronomical manner. He obsessively checked and rechecked the type to be sure not a single flaw marred the snowy perfection of the stock and the crisp blackness of his words.

    Finished with the page, he sat back a moment and wiped the sweat from his nose. He patted Buford—beaten and scarred by years of use—fondly. People sometimes asked him why he still cranked out his words on a typewriter after becoming a grossly successful author of seventy-three books. Certainly, he had money to spare, but give up Buford? Unthinkable.

    He took a short break, and noticed the stack of dusty old journals sitting on a lower shelf. He walked through the maze of the odds-and-ends, objects he had collected over the years to trigger ideas and stories, to the shelf, and picked up the last hand-written journal. He sat down on a creaky antique chair and leafed through the pages.

    Diary Entry #465

    As I write, my whispery gabble leads the pencil in my hand as the motoring muscles that rope around my carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges, which draw their strength from the brachioradialis, forearm flexors, and the brachialis, struggle to keep up with my thoughts. This race is forever humorous. I feel a burning sensation as my fingers grip the pencil with zeal.

    I drown myself in my thoughts regularly, for my thoughts hum through me like the soothing sounds of the bulbul.

    The smell of crushed lead bleeds from the number-two pencil as my hand grasps it, guided by my angelic, developing literary mind. Its remnants glide upon the unorthodox—medieval by comparison—recycled paper within my diary, affectionately known as my morbid book. Writing seems to come easily for me. I’m what some would call a thinker—a heavy one at that—as labeled by my parents. But let’s not talk of my relations and their forever harsh opinions of me. Thoughts and story ideas seem to bounce through my mind like cotton balls, dancing around within a windy tunnel. Fascinating, these thoughts—fascinating, and utterly marvelous!

    Writing is my destiny. I’m going to become a great writer. I’m going to shock the world with a story that will capture the true essence of fear and horror.

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