Ad Nauseam (10 page)

Panic bloomed in his gut and he raced into the kitchen, digging through the garbage frantically, trying to find the slip of paper that he wadded up hours before. It sat at the very bottom of the can, as if the importance of it had added actual weight. Micah took the note into the office and typed in the website, gasping at what came up on the screen. It wasn’t just
any
publisher and it wasn’t just
any
anthology. He immediately recognized the name as being one of the biggest horror publishers in the industry.

My story in this book would be my ticket to the fast lane!
After checking the guidelines for formatting preferences, he held his breath and clicked submit.

***

Micah spent the next few weeks writing in an attempt to take his mind off waiting for a response to his submission, but it didn’t help much. He knew that most places required at least thirty days and sometimes up to six months before they responded, but still felt himself slipping into a dark depression. He tried to tell himself it was waiting that was doing it, but knew it was the writing that caused his despair. No matter what he did to try and replicate the experience of that night, he just couldn’t do it. He had some ideas during that time, even some decent ones, but as before, they turned cold as soon as he tried to put them on paper. He was close to giving up again, when he finally got an email from the editor of the anthology.

Nothing could have prepared him for what it would say.

Not only did they like his story, they
loved
it! The email went on to say that it was the best story they had received in years and they would love to see more of his work. Maybe he had a novel length piece they could review? Micah’s heart nearly stopped when reading the editor’s opinion that he could be
the fresh voice in horror they had been seeking for a long time
. This response was an answer to his most deeply held prayers. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Micah wrote back promising the editor he would provide the synopsis for a full length novel within the next few weeks.

Then anxiety began to set in. He doubled his efforts to come up with something decent, spending all of his free time and even some afternoons at work trying to come up with an idea that would knock them out. As always, it was fruitless. All of his ideas hit a brick wall almost as soon as they popped into his head. Micah felt the pressure to come up with something great destroying him. The only thing worse than never making it at all, was the thought of making it once and never being able to do it again. He would rather die than become a one hit wonder.

He found himself checking the shadows by his apartment whenever he left, hoping to catch a glimpse of a nasty old woman in men’s loafers, but she never showed. Then, one afternoon, once his three weeks had almost lapsed and he had given up hope, Muse appeared at the deli.

She looked the same as that day on the sidewalk, maybe a little dirtier, when she sat down in the empty seat across from Micah. Being a creature of habit, he ate lunch at the same deli almost every day and was well known by the workers. The manager raised his eyebrows at Micah from behind the counter before shooting a pointed glance at the old woman. Shaking his head and winking at the man, Micah focused his attention on the hag, who smiled at him with a grotesque gleefulness.

“So you won, eh?” She reached across the table and took what was left of Micah’s sandwich, taking a noisy bite of the ham and cheese.

“Yes,” he said, glancing at the sandwich in her filthy hand and losing his appetite. “He wants a novel from me.”

Muse nodded her head and chewed, not responding. Micah waited, but still she said nothing, obviously enjoying
his
lunch. Micah looked at her, feeling disgusted and more than a little afraid
.

“Well?” he asked, tired of waiting for her to respond. “Can you do it again?”

“Uh huh.” Muse caught his eyes with a level stare, popping the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth and swallowing before she continued. “But this time it’s gonna cost you.”

Micah had suspected as much, considering her parting words to him the last time they met.

“How much?” he asked, his tone business-like, as if they were discussing a housekeeping job rather than magic. The whole thing was crazy, but he knew that in some insane way,
she
had caused him to write the last story.

Muse waved her hand dismissively in his face. “I don’t want your money.”

“What
do
you want?”

“Call your boss and take the rest of the afternoon off. We’re gonna take a little walk to your apartment and I’ll show ya.” With that she stood and walked out the door, not waiting for his response. Micah had already paid for his lunch, so he hurried to catch up, pulling out his cell phone and placing a call to his the office to tell his boss that he had come down with a stomach virus and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the day. His apartment was only a few blocks away from the deli and Muse walked much faster than he would’ve believed she could.

Am I really doing this? Do I really want to let this creepy bitch into my apartment?
Muse strutted up the stairs like a woman half her age, then waited expectantly in front of his door.

Who or what the hell is this woman? What if she wants sex?
Micah couldn’t imagine how he would ever be able to fulfill his end of the bargain if that was the case.

“How do you know so much about me?” Micah asked, feeling very uneasy about letting her into his home.

“You don’t wanna know, boy. Now unlock that door and let me in. We have work to do and I don’t have all day to screw around on this.”

Micah did as he was told, unlocking the door and entering in front of Muse.

She didn’t seem to have much in the way of manners, so he saw no reason that he should go out of his way to act chivalrous to the hag.

Once inside, she spent a few moments peering around, her glittering dark eyes taking in everything in at once. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, Muse pushed a pile of papers off the kitchen table and sat down on the chair.

Muttering incoherently, she wasted no time upending her bag and scattering the contents onto the table. What looked like a pile of stones rested in a heap on top. Irregularly shaped and a mixture of odd colors, the stones, Micah imagined, were probably not rocks at all but rather the faded, glossy bones of small animals.

“Are you a witch?” Micah’s voice ended in a squeak, causing color to flood his face.

“Does it matter?” Muse looked up from arranging the bones and stones, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched.

“I was just wondering how you, uh, did what you did to me.”

“I can explain it to ya, or I can do it again. Which you want?”

“I need a novel. They are expecting a novel out of me and I can’t come up with one. I was hoping—”

“I
know
what you need. Now can we get to it?” She looked impatient and he suddenly feared she might leave.

“Yes, of course.”

Muse made a show of studying the pattern of the bits and pieces on the table, scrutinizing their layout for long moments before making minor adjustments. When she was satisfied, she nodded her head once and made a horrible phlegmy noise in the back of her throat before hacking a wad of snot a high school bully would’ve been proud of onto the pile. Micah grimaced.

“Time for your contribution.”

“My
contribution?”

“I told you this one wasn’t free. Now get out your pecker, boy. Gonna need some of your spunk for it to work.”

“My
what?”
Micah stared at the hideous creature seated at his kitchen table, hoping he had heard her wrong.

“Come on! You jerk off every morning thinking about that reporter with the big tits. So just do it already!”

He stood frozen in place, his jaw slack.
How in the hell could she know that
? Muse made an impatient gesture at his crotch and Micah took a step back.

“I’m sorry. I think this was a mistake.”

“I guess so. Maybe you don’t wanna be a real writer after all.” She stood and made as if to gather her trinkets back into the bag, but Micah grabbed her wrist. She glanced sharply at him .

“I do want to be a writer. I
do.”
Unbuckling his belt and wondering if he had lost his mind, Micah pushed the flaps of his jeans aside and pulled his penis out of the slit in front of his boxers. He rubbed at himself mechanically, picturing the busty reporter while trying not to notice that the old woman’s eyes watched his every move with rapt attention. It was no good. He couldn’t masturbate with her watching.

“Oh for cripes sake!” Muse spit on her hand and grabbed his flaccid cock before he could pull away, stroking him in a rough and professional manner which left no doubt that she had done this before. To his amazement, he became hard almost immediately. As her gnarled hand gripped him in a fist and worked him relentlessly, he felt himself racing towards a ball-draining climax.

Hideous or not, she was about to get him off in a big way.

“Oh my God!” he shouted, gripping the table with both hands as he came, spurting his
spunk
upon the pile of rocks and bones in what seemed like an endless flow. Hearing a sizzling noise, he looked on in amazement as thin, blue smoke began to rise from the mess.

“God ain’t got nothing to do with this. Now breathe it in, boy! Quick, before it stops!”

Micah did as he was told, his head swimming as the sweet smoke filled his lungs. Still clutching at the table, he tried to stop the floor from racing up to meet him, but the world went black as he fell.

Waking a few hours later, Micah lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, his head aching and his cock still hanging limply out the front of his shorts. He sat up, rubbing an egg-shaped lump on the back of his head. The pile of stones on the table was gone. So was Muse.

The memory of that clawed hand jerking him off filled Micah with humiliation and he wanted to vomit, hot bile forcing its way up his throat. He walked with uncertainty towards the bathroom, intending to take a hot shower to wash away the memory, but found himself turning left into the office instead. Through no conscious effort of his own, he turned on the computer and opened a new document. Head still throbbing and stomach churning, Micah began to type.

***

“I’m getting the cue that we only have time for one more question. You, in the back. Yellow shirt.”

A shapely blonde in a tight yellow sweater stood up, smoothing her slacks over her hips nervously before speaking.

“Um, yeah. I was wondering. Your books are so great and scary. Where do you get your ideas?” She immediately sat back down, leaning forward in her seat as if she expected him to divulge the meaning of life.

Micah smiled at the woman before sweeping the entire audience with a mock serious look. This was a common question at public engagements, but it was one he enjoyed closing the night with. After a moment of silent contemplation to build the tension, (the blonde looked like she might actually fall off her chair) he spoke.

“My muse is one seriously twisted bitch, and she drives me relentlessly.” The MC thanked him and Micah nodded to the crowd before he left the stage to thunderous applause. No matter how many times he did one of these things, he still enjoyed the attention. He knew plenty of bestselling authors who hated these engagements, who resented having to make appearances for the sake of marketing and building a fan base, but not him. He loved the attention and adoration of his fans. He never became annoyed when interrupted during dinner by a fan requesting an autograph. He
deserved
the attention. He went through hell to get where he was now.

As the plane began to taxi down the runway, Micah noticed the woman across the aisle from him reading his latest book,
The Devil’s Way.
She smiled shyly at him when she caught him looking and he smiled back, giving her a little wink. Some days he felt like a fuckin rock star. But as the plane got closer to home, his jubilant mood began to sour. His thoughts strayed from the crowd earlier in the night to Muse. The circuit was almost over and a movie based on the book was due to hit the theaters in just two weeks. His publisher would be expecting an outline for his next project very soon.

Muse.

Glancing across the aisle toward the woman once more, he looked at the demonic man on the cover of the book; something about the eyes was familiar. They reminded him of Muse’s demented stare. Suddenly he wasn’t so happy to see her reading it. He wondered if she would still want to buy his books if she knew the things he did to write them. Then again, with the way the world was, it might increase their appeal.

It had been the same thing after the second book as it had been with the first. Muse disappeared and Micah foolishly told himself he wouldn’t need her help next time. He told himself he would finally figure out the formula that would allow him to churn out a bestseller on his own. Then after weeks of agonizing at the keyboard just to type a few words, she showed up. It seemed as though she could smell his
desperation.

The second book had required he take a life. It had been hard to kill the neighbor’s kitten and place its still warm body upon the stones. He liked cats and had nothing against his neighbors, but he
needed
a sequel to the first book. It was on the bestseller list for a solid twenty weeks. The publisher practically got on his knees and begged for another book.

In the long run, Micah figured, one kitten’s life wasn’t that much to give for fame and fortune, was it? But seeing that broken hearted little girl searching every afternoon after school for her lost pet had really made him feel like shit. Those teary blue eyes had ultimately made him move away. He had made enough money off the first book to buy a house in the country and the sequel was so highly anticipated it was predicted to top the charts upon release. He could certainly afford to move somewhere better, and thought maybe with a change of scenery he would find the formula to write the next novel by himself.