I could barely see a thing in the dark room. I was tied to a chair with a small beam of light hovering over my head. I had been there for almost an hour and finally the man stepped into the light. His face was covered in a mixture of dirt and sweat and his disheveled hair was sticking out in all directions. I could tell that he had not slept in many days. As the man's dark shadow loomed over me, I knew he was crazy. He mumbled something inaudible to me and walked over to a table with a typewriter on it. I watched his magic go to work and dreaded the moments about to come. This was my punishment for what I had done. I suppose I had inherited some of his madness too and the terrible crime I had committed was meerly an act out of jealousy. I was terrified of what would become of me if she was there with him for much longer, so I did what must be done; I killed her. Immediately after it had been done, I felt guilty for killing the only woman he had ever loved. And now, he and his dreadful typewriter had come back to haunt me because I, his own daughter, had killed Virginia.
Nobody would have ever expected that me, a fifteen year old girl was behind the mystery of the Author's wife's disappearance. I knew that I should have run from my father many years ago. Things would have been better that way, my father would still have the love of his life and I wouldn't be being tortured right now. I supposed I only stayed to pity him, and besides, there was nowhere left to go. I was homeschooled and I never really had any friends. He was a renowned author, until Virginia's death; after that he went insane, stayed in the house for weeks, there were even theories that he had died, that would have been great.
Maybe my life had changed for the better. If he didn't kill me, maybe he would try to be a better dad...
No that wasn't possible he had fallen off the deep end too many years ago.
All of the sudden, my thoughts were interrupted by the noise of the typewriter. The torture was about to begin. I knew what would happen if I didn't run but the rope around my wrists...
That is when I realized I still had the knife tucked into my boot, if I could just reach it. When I thought my hand could reach no further I felt the cold metal on my skin. Just when I cut through the rope, the Author turned around. I froze and hid the knife in my jacket. I would have to wait for the right time to escape but I feared the man would never turn back around. He sat down at the table and I knew I would have to go now. I stood up and bolted toward the door.
The Author let out a laugh bordering on hysterics and asked "where are you going, the fun is just about to begin?"
He started vigorously typing and I knew it was too late, the story would consume me and I would be lost forever, never to be seen again. The author had only used his magic once before and he had made me watch, now it was happening to me. I reached the door just as the invisible force clawed at my feet and legs. I gripped the door frame as tight as I could, but my sweaty hands would not provide hold for long. I would be pried from the door finger by finger. Now I couldn't see anything and I let go, slipping into the fantasy world of the Author.
