The ink pooled at the tip of his pen, trembling, poised to carve the final words onto the page. Samuel Carter wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers aching from endless nights of writing. His life’s work was nearing its end.
One final sentence.
One last line.
But as he pressed the nib to paper, something stopped him. His vision blurred. His breath turned shallow. A tightness seized his chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Samuel gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He was at his desk, a candle flickering beside him, casting restless shadows against the tall shelves stacked with his old manuscripts. The familiar scent of ink and aged paper filled his lungs. The unfinished book lay open before him, the last chapter untouched.
His pulse pounded in his ears. No... that wasn’t right.
He had been here before.
He had written this chapter.
Hadn’t he?
His fingers traced the paper, searching for the words he had poured his soul into. Nothing. The page was blank. His mind recoiled—he remembered writing it. He remembered the struggle, the final sentence just within reach—
And yet, here he was.
Again.
Samuel swallowed his rising panic and picked up the pen. He had to finish. This time, he would finish.
Hours passed. The candle melted into a pool of wax. His fingers cramped as he scrawled word after word, reconstructing the chapter he had already written a hundred times before. Every sentence pulled him closer, every paragraph tightened the noose around his reality.
Then, finally, the last words hovered before him.
Just one more stroke.
One last mark.
His hand trembled. The ink quivered at the edge of the nib.
And then—
Darkness.
Samuel gasped, his eyes snapping open.
The candle flickered beside him.
The book lay open before him.
The last chapter untouched.
His breath hitched. He looked down at his trembling hands. No. He clenched his fists. He refused to do this again.
But he had to finish the book.
Because if he didn’t, he would never escape.
His fingers curled around the pen, an unrelenting force pulling him forward. He wrote. His mind screamed at him to stop. His body begged for rest. But he pushed on, his very existence hinging on the completion of this book.
One more word.
One more line.
One more—
Darkness.
The candle flickered.
The book lay open.
The last chapter untouched.
His breath came in ragged bursts. He grabbed the pages, tearing them, throwing them to the floor. No more. But the moment his eyes blinked, the book was whole again, the chapter waiting, empty and endless.
His screams echoed in the lonely study.
Somewhere, in the shadows beyond the candlelight, something watched. Something waited.
And Samuel picked up the pen.
Because he had to finish.
Because he had no choice.
Thanks for reading this short story.
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