Prompt 10: Your favourite author just passed away a few months ago. One night while reading one of their novels, you hear a knock at the door. Upon opening, you find the author standing there. 

The corridor outside was dimly lit, but Maddie could still see a tall man in black leather jacket through the peephole. He looked familiar, although she couldn't make out much detail through the plastic lens.

That was the only reason she opened the door, the familiarity. And the fact he was standing far enough away so that she could see he wasn't holding a gun or chain cutters. You could never be too careful in this city.

Maddie unlocked the two deadbolts and opened the door, the security chain stretching to its full length with a metallic snap.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Madeline Shaw?" the man said in a pleasant Scottish burr that spoke of wild-running streams and whisky bottles. "Danny Gordon."

Maddie stared. Then her mouth opened and shut a few times before she choked out "Impossible, you're..."

"Dead. Yes, unfortunately." The man shut his eyes and nodded in sad agreement. "May I come in? I've got a message for you."

Maddie didn't move. It had to be a joke. It couldn't be Danny Gordon. Not THE Danny Gordon. But there he was. Same silvery hair, same fleshy nose, same twinkling green eyes she'd seen in magazines and book blogs for years.

Then it clicked.

"You're some kind of celebrity double, right? My friends hired you to come here and sing or something?"

"Sorry to disappoint, no. I don't know your friends, Miss Shaw, but I do know you. You're a fan of my work. In fact, you're rereading one of my more minor successes at the moment, I believe?"

Immediately, Maddie saw "Night at St. Jules" on her bedside table. The university bell tower swathed in mist and the pale light of a full moon on the shiny dark cover. It was one of her favourite novels and she had it in hardcover.

Maddie squinted. "How did you know that?"

The man shrugged. "I'm dead, remember. And we dearly departed are privy to somewhat more information than the living. As I said, I have a message for you that I can't deliver out here in the hall very well. I'm not armed, nor dangerous. And I really am that Danny Gordon. May I come in?"

Maddie made a snap decision. If it really was Danny Gordon's ghost -- which she didn't believe for a second but what other explanation was there -- and he wanted to talk to her, well, that was worth a few minutes of her time.

She stepped aside and held the door open for the man to come in. As he did, the skin on her arms tingled. A cold whoosh with an electric after burn.

"Alright, what's the message?" she asked, a frown of confusion slightly creasing her forehead.

"Right, here goes," Danny said and spread out his arms like a TV presenter. "Congratulations, Miss Madeline Shaw! You are the lucky winner of a paranormal literary experience courtesy of myself and the honourable M.R. James. If you choose to accept your prize, it will start bright and early tomorrow morning. If not, well, I'll answer any questions you have about my novels and be off." Danny shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for Maddie to say something, a huge grin on his face.

Maddie shook her head. "Wait, what? I didn't enter any contest. What are you talking about?"

"You sent me a fan letter, correct?"

Maddie had to think a moment. The frown of confusion creased her forehead even more.

"Yes, but like, eight or nine years ago."

"That was your entry to our little contest. Drawn from thousands of others."

"I still don't get it."

"Well, in truth, not a contest for you but for us. Maynard and I...we had a bet going. I lost. Debt to be paid off no more than one year after my death. Hence the drawing. Which you won and why I'm here."

Maddie tilted her head and thought for a moment, skin still strangely buzzing. It sounded crazy, but then Danny Gordon standing in her apartment was crazy. "Okay. What's this literary...thing prize?"

"Well, fan fiction, actually, is the topic. I'm to create a new story featuring a real person as the main character. And that person, chosen from all the fan mail I ever received when I was alive, is you Miss Shaw."

This couldn't be happening, Maddie thought, her head swimming lightly. Was she dreaming? Had she gone insane?

"Neither," replied Gordon with a smile, "you're just my lucky winner."

+++

The next morning there was a sharp chill in the air and grey clouds hung low over the city, obscuring the tops of skyscrapers and casting a pallor over the hundreds of thousands of people heading to work.

Under her coat, Maddie was wearing her most expensive clothes. Danny hadn't mentioned any need for stylish clothing, but if she was to be the protagonist in his story, then she wanted to look her best. She'd fussed so much with her hair and make-up that she almost missed her bus.

She had just hoofed it around the corner and onto the main street when she heard Danny's voice in her head:

Madeline raced down the city street in an attempt to beat the approaching number 47 bus to the stop. Even though she hated her job, arriving on time was a matter of honour and so she picked up speed and slid into the disorderly queue just as the bus' brakes squealed to a halt before her.

Automatically Maddie began to jog faster, reaching the bus stop at the same moment as her bus did, brakes shrieking, a cloud of black smoke puffing into the morning air. As the commuters before her boarded the bus, Maddie looked behind and around, expecting to see Danny.

She was alone.

The bus was crowded, as it was every morning. Madeline had to make due with a standing place, one hand clutching the grubby plastic strap dangling the ceiling. Her gaze drifted out of the window at the blur of passing buildings and people. She was tired. It was early, and she'd not had coffee yet.

That was true, Maddie realised with mild surprise. She looked around at the other passengers, their noses in mobile devices, papers or paperbacks. Could anybody else hear him? No, it didn't seem so. The voice, that pleasant burr, was entirely in her own head.

A creepy - but at the same time oddly exciting - feeling crawled up Maddie's spine.

Danny was narrating her actions. It wasn't that she was going to star in a Danny Gordon story, Danny was going to make HER into the story! She'd be like Aurora McKillis and Bronwyn O'Dare in "Wings of Immorality"!

But wait...what dramatic events ever happened to her? She didn't like her job, that was true. And she wasn't anything like the characters in Danny's novels she loved so much. They were intrepid, mysterious, full of action and adventure. She was a pencil pusher in charge of overseeing the company's physical inventory. Broken chairs, ordering reams of copier paper and replacing stolen pens: that was her life.

She read Danny Gordon to escape, not have her own existence mirrored back to her. What kind of prize was her old boring life?

Maddie didn't hear the voice again until she got off at her stop, picked up her morning cappuccino and headed to the tall office building where she worked.

As Madeline approached the depressing concrete silo she spent her working day in, a faint sense of foreboding reached out and placed a chilly hand on the nape of her neck. Everything was the same...no, not everything.

Maddie frowned. She didn't feel a sense of foreboding. The coffee was hot in her hand, pigeons pecked at garbage, taxis sped past, people shouted to each other or nodded in time to whatever they were listening to over their headsets. She smelled exhaust fumes and fresh, hot bread. A normal morning.

Despite herself, Maddie's pace slowed.

What if it wasn't normal?

Maddie felt the urge to reach into her purse and clasp the small pepper spray canister she always carried, but with the coffee it would have been awkward, so instead she merely reached into her coat pocket and grasped her house keys like a set of brass knuckles.

Scrutinising the other people on the sidewalk, looking left, right and over her shoulder, Maddie continued on. By the time she'd reached her place of work -- was it really a depressing concrete silo? Well, no not really -- she thought she really could feel a coldness pressing on her nape.

Entering the lobby, Madeline nodded to the security guard on duty and directed her steps towards the bank of lifts. The closer she got, the stronger the feeling of something looming just out of sight grew. She looked around cautiously, but all she could see were potted plants and abstract-splotchy paintings on the walls. The heels of her shoes clacked over the shiny stone tiling. She drank the last sip of her coffee and dropped the cup into the rubbish bin.

"Wait, no," Maddie said out loud. "I always take the stairs. I don't like elevators. And I'm not finished with my coffee yet."

She waited for Danny to respond, but the seconds ticked by in silence. The security guard behind his desk ignored her, his attention on the morning paper. She finished her cappuccino and made her way towards the door marked Stairs.

Her legs seemed to have a different idea.

They veered and walked her resolutely towards the elevators. Maddie tried to change course, but found she couldn't. It was as if her legs were on remote control, and she wasn't the one with the remote.

She came to a halt behind two men in suits waiting before the closed doors. The hand holding the empty coffee cup dropped it in the waste basket and returned to her pocket without her having given it the order to do so.

"Now, hold on! I said no elevators!"

The two men turned and looked at her for a moment, before throwing each other a glance and looking away.

Maddie felt the burn of a blush rising on her face.

They clearly thought she was crazy.

Was she? A dead author had appeared outside her door last night and since she'd left her building this morning, she'd been hearing his voice. Now her body wasn't obeying her anymore. What next?

Visions of stage hypnotists who made people cluck like chickens for the amusement of a giggling crowd flashed through her mind, followed up by memories of news reports about psychotics who heard voices ordering them to sacrifice the neighbour's cat.

She started to sweat.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

The two men got on and Maddie's legs moved her on after them, placing her against the back wall of the elevator as two other people crowded in. The doors slid closed. Maddie's pulse raced and she reached out and gripped the metal handrail.

Some years ago, she'd been in an elevator that had got stuck between two floors. It took the workmen two hours to free her and she'd been a near hysterical mess when they did.

At each floor she attempted to push her way free, but her legs wouldn't move. Only when the 6 on the display screen lit up and the elevator did its stomach-turning bounce did she seem to gain control again and was finally able to exit, only seconds away from hyperventilating.

She leaned against the wall until she could breathe normally again.

Nothing seemed amiss when she arrived on the sixth floor. The receptionist babbled into her headset and the faint murmur of conversation and click-clack of computer keyboards echoed into the corridor carpeted in industrial grey. Madeline turned left and made her way to the stock depot where she had her desk, shaking her head at her odd premonition.

Maddie stayed put. The receptionist, Laura, really was busy with a call and yes, she could hear the sounds of morning work drifting down the corridors that spread off in several directions. What was this again about a premonition? So far - other than losing control of her legs - the world was spinning normally.

Shaking her head, she turned left and made her way to the stock depot as she did every morning. This was turning out to be just plain weird.

Madeline sat alone in the dismal stock room and read through the never-changing email requests for various items in her company-internal inbox. She recognised the names of repeat requesters who always seemed to "run out" of something on the same day every fortnight (pocketing post-its again, Ted Hughes from housekeeping?), and arrogant loud-mouths who expected their request filled five minutes after they pressed 'send'. The neon-tubing over her head cast a greenish glow, making Madeline look pale and drawing dark bags under her eyes. One of the lights flickered intermittently.

Madeline looked up from the computer screen. Did the lights really make her look that awful? She rummaged in her purse, pulling out a compact and checked her face in the tiny mirror. No, she looked fine. She'd spent extra long on her looks that morning just for this...increasingly more bizarre joke.

"Look, Danny," she said, snapping closed the compact, "I didn't appreciate the coffin ride up here, okay? But seriously, could you lay off describing me as if I look like the living dead? I don't. That's just misleading. And it's not nice."

Silence. For more than two minutes.

Apparently, MCs didn't get to put in requests.

Maddie turned back to the screen filled with orders. At least that part was right:

Ted from Housekeeping had already made his typical post-it request. (Got no idea where the damned things disappear to, hahaha!!!)

Laura Schill from HR had already sent three emails wanting to know why her laser pointer hadn't been delivered yet -- was Stock too busy sitting around eating donuts, or what? (Initial request: one hour and twelve minutes ago).

Bob Cunningham in Marketing repeated his "polite" order for a state-of-the-art ergonomic desk chair, aggressively pointing out this was his fifth request. (The model he wanted cost $1,260, special order. Buy it yourself, Bob.)

Some pedant named Dave Robinson in Accounts had requested a box of staples -- even giving the serial number and colour of the stapler they went to -- and specified that they were to be delivered directly to his desk no later than 10 am.

And around twenty-five other orders in varying degrees of cordiality.

"God, I hate these people," Maddie mumbled as she got up, began collecting the ordered items and filling the delivery trolley. "Sometimes I really wish I were a character in a novel. Even Hamish Vespers never had crappy jobs like this."

+++

As Madeline pushed her trolley from department to department -- garnering little thanks and even less notice -- the bad feeling began to rise again. First in the pit of her stomach, then snaking up her back to finally tingle her scalp. Painfully.

The sensation became increasingly worse as she neared the small staff break area between Marketing and HR, where the worst schemers normally huddled together plotting. Madeline's footsteps slowed and then stopped altogether. She couldn't go on. There was something -- something terrible -- waiting for her around the next corner. Not just mean comments, something absolutely horrific. Her heart began to race.

"This is getting old, Danny," Maddie said as she pulled the trolley down an empty corridor. "Yeah, ratchet up the tension if you want, but this is the world's most boring office. What terrible, horrific thing is going to happen here, huh? Somebody going to stub their toe? A catastrophic paper jam? C'mon. A little bit of realism, please."

Maddie rounded the corner, still shaking her head from the nonsense going on in her mind, and didn't stop until she was standing directly in the middle of a large puddle of sticky red mess, staring down at her shoes.

"What the hell..."

Then she looked to the right.

The small staff room was open plan. No door blocked her view of the five bodies laying haphazardly on the white, easy-clean tile flooring, bloody gashes disfiguring blouses, work shirts, necks and faces. Mouths hung open in silent screams. Blank eyes stared at her.

Maddie backed slowly away out of the mess, abandoning the trolley with its scotch tape rolls and the still undelivered laser pointer.

911, she thought. She had to call 911 and tell them she needed an ambulance, police, possibly the canine unit. And what if the killer was still in the building? Security. She had to call security and tell them to lock down the entire floor. Maybe even the entire building.

Maddie's foot kicked something that went spinning against the far wall.

A knife. A long, sharp kitchen knife.

Madeline stared at the knife and before she could stop herself, she reached down and grasped the wooden, blood-splattered handle. Who could have done this?

"The hell I am!" Maddie cried. But just as before when she'd lost control of her legs, she couldn't stop herself bending down and taking hold of the knife handle. It was oddly warm to the touch, as if the killer had only dropped it a moment ago.

"You don't touch anything at a crime scene, everybody knows that! I'm not stupid. What are you making me do? The police are going to think I killed all these people!" She tried to drop the knife, but her hand wouldn't open.

Just then she heard laughter and the sound of approaching footsteps.

In a panic, Madeline ran, hiding herself in the nearest utility room only a few paces away. Her heart raced. Was it the killer? Were they returning for the knife she still held in her hand?

"Footprints, damn it!" she hissed as her body dragged her towards the cramped broom closet. "I've got blood all over my shoes. They'll find me!"

She'd just barely closed the door when she heard the mumble of confused voices, then a shout and a few seconds later a woman's piercing scream.

Maddie stared at the blood-wet knife still clutched in her cramped hand. "Think, Mads, think!" she whispered. Plans arranged themselves in her mind, only to rearrange as new ideas emerged. Run. Wipe down the knife and get rid of it. No, act normal. Keep calm. Leave the building. No, stay in the building.

Wipe the knife...Maddie glanced at the bottles of cleaner and paper towels on the metal shelves. With her empty hand, she reached out for one.

Cracking open the door just enough to peep out, Maddie saw the horrific scene had already drawn a crowd.

Maddie's body jerked her away from the cleaner, her hand grabbing the door knob instead of a bottle. There were now at least fifteen people in the corridor, talking, crying or just staring.

Madeline tip-toed out of her hiding place, keeping the knife well hidden against her side.

Before she even had time to mumble a protest, her body complied with the narration and slipped out of the utility room, making its way down the corridors at a brisk walk. Maddie glanced over her shoulder to see if she was leaving a trail of bloody footprints, but there was nothing on the industrial grey carpeting that showed she'd passed that way.

She could have been a ghost.

At the next crucial turn, her body moved not left to return to the stock room, but right.

"Where-"

The office spaces went by in a blur as Madeline hurried towards the exit, the knife heavy in her hand, her breathing ragged. She had to get out of the building! The killer would find her, her terrified mind reasoned. Find her and kill her to get the knife back. She had to get rid of it! On autopilot, she made her way to the lifts.

"Oh no, she isn't! Not again!" Maddie hissed. "And her mind isn't terrified. She can think perfectly clearly, thank you very much, and if she's leaving, then she's taking the stairs!"

She could think clearly, but she couldn't let go of the knife that someone had just slaughtered five employees with, and she was being moved like a doll through an increasingly horrific senario. What kind of prize was this? She should never have said yes to a ghost. She should never have been flattered at having a story written about her. What had she been thinking? This was far too serious!

When Madeline reached the lifts, there were too many people milling about -- apparently the alarm had not reached reception. She quickly changed her plan and silently opened the door marked "Stairs".

"Thank you!"

Once inside the echoing, concrete stairwell, Maddie ripped off her high heels. She didn't want to be seen or heard. Especially not by the killer.

"But I'm wearing boots, not high heels. Ow!"

The sign for the fifth floor passed by in a rush, then the one for the fourth, then the third, the second, the first, the ground floor and down into the parking area, marked with a white P in a blue square.

At least she wasn't on the elevator, Maddie thought as her legs rushed her down the steps, her boots still on. That indicated that Danny was actually listening, didn't it? Otherwise he'd have shoved her back into one of those hell coffins and had her ride down to...

"Where are we going?" she wheezed, as she passed the sign for the second floor. "The parking garage and then where?"

There was no answer. She only heard Danny's voice again as her hand hauled open the last door.

Almost out of breath, Madeline scurried down the lanes of cars keeping out of the sight of the security cameras. At the entrance, she turned left and darted down the side alley where the dumpsters were lined up against a grungy wall.

The dumpsters? That's the first place the police would look!

Maddie protested, but her body dragged her into the alley, stopping just short of the last metal dumpster.

The knife fell from her grasp, clattering onto the asphalt.

"Okay, I'm out of the building. What happens now?" she said, shaking out her hand that had begun to cramp. "The cops'll be-"

"Now I get my knife back," hissed a voice..

Maddie jumped three steps backwards as Laura Schill from HR stepped out from behind the last dumpster, deftly stooping to snatch up the knife.

"Thanks for bringing it down, stock girl. Saves me the trip. Now, where's the laser pointer I ordered?" Laura stretched out a hand towards Maddie and snapped her fingers impatiently.

"It's...it's still on the delivery cart. I was on my way to-"

"What?" Laura's shriek made Maddie step back another pace.  "Rank incompetency! I thought it was just those jackasses in Marketing with their idiotic hiring slogans. Who do they think they are? I'm the queen of HR! Nobody gets past me." Laura's eyes took on a deadly stare. "But you, stock girl! You! Give me my laser pointer this instant or you'll be next!"

"But I can't, it's upstairs!"

Laura leapt forward, the knife held high above her head, poised to slice down into Maddie's chest.

Maddie screamed and grabbed Laura's forearm, the razor sharp tip of the knife only an inch or two from her face.

The two women wrestled for control of the weapon, their grunts and groans echoing through the passage. Finally, Madeline managed to peel Laura's fingers, one by one, from the knife handle, allowing it to fall to the ground. With a forceful shove, Madeline sent her adversary toppling backwards. She plucked up the bloody knife and pointed it at the prone woman.

"Stay where you are!" Madeline cried.

"Never!" screamed Laura, who was back on her feet in an instance. She lunged forward.

Madeline steadied the knife.

With a gurgling sound, Laura sank to her knees, clutching at the knife handle protruding from her throat. Then, she toppled over and, after a few twitches, finally stilled.

Madeline was alone, the distant sounds of traffic her only companion. This was her opportunity, she suddenly realised. She would simply abandon her old life and start anew in another town where no one knew her. New job, new life. She would just walk away. She was free. Finally free.

THE END

"What..." Maddie wheezed,"...are you talking about The End?"

Laura Schill lay dead at her feet. She'd just killed a person. An insane person, but did that matter? She was the murderer of a murderer! She couldn't just run away. The police would want to talk to her. She'd possibly lose her job. And if she didn't have a job, she'd lose her apartment and if that happened...

Maddie's head began to spin.

"I quite agree with our young protagonist."

Maddie whirled around. Two men on the other side of the alley were observing her. One was Danny Gordon. The other, an older man dressed in a dark vintage suit and top hat.

"Sensationalistic, crude and over-the-top. From start to finish. Danny, you will never learn," said the older man with a sniff. "I am forever telling you that subtlety and inference is the key to the paranormal, and it is a key you regularly misplace."

"People today don't go for subtle, Maynard. They want lurid gore. You have to shock them. And you must agree, that was pretty shocking at the end."

"Shocking perhaps, but insufficiently delivered. You've penned a, what's the phrase?, an unsatisfying read?"

"Alright." Danny folded his arms over his chest. "Since this was your idea, how would you--"

"Hey!" Maddie interrupted. "Corpse over here! Security's probably called the cops already. You can't just leave me like this. What happens now?"

The older man smiled. "Quite right, my dear.  If you'll resume your place, we'll have this story brought to a proper finish. Now Danny, pay attention and learn."

Instantly, Maddie found herself standing again over a gurgling, dying Laura Schill.

Madeline gazed down in horror at what she'd done. A thin, pale hand rose to her own neck as she felt the cold steel, the waves of electricity flowing through dying nerves in her own body, just as sick, pitiable Laura was certainly feeling in hers. How could she have done such a monstrous thing? She was no better than the dying woman at her feet and deserved the same fate. She was a murderess. It was only right.

"I'm coming," Madeline whispered, reaching down to pull the knife from Laura's bloody throat and place it against her own. "Wait for me. We shall enter the shadows together."

Maddie let out a stifled gurgle as the blade sliced through her throat and felt the slam of asphalt against her left side as she hit the ground. The last thing she heard as she swirled into darkness was the old man's triumphant voice.

"And THAT is how you make a fan into fiction."

Followed by the hollow sound of one man slowly clapping. 

(This story is not only a play on the words"fan fiction", it's also fan fiction. Danny Gordon is not real, but M R James (the old man in the vintage suit) very much is.  He was a Victorian writer of ghost stories, full of subtle horror that ramped up from the mundane to the terrifying. His style is old-fashioned now, but he's still very much worth reading.)