While the title for this little story comes from Fatmumslim the inspiration for the story came from a book I’ve just read called ‘Miss Hargreaves’ by Frank Baker. In this novel the main character creates another by simply imagining her into being….


The clock on the wall behind Tom struck the half hour. Looking over his shoulder he could hardly believe it was already one thirty in the morning. He had been sitting at his laptop for the last five hours with no break creating the next chapter for his latest novel.

Tom looked through the small window over by the bookcase. He could see that it was still raining heavily. He could hear that the wind was still howling down the drive and could see the old sycamore tree thrashing around in the wind, occasionally banging its branches against the side of the house.

Checking the clock one more time he decided that he would stop writing and go to bed as soon as he had edited the last couple of pages.

Scrolling back through his words a little he started to read back his words:

Manel was probably the most dangerous person Anna had ever met but somehow that made him even more exciting. Anna had already turned in for the night some hours back. she was snuggled under the duvet reading while she waited for Manel to return from whatever dastardly errand he had been on that night. Every now and then Anna heard a noise and thought it might be him coming back, but each time so far it had simply turned out to be the house settling or the sounds of the storm raging outside.

Editing some of his words to increase the drama Tom looked out at the storm well aware that it had been the inspiration for the one engulfing Anna’s house in his story. Like Anna, he too had heard the occasional creak on the stairs and other sounds of movement in his house, but unlike Anna he wasn’t expecting anyone home that night.

Tom returned to his editing:

Anna had met Manel in a bar just a short two weeks before. His dark brooding looks, especially his deepset dark eyes, had attracted her from her first glance. The tattoos that showed above his collar and on his hands and wrists might have put some off. To Anna they were additional attractions. Even the slight scar on Manel’s chin made him all the more alluring to Anna.

In his mind’s eye Tom could picture Manel well. He almost felt as if he knew the man was real and was sure he knew the bar that the two had met in.

Anna took Manel home after their first encounter for a night of rough and tense sex. She had enjoyed the pain that Manel had carefully inflicted and had encouraged him with low moans, at least to start with. She had ended up crying out with pleasure as she climaxed again and again under his rough touch.

Over the following days Manel had gone out every evening, returning late. Sometimes he carried a leather holdall with him and even when he didn’t Anna was sure she could make out the outline of a firearm under his jacket. One night as he undressed he unstrapped a hunting knife from a holster on his ankle, smiling all the while at Anna as he did so. Not once did Anna question where he went or what he did while he was out. She realised he lived on the wild side of life and needed no details, what  she wanted him for was what he gave her; unbridled passion and incredible sex. 

Tom sat back from the laptop and smiled. He enjoyed his art and how he created characters out of thin air. He especially liked the evil and bad ones. “Manel,” he said aloud to the screen of the laptop, “You are one mean bastard, aren’t you?”

Behind him in the empty room he was sure he had heard a reply: “You’d better believe it,” the gravelly voice had said.

Tom turned round as the glare from a lightning bolt filled the room. Of course there was nothing there.

“You silly old sod,” he chided himself as he turned back to the laptop.

About to continue editing his story he touched his fingers to the keyboard. At exactly the same moment he felt a calloused hand on his neck. In the reflective surface of the laptop screen he saw a face he recognised, a face he had created. Had he been able he would have screamed, but it was too late for all of that.

16 -create



Filed under Adult, Contemporary, Thriller/Mystery

2 responses to “Create

  1. Michelle

    Oo wow, very nice, love the way this is written

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