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Scream Fest By Forest Walker

Scream Fest





Elle sat at her desk; frustration etched across her face as she glared at the blank document on her computer screen. She had been trying to write for hours, but the words just wouldn’t come. Her butt ached from sitting in the same position for so long and her neck was stiff from hunching over her laptop. She glanced at the clock and was shocked to see that it was already past 9pm. She cursed herself for not making more progress and for promising her readers that she would have an update for them tonight. She let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, massaging her tired arms and stretching out her aching back.

But even as she prepared to shut down her laptop and call it a night, Elle couldn’t shake the feeling of impatience that had been building inside her all day. She had been so excited to sit down and finally write, but now she was feeling defeated and exhausted. She grabbed the mouse and navigated to the power options, eager to close the laptop and get some much-needed rest. As she shut off the device, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated and annoyed with herself. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring a fresh perspective and new ideas.

“I’ll just update it tomorrow,“she said weakly.

Exhausted, Elle closed her laptop and stumbled towards her bed, too tired to even wash her face before collapsing onto the soft mattress. Within moments, the sound of a woman deep in slumber filled the room.

Elle was an online fictional writer who had a small but dedicated following. Although she wasn’t the most well-known writer on the platform, her readers were always excited for her updates. Two of her works had been turned into physical books, and one was in the process of being adapted into a movie. Despite being a full-time college student with other responsibilities, Elle made time for her passion for writing. She had no plans to give it up anytime soon. It was a good thing it was Friday evening, because if it wasn’t, her classmates would have noticed the dark circles under her eyes again, a telltale sign that she had been staying up late to write.

Saturday morning arrived and Elle woke up with excitement buzzing through her veins. She had been eagerly anticipating the delivery of her new table, something she had saved up for with the money she earned from her writing. As she waited for the delivery, she decided to pass the time by opening up her writing account and starting work on a new entry. She had promised herself that she would write something today and she was determined to follow through on that promise.

As she sat at her old, cramped table, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she lost herself in her writing, a knock at the door pulled her out of her creative trance. She jumped up, her heart racing as she rushed to answer it. Could it be the delivery of her new table already? She threw open the door and sure enough, there was a delivery man standing there with a large package carried through a pushcart trolley. Elle could hardly contain her excitement as she signed for the package and helped the man carry it inside. Finally, she would have a proper workspace where she could focus on her writing without any distractions. She couldn’t wait to set it up and get to work.

“Hi there, are you Elle?” the delivery guy asked, smiling as he held out a clipboard.

“Yes, that’s me,” Elle replied, grinning back at him.

“Great, I’ve got your table here. Can you just sign a few papers for me?”

Elle eagerly signed the papers, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement as the delivery guy and his assistant brought the table inside and carried it up to her bedroom. She instructed them on the best position to place the new table, and asked them to dispose of her old table for her. As a gesture of gratitude, she gave them a generous tip before they left.

Finally, the table was all hers. She ran her hands over the smooth, cool surface, already imagining all the stories she would create at her new workspace. She couldn’t wait to get started.

Elle was thrilled to see her new table as she entered her room. It was much larger than her old table and seemed to be more comfortable. It had a professional look, like the tables usually seen in offices. The only difference seemed to be that almost the entire table was covered in wood, except for the place where the chair was placed. It seemed like one person could fit inside the area covered with wood.

She immediately placed her laptop on the new table and resumed typing her stories. She no longer experienced neck stiffness as she worked, thanks to the comfortable design of the table. She finished her update for her novel series quickly and even had time to engage with her readers.

Elle spent the entire week working on her new table, feeling productive and satisfied with her progress. But little did she know, an unexpected event was about to turn everything upside down.

Every morning, Elle eagerly opened her writing account to read the messages from her loyal followers. As a writer, she found it motivating to start her day with the support of her readers. However, one morning, she received a notification that surprised her. A fellow writer had dedicated a story to her.

At first, Elle was flattered. It wasn’t uncommon for writers to dedicate their work to one another as a sign of appreciation. But as she began to read the story, she realized that it was unlike any other dedication she had received before. It felt like a letter specifically written for her. And the contents of the story were even more unsettling. The writer had somehow managed to capture her daily habits, her writing style, and even the quirks of her new writing desk in great detail. It was as if the writer had been watching her every move.

Elle scrolled through the comments, searching for the identity of the mysterious writer. But all she found was the pseudonym. Plus, the writer referred to Elle as “the writer with the new table.” She couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching her, and the thought made her skin crawl.

But that wasn’t the end of the dedication from the mysterious writer. In fact, it seemed to only be the beginning. With each subsequent message, the writer became more and more obsessed with Elle, constantly referencing her as the “writer with the new table.” Every time she sat down to write on that table, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The messages from the writer only added to her paranoia, with claims that they would always be together and that he would never leave her side.

One night, Elle was jolted awake by the feeling that someone was in the room with her. She sat up, heart racing, and thought she heard the sound of footsteps. She fumbled for the light switch, but when she turned it on, the room was empty.

Exhausted and on edge, Elle decided to try and get some writing done. She opened her laptop and stared at the screen, willing the words to come. But as the minutes ticked by, she found herself unable to focus.

In a fit of frustration, she decided to check out the profile of the writer who had been leaving her all these strange messages. The username they used was “Watchful Eyes,” and as she clicked on it, a shiver ran down her spine. When she saw the writer’s location listed as “inside the new table,” she screamed.

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