On my Facebook writer’s group, we will occasionally get writing prompts. I was intrigued by the below prompt and wrote a quick response. Let me know what you think.
Prompt – You’re sitting at home one night when suddenly there is a frantic knocking at your door. When you open it, you see your main character standing in the doorway. Why is he/she/it there, what do they want?
The doorbell rang, and I checked the camera. Nobody there. Then the pounding started.
Who could it be? I peeked through the peephole and saw him. Six feet even, frosted hair, slim build, with some kind of messenger bag over his shoulder.
Why hadn’t he shown up on the camera? Never mind, maybe a delivery guy. He looked harmless. I opened the door to ask what he wanted.
He walked past me as if he owned the place. I grabbed the strap of the bag over his shoulder and shuddered at the touch of something unearthly. It felt like warm leather, but had it squirmed under my touch? I jerked my hand away.
“Who the hell are you?”
“It’s me, Scott Freeman,” he said.
I stared at him. I had only sold a few copies of that Urban Fantasy series. But it looked like I had a deranged fan. He didn’t look much like the Scott in my imagination. Why couldn’t my first stalker have been a cute girl cosplaying as a kitsune?
“Whoa, buddy,” I said. “I’m glad you’re a fan, but I think you should leave. Maybe we can meet for a beer somewhere.” Somewhere far away, with lots of people, maybe a police box nearby.
“No, you idiot!” he said. “It’s really me. Look, I can prove it.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a big goddam knife, more like a sword. I heard that ringing sound steel makes as it scrapes against metal.
Damn, a psycho with a sword in my home. Too much excitement for a part-time author.
My back was to the door, ready to push back and run. But he looked fit; he could probably run me down and run me through.
At the look on my face, he slid the sword back into the bag. It must have been one of those theater swords that collapsed because it was much too long to fit in the bag.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, although you have made my life hell these last few years. I’m here to warn you about bleedover from my world.”
“Yes,” he said, “it’s when the magical universe impinges on your gray world.”
“Quit repeating,” he said. “That’s what we call worlds without magic.” He looked around and shuddered. “The color of magic is missing in your world. Your damn imagination has caused a bleedover of magic from our world to yours.”
“But I like magic,” I said. “This world could use a little magic.”
“No, you idiot,” he said. Now, who was repeating? “Your world was safe until you wrote those books. Now magic is coming.”
“So,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get a kitsune girlfriend.”
He looked at my middle-aged paunch and sneered. I should have made him a little nicer. I shook as I realized I had started to believe him.
“Who do you think will come through first?” he asked. “The cute yokai, or the monsters?”