A flash of lightning split the night sky, its jagged light igniting the pitch-black abyss with unsettling clarity. The boom of thunder that followed felt like someone had lobbed a bowling ball straight into my gut, dragging me from the depths of sleep. I shot upright, blinking against the sudden rush of reality—only, this didn’t feel like reality. Something was off.
My room, my bed, my life—all felt far away. Instead, I was surrounded by an icy darkness, every nerve in my body twitching like it knew something I didn’t. Then came the sound of rain, pelting down like a thousand tiny fists against what was definitely not my garden. A strong, metallic tang hung in the air, and for a moment, I half-expected an alien invasion.
Another crack of thunder lit up the space, and that’s when I saw them—three figures, moving with a grace so unnatural I wondered if I was still dreaming. If this was a dream, it was one hell of a vivid one. There they were, three women—no, more like temptresses, hovering between dangerous and... well, damn attractive. Each one was different, but together they moved in a hypnotic dance that had me hooked instantly.
“Well, this isn’t my usual wake-up call,” I muttered under my breath, trying to shake off the fog of sleep and something else I couldn’t quite name.The first woman, Helga, stepped forward, her body language all regal authority with a splash of what you might call “don’t-mess-with-me” mixed in. “Chris Johnson,” she purred, her voice as smooth as velvet and twice as expensive, “what a pleasure it is to have you with us tonight. We’ve heard about your book, While He Was Sleeping. Quite the page-turner... much like the way you’ve turned our heads.” Her lips curled into a smile that promised danger, and her eyes—dark, sharp, and utterly unapologetic—glinted with mischief.
“Yeah?” I cleared my throat, trying to appear composed. “Glad to know my literary efforts have such... enthusiastic fans.”
Next up, Ingrid, the second in this trio of temptresses, stepped closer. She was more ethereal than Helga, like a ghost you didn’t know whether to run from or invite over for tea. Her voice was soft but firm, laced with that haunting quality that could pull confessions out of the hardest bloke. “Your character, Maerie... she’s quite the mystery, isn’t she?” Her fingers traced along my jaw, and I’ll admit it—a shiver ran down my spine. “We’d love to know... what inspired her? There’s something about her... something that feels like... us.”
“Maerie?” I blinked, trying to keep my wits about me. “She’s... complicated. A bit like you, I guess.” I chuckled, mostly to keep my head from spinning. “She’s got layers. Keeps everyone guessing, including herself sometimes.”
Ingrid’s lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that said she already knew exactly what I was thinking—and I was probably in trouble. “Mmm... layers make things... delicious.”
I was about to quip about onions when the third woman, Rosa, strolled up. Now, Rosa had an energy to her—playful, almost teasing, like she could make you laugh while stealing your wallet. Or your heart. She smirked as her eyes—brilliant green, like a cat sizing up its prey—locked onto mine. “You know what I like, Chris?” she whispered, leaning in close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath on my skin. “A bloody… tasty… plot twist. Something that keeps you on the edge... keeps you wanting more.”
I laughed, nervous, yet oddly... intrigued? “Well, I’ve been known to write a few of those.”
“Good,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent goosebumps racing down my arms. “Because we’re dying to know... how do Robin and Ella manage Maerie’s wrath in While He Was Sleeping? She’s tearing through those bullies like a nightmare brought to life. What happens when things get too personal? When fear gets... too close?”
I swallowed hard. “It’s, uh... well, it's less about resisting temptation and more about surviving. Robin and Ella aren’t just facing some inner battle—they’re up against Maerie, a tulpa, and she’s deadly. It’s not just what haunts them from the outside... it’s what Maerie is capable of, and what’s driving her to kill and turn on them.”
The room seemed to hum with electricity as the three of them closed in, the air thick with tension that danced somewhere between sultry and dangerous. Helga, now close enough that I could smell the faint scent of lavender—of all things—leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’ve been a good sport, Chris,” she purred, her voice like warm honey drizzling down my spine. “Now, we’d hate to leave you feeling... unsatisfied.”
“Well,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken, “I’d hate for that too.”
Ingrid chuckled, a sound that felt more intimate than it should, while Rosa winked at me, her smile practically glowing in the dim light. “Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it. But next time, bring more to the table, hmm? We love a captivating story... but we love a moral challenge even more.”
Before I could respond, the lights flickered, the storm outside cracking with another deafening boom. Suddenly, the three women were gone—vanished like a puff of smoke, leaving only the scent of lavender and the lingering warmth of their presence.
I lay back in bed, heart still hammering, trying to process what just happened. I ran a hand over my throat—half expecting to find a mark there—but felt nothing. Just the thrum of adrenaline coursing through my veins and a lingering sense of... guilt? Maybe. Excitement? Hell, yeah.
As the storm settled outside, I pulled the blankets up, muttering to myself, “What a night. Gotta remember to include this in my next book...”
And with that, I let sleep take me—although, given the evening’s events, I doubted it’d be anything close to peaceful. But at least it would be interesting.
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