Mike read the ad once more while he waited through the fourth ring of the phone. He finally heard a click on the other end followed by a long pause before a man's voice drifted across the line.

"Hello?"

"Uh...I was calling in answer to your ad in the paper. If you're still looking for someone-"

"How old are you?" The man's sharp voice came directly to the point.

"Twenty-three," Mike replied.

"How many brothers, sisters or relatives do you have?"

"No brothers or sisters and I don't really know any of my so-called relatives."

"Do you have a lot of friends that come over?"

"No." Mike began to grow apprehensive about the nature of the questions being thrown at him.

"Perfect. The job's yours. I live at 4514 Junetta. Do you know where that street is?"

"I believe so."

"Good. The name on the gate is D. Briggs. Just hit the buzzer and I'll let you in." An abrupt click followed his words, then the line went dead.

As Mike hung up the phone, he glanced at the paperback novel on his coffee table-MURDERS N THE MIST by D. Briggs. He shook his head in disbelief. "No Way!"

Mike pushed the button on the intercom and waited for the large iron gate to slide open. He drove his car along the narrow path leading to the house and parked in the space near a metallic-black Ferrari. He paused a moment to pay silent homage to his new employer's taste in automobiles, then climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

Instead of a butler as he had anticipated, the infamous D. Briggs ushered him into the house in person and led him down a hallway to a cluttered office.

"I see by the look on your face you know who I am, so we can dispense with all the formalities. You may call me Doug, or D.B. if you like, but never sir or Mr. Briggs." D.B. fixed him with a hard stare. "Is that understood?"

Mike gulped in a steadying breath. "Yes, Mr. Br...I mean, Doug."

"What I need you to do is transcribe tapes I've made for my next book. I find that I can put more realism into a story if I go to a place and put myself in the mindset of a character from the book. Then I record what I as that character am feeling, thinking, seeing and doing. Some of the tapes may sound like the rantings of a madman, but that's just me getting into the feel of things. You just can't get the same kind of emotion into a story by sitting at a desk in front of a computer screen.

"That's why my novels have always been acclaimed for their vivid imagery and true-to-life details. Since you don't have any family or friends hanging around, there's no danger of some one acquiring my story for themselves if you take the tapes home to transcribe them. You are welcome to use the office here, if you'd like. If you do decide to work here, I'll be coming and going at different hours so you can let yourself in and out. I'll give you the key code to the gate. Any questions?"

Mike tilted his head to one side and shot a questioning look toward D. Briggs. "All I have to do is type whatever you have on tape and I get two dollars per page? And I can work at home or here anytime I want?"

"That's it exactly."

Mike smiled, pleased with the deal. "Then let's get started."

The numbers on his digital clock glowed 2:00am when Mike finished transcribing the first three tapes. He found himself totally caught up in the atmosphere the story created. He had even looked over his shoulder each time a settling floor board creaked or a stray tree branch thumped against a window. The way Doug had done the recordings was like listening to an actual murder being committed. The drawn out whispers giving way to strained words of aggression ending finally in breathless elation made him feel like a helpless observer to an act of unspeakable cruelty. A tremor darted up his spine followed by a chilled shiver. He shut off his computer and resigned himself to a night of uneasy sleep.

The next few weeks turned into a mixture of anticipation and confusion-anticipation of what the next tape would reveal about the story and confusion about his employer's behavior. Mike made the decision to work in Doug's office. That way he could work through the tapes at a more reasonable pace instead of taking them home a few at a time.

After a few days, Doug's strange hours captured more of his attention. Some nights Doug would come home early, his behavior distant. At other times he would arrive in the wee hours of the morning drenched in sweat and in a state of hyperactivity. Mike eventually dismissed it as normal behavior. After all, Doug had told him he'd be coming and going at odd times when he first explained the job.

Mike finished the last tape in the drawer and leaned back in his chair. There was obviously another chapter left and he was anxious to see how it would tie up the rest of the story. The book had kept him on the edge of his seat so far and he felt sure the ending wouldn't let him down.

The novel was a classic D. Briggs suspense thriller, titled THE JOURNAL OF BLOOD, about a prominent author committing a string of grizzly murders-each slaying done in a more horrific way than the one before and written into the fictional author's book as a new chapter. The storyline called for thirteen deaths. The last tape Mike had transcribed was the twelfth. It had detailed a torturous homicide involving crushing every bone in the victim's body with a hammer before finally disemboweling him in such clarity that it still sent a cold shiver down Mike's spine when he thought about it.

Mike pushed back from the desk and propped his feet up on it. The sudden jolt caused a previously hidden door at the bottom of the desk to swing open. He was about to investigate the hidden compartment when Doug entered the room.

"Here's the last tape, Mike. Once you get this done you'll be completely finished."

"I was just sitting here wondering how this book would turn out. I mean, I've enjoyed working here, but I'm so curious to see how you tie everything together. I can hardly wait to get to the end."

"I can assure you that once you've finished this tape I won't hear any complaints from you."

Mike assumed Doug would be heading out on the town to celebrate finishing his book when he left after giving him the last tape. Waiting long enough to have given Doug sufficient time to be on his way, Mike leaned forward to see what had been hidden in the newly discovered panel in the desk. He was rewarded with a large black leather bound ledger filled with hundreds of newspaper clippings.

On closer inspection, each clipping told about a murder that particularly stood out either due to its ingenious and puzzling execution or its utterly horrific brutality. The dates ranged from twenty years ago in the beginning and gradually came closer to the present as he paged through the contents. The more he read, certain details began to stand out. A cold tremor settled inside Mike and refused to go away.

No matter how hard he tried to dismiss it as coincidence, he couldn't overlook the fact that each murder corresponded in detail to those in every D. Briggs novel he had read. The novels were more detailed in their descriptions, included minor pieces of elaboration the newspapers didn't, and that bothered him even more. Mike knew for a fact the police never released the full details to the media in case some nut job tried to falsely claim responsibility for the crime. It seemed D. Briggs had too easily and vividly filled in details that were missing, in Mike's opinion.

A cold sweat broke out on Mike's forehead as he turned to the final page. There, taped to the center of the gilt-edged parchment, he found a small envelope with his name neatly handwritten on its face. He slowly stretched out one shaking hand and peeled the envelope free, then removed the small piece of folded paper inside. After a few moments of hesitation, Mike unfolded the paper and read the simple statement. If you want to know how the story ends play the tape.

His fingers began to tingle as he pressed the play button on the recorder. Doug's voice immediately broke the silence of the room.

"I pondered long and hard over how to end the perfect collection of artistically expressive and thought provoking slayings. It would have to be something both ironic and fantastically vivid. For a long time I couldn't think of anything, so I continued with the other executions trying to gain a bit of enlightenment from each of them."

Mike leaned back in his chair. The tingle in his fingers worked its way up his arms.

"Then it hit me."

The tingle spread into Mike's shoulders and drifted down his spine.

"Why not end it by ending the writer?"

The sensation now vibrated through Mike's entire body.

"But I would have to do it in a very special way. Something worthy of being called the grand finale." The room went silent except for the soft static hiss synonymous with a blank tape. Mike tried to reach for the stop button, but he couldn't move. Utter and complete panic filled him. He attempted to scream, to call out to anyone for help, but only muffled whimpers escaped from his mouth.

"Being paralyzed and utterly helpless is exquisitely horrifying a feeling, isn't it?" Doug's voice came from directly behind Mike. "The chemical I coated the envelope with should have completely spread through your body by now. Fortunately it only paralyzes your muscles. You'll still be able to fully feel and appreciate the ending you've been so anxious to get to..."

"Police are still investigating the ritualistic slaying of a local youth whose body was found at the downtown library early this morning. According to Chief Investigator Simmons, the man's bones were removed, apparently while he was still alive, and placed around him in a pattern of occult significance. They are asking for your help in the case. If you or anyone you know has any information..."

Jennifer shut off the television and picked up her overweight Blue Persian cat. "What the hell is wrong with some people?" she asked. The cat purred back softly in response, then curled up on her lap. Jennifer stroked it once, then picked up the want ads and read the one she had circled.

© 2006 Shannon Gray