The Rules
665 Words
Chapter 4
Ethan didn't leave his apartment for three days.
The newspaper clipping lay on his coffee table.
The folded note sat beside it.
That was only the beginning, Ethan.
He had read those words so many times that they were burned into his memory.
His logical mind searched for an explanation.
Someone was playing a cruel prank.
That had to be it.
There was no such thing as a magical pen.
No such thing as words becoming reality.
Yet every time he tried to throw the Pen away, it returned.
He dropped it into a dumpster behind his apartment.
The next morning, it was resting neatly on his desk.
He buried it in a box beneath old clothes.
An hour later, it lay beside his laptop.
The Pen always came back.
Unable to ignore it any longer, Ethan returned to the antique shop where he had found the wooden box.
The narrow street was exactly as he remembered.
But the shop was gone.
In its place stood an empty building with dusty windows and a faded "For Rent" sign.
Confused, Ethan walked into a nearby café.
"The antique shop that used to be next door," he asked the elderly waitress. "Where did the owner move?"
She looked at him strangely.
"What antique shop?"
"The one that sold old books and strange collectibles."
The woman frowned.
"Young man, that building has been empty for nearly fifteen years."
Ethan's face turned pale.
"That's impossible."
She simply shrugged and returned to wiping the counter.
That evening, a package appeared outside Ethan's apartment.
There was no postage stamp.
No delivery address.
Only his name written in elegant black ink.
Inside was an old leather journal.
Its pages were yellow with age.
The first page read:
To the One Chosen by the Pen...
Ethan swallowed hard and continued reading.
"If this journal has found you, then the Pen has chosen another writer."
"Listen carefully."
"Everything written with the Pen becomes reality."
"The words cannot be erased."
"Every creation demands a sacrifice."
"The Pen feeds on fear, grief, and despair."
"The more it is used, the stronger it becomes."
"Never write out of anger."
"Never write for revenge."
"And above all..."
"Never allow the Pen to fall into the wrong hands."
The final sentence had been scratched out so violently that the paper had almost torn apart.
Ethan's phone buzzed.
It was Daniel.
"Ethan, where are you?"
"Home."
"I've been calling you for hours."
"My phone was on silent."
Daniel hesitated before speaking again.
"I think someone broke into my apartment."
Ethan sat upright.
"What happened?"
"I came home and every wall was covered in writing."
"What did it say?"
Daniel's breathing became shaky.
"It just kept repeating the same sentence..."
There was a long silence.
"Ethan..."
"It said..."
'The writer is running out of time.'
The call suddenly ended.
Ethan called back immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
His heart raced.
He grabbed his coat and rushed out of the apartment.
When Ethan reached Daniel's building, police cars surrounded the entrance.
Blue lights flashed against the walls.
Officers were holding back a growing crowd.
Ethan pushed his way through.
"I'm his friend! What happened?"
One officer looked at him.
"You knew Daniel Foster?"
Ethan nodded.
The officer lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"We found his apartment empty."
"There was no sign of forced entry."
"No blood."
"No struggle."
"No body."
"Just writing."
"What writing?" Ethan asked.
The officer hesitated.
"Every wall..."
"The ceiling."
"The floor."
"Even the mirrors."
"They were all covered with the same sentence."
Ethan's voice barely came out.
"What sentence?"
The officer looked at him with unease.
"It said..."
'The story has only just begun.'
Ethan felt the leather journal growing warm inside his jacket.
For the first time, he realized the horrifying truth.
The journal wasn't warning him about the Pen.
It was warning him about what was coming next.
And somewhere in the darkness...
Someone was already writing the next chapter.
End of Chapter 4
- Writer
