A/N: This is my very first multi-chapter fic. Thanks to lottie122001 for the beta

Please review, comments will help me.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (except the spirit). I don't even own the title, that's from a Pink Floyd song.

The Final Cut


'It was a dark and stormy night.'

No, no, no Michael thought angrily as he deleted the words from the screen. That was just too clich├ęd. He wanted this novel to be original and fresh, not the drivel that the first sentence was turning out to be. Maybe I need a break, he thought to himself.

He stood up from the table in the small motel room and walked over to the bed. There wasn't much room for pacing about and trying to gather your thoughts. This place hardly lives up to its' name, he thought, the Sunshine Motel it ain't. It should be called something like the Hell Motel. Michael had been staying in this crappy motel room for the last two weeks; ever since his wife had thrown him out of the house.

He sighed heavily and went back to his laptop.

Then the lights started flickering.

"Great," he uttered to himself, he was becoming very annoyed at the unpredictable nature of the motel.

For the last two weeks lights had been flickering, electrical appliances had been turning themselves on and off, doors had been jamming. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. He had tried begging his wife to take him back but to no avail. She was adamant that their marriage was over. So now he was stuck here, in hell, with no money and certainly no dignity.

There was a bang.

"What the hell was that?" He said, standing abruptly and hurrying to the bathroom, where he thought the noise had come from. There was nothing there. "I must be going crazy," he murmured as he went to phone the motel manger to complain, yet again, about the poor state of his room.

Just as he turned, he thought he saw something in the mirror. When he turned to look again there was nothing there. He closed his eyes, shook his head and said "make that definitely going crazy."

The first time he heard the woman's voice, he had just woken from his sleep. He initially thought that it was part of his dream and tried to shake it off. Then he heard it again.

Michael? Can you hear me Michael?

"Who is that? Who's there?"

Michael, go to the bathroom.

Despite feeling intense fear, Michael felt drawn to the bathroom. Before he knew what he was doing he was stood in front of the mirror, staring at a woman.

In life she would have been beautiful. Her hair was long and dark and she was dressed in white. Her eyes were black and soulless. He felt drawn to her and lifted his hand to reach out and touch her. He was enthralled by the ghostly woman.

Listen to me Michael. You want to take the razor and you want to cut your wrist.

"No I don't. I want to be with Nicole. I need to be with Nicole," he replied.

But she doesn't want to be with you. She made that clear when she told you to leave. She was the best thing that ever happened to you and you ruined it. You don't deserve to live. You want to take the razor and you want to cut yourself

"I want to take the razor and I want to cut myself," he repeated as he picked up the razor and started to draw it across his left wrist. He didn't feel any pain so he repeated the action several times. He looked down at his mutilated arm and saw the blood flow freely. He didn't panic.

Now, bring the razor up to your throat and you can end it all. All the pain and anguish will be over soon. You want it to be over. You don't want to live without Nicole and she doesn't want you.

Michael didn't even flinch as he put the razor blade to his throat and drew it across his neck. The ghostly woman stared and smiled sadistically as his limp and lifeless body fell to the floor.

There. Isn't that betterShe said.