The bestselling author, the master of words, and the seducer of all women, awoke to the smell of smoke and a painful throb in his head. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. It was dark. Too dark. He began to feel suffocated by the darkness so he took off his sleeping mask.
"Much better," he narrated to himself. The only thing he loved more than Stephen King was the sound of his own voice. And maybe his wife. Maybe.
He staggered out of the car. Somehow, he had managed to crash it into the ditch. He knew it had been a bad idea to drive with a sleeping mask on. The hood was completely crushed and he was surprised he got away with more than a scrape on his knowledge-filled head.
"Thank goodness I didn't ruin my face," he said aloud.
He walked around the totalled car, trying to think of what was missing.
"Let's see, I have me...I have my flashlight, my mirror, my autobiography..." he clutched his head with his hands, frustrated. "What's missing?"
He peered into his dark mirror, tilting it around. There wasn't a lot of room to see himself because he had a picture of Stephen King tucked into the frame. He looked at the mirror every time he had writer's block.
How he loved Stephen King. He had once made Alice dress up as him the one time they made love.
"Alice!" he exclaimed and ran up to the car window.
He peered inside, cupping his hands around his face.
"His beautiful face pressed against the cold glass of his expensive car's window which he worked hard to get," he whispered to himself. "He couldn't see his wife, Stephanie King, anywhere. She was a beautiful woman, and could almost write as well Alan. They were a perfect match and-"
Alan paused from his next bestseller. He had heard a branch snap somewhere in the forest.
"Hello?" he called out. "Steph- Alice?"
He walked quietly to the edge of the trees. He was as stealthy as possible because he knew he was a priceless artefact and didn't want to be kidnapped.
"What's this?" he asked himself and crouched down. He could see footprints through the nettles that rested on the forest floor.
"Why would she wander into the woods in the dark all by herself? She knows she has bad eyes."
Clicking on his flashlight, he began to follow the trail.
"Alan cut through the thick trees with his abs. He was as quiet as a ninja and as deadly as a tiger. He knew soon he would find his muse." He paused for a moment. "That's good."
Ever since his last masterpiece, Departure, he had been thinking of new stories to write. He was thinking it should take place in a small town in Maine like his last novel. There had been mixed reviews from critics because the story had just been a retyped Stephen King book with all the characters renamed Alan.
Nonetheless, Alan Wake had still pulled in a reasonable amount of cash. Most of it had come from being paid off to stay away from Stephen King but he would take what he could get.
Alan could hear rustling in the bushes.
"Alice?" he asked cautiously.
"Honey?" he heard her call out. "Is that you?"
"Yes!" he cried out. "Stay there, I'm coming over!"
He ran to the bushes and opened them like a curtain. He gasped in horror.
"Alice, what happened to you?" he groaned.
Alice was sitting on the ground. Her hands and face were covered with a thick red liquid.
"Are you okay? You're bleeding!"
Alice touched the red mess around her mouth and laughed.
"This? This is from the berries I just ate."
"B-berries?" Alan stammered. "Why did you run into the woods just to eat berries? Are you crazy? You could have been hurt!"
"Well, I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't come to. I couldn't bear to wait any longer, I was starving. Besides, I need something to go with my salmon. Why are you being so strange, honey?"
"Salmon? Honey? You couldn't... bear?" Alan choked in horror. "Alice, you're a-"
But it was too late. Alice roared in anger and swiped at Alan with her cruel claws.
Alan staggered backwards and swore. "I should have known! Alice is an anagram for bear!"
Alice roared again, revealing her large pointed teeth. She began to charge.
Alan turned and ran as fast as he could, but his small human feet weren't used to the roots of the forest floor. He tripped and skidded into the ground.
"Alice, don't do this!" he pleaded, crawling backwards.
But bears don't want to reason. All they want to do is kill.
Alice tore out Alan's throat, spattering the trees with his blood.
As his successful life faded away, he could see it. A beautiful face. An angel.
"Stephen..." he gargled quietly. He reached up a weak hand to caress it, and he could feel Stephen's five-o-clock shadow.
Stephen King gently closed his mouth around Alan's hand and flew away to heaven.