'BREAKDOWN!'

CHAPTER III

Standing at the coffee pot, I begin refilling my mug when a hand grabs my shoulder, causing me to drop the carafe on the floor and shatter! "Good God, man you scared the shit out of me! And made me make a mess!"
"Damn, didn't know you were going to drop it like that. I'm sorry, here I'll clean it up."
Ten minutes later, we sit at the table in the dining room.
"Daniel, I've been getting weird notes, all seemingly specifically for me. But there's never anyone found when I around. And I hear odd noises, day and night, but no clue as to what made them. Joan thinks I'm having another nervous breakdown. Me, I'm worried she might be right."
"Ah, horseshit! Look, you saw the notes, right? You heard the noises, right? Then why the 'nervous breakdown' crap? Man up! Grab your .44 magnum, and blow their ass all over the place!"
"Oh hell, don't even get me started on my gun!"
"Why? What you do, make Joan mess in her slacks? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha."
"No. I had it out yesterday, but somehow misplaced it."
"Misplaced it? How can you "misplace" a pistol that large?"
"Well...it appears I put it in the refrigerator door. But I swear I didn't... will you stop laughing at me long enough to listen? I remember laying it on the island counter and got some milk for Fuzzy, and it was gone. Joan came home and we went to bed. The next morning she cooked us breakfast, and told me where she found it."
"Wow. You don't have a poltergeist do you?"
"I'm pretty sure I don't have to call a ghost busting crew. I'm thinking that I may have a stalker."
"Stalker? Well, mister big shot author, who would be obsessed with you? No offense, man."
"Thanks, sunshine. It was just a thought. What's your opinion on this?"
"I think you might have an enemy, someone offended by your books, or maybe you slighted them at a book signing?"
"Swell." My phone interrupts us. "Hello? Hey honey, yeah everything is ok. Daniel is here and we are talking. Alright, love you too, bye."
"Old lady checking up on you, huh? Must be nice to have someone love you like that."
"You can get married. Stop hanging out at those clubs and 'dropping it like it's hot'. There's bound to be a woman who is as cray-cray as you. Try a concert."
" Hey, I've got to run Wyatt. I'm sorry I didn't help you."
"Hey, just talking helped me. Thanks for coming over." I hear his Dodge charger roar to life and zoom out of my yard. I head to my office, try and get some work done. I grab my laptop and open it. I start typing. Three hours in and I'm smoking these keys, now on ten pages. [KATHUNK KATHUNK!]
What in the world was that? I slowly get up, joints are stiff. Don't hear anything in the living room. As I go into the kitchen I hear another [KATHUNK!] Okay, that came from the basement. I crack the door a little, and just listen. Ruffling? Footsteps. I pull it all the way open and ease down the stairs. As I do I hear an odd scraping, like sandpaper on concrete. I stand on the last step, frozen in horror. Mrs. McManos, our former housekeeper... hanging by her heels... she's been gutted and skinned!! I immediately begin throwing up. Gaining my composure somewhat, I stagger up the stairs and call Joan. Thirty five minutes later and our house looks like a police station. Uniform officer's, forensics, detective's, coroner. Sitting at the table in the dining room, I nurse a cup of coffee while detective's question me, again. A few hours later Joan sits down next to me.
"How are you doing baby?"
"Me? Oh I'm just swell. Nothing a gallon of Jim Beam couldn't help."
"Oh no you don't! Hey, go in the living room and I'll bring you some lunch, okay?"
Reluctantly I agree, and flop into my recliner. Few minutes later I feel something moving against my back, between the chair and me. I lean forward and sweep behind me with my left hand and feel a fiery sting on it! I stumble to my feet and look in the seat of my chair, a snake! A long ass black mouthed one! I start to yell for Joan, but my throat allows only a whisper, then the room begins to swirl, and then blackness sets in.