Amanda stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen. The file sat there, heavy and waiting, as if it knew what she was about to do. Her hands shook, not from excitement, but from fear. For weeks she had battled with herself, delete it, keep it, send it. The Maw whispered in the corners of her apartment, promising her both release and ruin.
Amanda stared at the glowing screen. The manuscript was finished.
At least, it looked finished. Pages of dark words, bleeding with emotions she could no longer control. She read a few lines and felt her stomach twist, the words didn't sound like hers anymore. The words carried a strange weight, as if someone else had written them through her hands.
Mr. Keller was not an easy man to impress. As Amanda's long-time publisher, he had seen all kinds of manuscripts, thrillers, romances, even failed horror stories that tried too hard.
She gave it her all, so he shouldn't have an issue.
Finally, with a breath that trembled like breaking glass, she attached the manuscript to an email addressed to Mr. Keller, her publisher. Her message was short:
"Here is the manuscript. Read at your own risk."
The moment she pressed send, a weight lifted from her chest, but another settled deeper in her stomach. Amanda felt a drop in the air, like a room losing its oxygen. Her chest grew heavy. It was no longer just hers. Now the Maw belonged to someone else.
Mr. Keller received the email late that night. His office was a dim pool of yellow light, the city skyline stretching black and endless outside his window. He was a man who lived on risk, who saw books not as works of arts but as weapons of profit. When Amanda's manuscript appeared in his inbox, he smirked.
Amanda had always been fragile and emotionally weak. But fragile writers sometimes made the best sellers.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, sat back, and opened the file.
The first page gripped him immediately. The sentences felt raw, almost wet, as if they had been carved directly out of some hidden wound, as if the pages weren't just telling a story but whispering something underneath. He read one line, then another, and soon found himself leaning closer to the screen. The words felt different. Alive. Each sentence seemed to pull him deeper. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The whiskey grew warm and untouched.
By midnight, he paused, rubbing his temples. His office clock said three in the morning. He blinked. Had he been reading for that long?
Keller closed the file with a shiver running down his spine. He told himself it was just the late hour, just Amanda finally hitting her stride as a writer. But the unease didn't leave.
He shook it off with a laugh. Good writing does that. "Unease creeps in when the story hits."
But deep down, something bothered him. The story wasn't just engaging, it was consuming. He felt watched, as though something in the manuscript had leaned out of the words and into the room.
Still, the businessman in him smiled. This could be big. Dark, catchy and unnerving, exactly what the market wants and needs.
The world loved real horror, and this was it.
Which meant more fame to Amanda's name, and more money in his bank account.
By morning, his decision was made. He sent it out to be printed and also published online.
Hours later. The first copy of the "THE MAW" dropped on his table.
"This," he muttered to himself, tapping the printed pages, "is the one. Amanda had finally written something that will shake people."
The next morning.
Amanda sat in her apartment, staring at her phone. She expected a reply, maybe praise, maybe edits. But the silence stretched.
Then the phone rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. Mr Keller ID appeared on the screen, she swiped, placing the phone on her ear.
His voice sharp and loud with excitement.
"Brilliant," he said, "Amanda, this is the one. This book will change your career."
"Your name will be all over the place by the time this is published"
"Are you sure it's good?" she asked softly.
"Good?" Keller almost laughed. "Amanda, this is the best work you've ever given me. Dark, raw, terrifying, exactly what the market needs right now. Readers will eat this up."
Amanda's heart sank instead of celebrating. "You read it all?" she whispered.
"Yes! Front to back. I couldn't stop."
"You weren't supposed to," she said, voice small. "It's not to be published."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
She was quiet for a long moment before whispering, "It's not just a story, Mr. Keller."
Keller chuckled. "Writers always think that when they've made something powerful. Listen, Amanda, this will sell itself. People will talk about this book like it's alive."
Amanda shivered at the word. Alive. That was exactly the problem.
"Keller," she whispered, "it is alive. You don't understand. Once people read it, it doesn't leave them. It crawls inside. It stays."
He brushed off her warning with the ease of a man who had coached thousands of nervous authors before her. "That's what makes it good. Don't worry, Amanda. Leave the rest to me."
"it has been sent to the publishing agency, soon it will be distributed in the market. "
"Money, Amanda, Money, I'll be in money and you will be in fame."
Amanda quickly changed the subject, muttering something about deadlines. Keller didn't press. The line broke, ending the call abruptly.
" Writers always had their strange moods." he said.
Within weeks, Keller pushed the book through the fastest publishing track his company had.
He insisted on minimal edits, refusing to let anyone touch the text.
"Don't change a word," he barked at his editors. "This book isn't like the others. It needs to stay pure."
Some staff muttered about headaches, nightmares, or chills while working with the file. One proofreader even asked to be reassigned. Keller dismissed it as overreaction. "It's just a story. And it's going to make us rich."
But Amanda knew better. Every time she tried to sleep, she heard scratching on the walls, whispers in the dark. She had given the Maw away, but the Maw had not left her.