"What's that?" His words excited you once more, smothering the ache in your hand as if with a pillow, suffocating the pain until it subsided enough to be forgotten about.

"Me."

"Pardon?"

"I want to give you more than just some tips on writing horror, I want to give you me."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to," he said, standing. "Coffee?"

You nodded, deciding to just go with his flow. The river was nearing the sea, an ocean of opportunity you couldn't wait to swim in. Whatever he might offer, you were already sure you'd accept. He made a drink for each of you, then settled back in his chair. For a long moment, he stared at you. No, not at you, through you. He was thinking. Wondering. Perhaps debating with himself. Then he pushed himself up, his back straight, purpose in his eyes.

"You can't tell anyone what I'm going to tell you or show you."

"I know that. I won't."

"No, I mean you can't. You'll be unable to."

"What do you mean? I said I won't."

"You've agreed of your own volition and signed in blood. It prevents you from speaking about this until the time comes."

"Time for what? I don't understand."

"I know. Listen and you will. You may not like it, but think about it and I'm sure you'll get used to it. Too late now, anyway."

"I..."

"Listen, I said."

You shut your mouth. You doubted any such silly ritual would stop you from saying anything you wanted to, but chose to humour him. Your opinion of the King was changing. He was becoming more of a jester.

"You get ten years," he said. You almost ask what for but let him continue. "A decade of living the life as the Master of Horror. You write his stories, have his money, fame and family. And more. This isn't just a job, writing such works. There are doorways. Powers. I can't really tell you what they are as it's different for each of us, but it's all yours now."

"Powers? What do you mean? Each of whom?"

"Us," he said. "The Kings."

He pauses, waiting for it to sink in. Waiting for a light to ignite in your mind, but the electricity is out in the storm of bewilderment.

"Stephen King doesn't exist," he said. His voice was hushed, a reverant tone subduing him. "Or rather, he does - we do - but there's been more than one." He leaned forward and rested his hand on yours. "I'm the fourth."

"The fourth? Fourth what? What are you on about?" You try to stand, but can't.

"I'm the fourth Stephen King," he said. "And now you'll be the fifth."

You shook your head. This was madness. Again, you try to stand but your legs refuse to move. Your hands won't let you push yourself up.

"I told you," he continued. "You've agreed so you need to just listen and accept. OK?"

You nod. What else can you do?

"Good." He relaxes again. If only you could. "You'll become me. Become the 'King.' You'll inherit the mantle of horror but you must know, it's horror in a truer sense than you ever thought. Than I ever thought. But it's worth it. Oh, is it worth it! Now. I will show you where the ideas come from. I'll show you how to create something the world will love. Then, it's all yours. OK?"

That was the thing. The bait. The hook to draw you in and ensure you didn't escape. Even more so, you wouldn't just be like him, you'd be him! It was too much. Too perfect. It all sounded crazy but the evidence was already there by the fact you couldn't move. If you wanted to escape, you couldn't. So why not accept it and do as he asked? Go far beyond what was originally planned? Far beyond what you could have dreamed?

A nod. Confident and definite. The details didn't matter. The end result did. I'd do anything for that.

"Let's go," he said, standing.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going for a drive."

You followed him out and climbed in the car. Why would you need to drive anywhere? Maybe he had a cabin somewhere, or a lock-up filled with notebooks he'd jotted fragments in over the years and now and again would pick one to create a masterpiece. The thrill kicked your heartbeat up a notch, a pedal-to-the-metal of your chest. You were tapping on your thighs without realising and humming along with the nameless tune.

About twenty minutes into the drive, a meandering course which seemed to be going nowhere, Stephen nudged you with his elbow.

"Ready?"

"What for?"

"The first idea! It's coming!"

"The first...?"

A scream. A swerve. A thud. Blood and... something else... splattering the windscreen as the brakes were slammed on, you slammed forward, the seatbelt locked and whatever you'd hit bounced off the bonnet.

"What? What happened? What did you do?"

"Me? We, my friend. We." He was smiling broadly. "We just gave you the dog's bananas of ideas!"

"What?" You struggled to release the seatbelt and felt out of the car. You pulled yourself up by the door and watched Stephen calmly get out his side. "You're insane!"

"Not at all. I told you, you might not like what I have to show you, but you agreed and now you've no choice."

His smile was manic, jubilant, a lottery winning grin which turned my stomach as you looked away from him at the front of the car. There was a crack in the windscreen as if a large stone had hit it with force, except stones didn't bleed. Stones had no other fluids to mix with the blood and to create a gooey mess of Pollock-like art. On the road, a few feet away, was the crumpled body of a man. An arm was bent at an absurd angle. The head was twisted, looking away whilst the body faced me. You couldn't see the damage done to the front of the head, but you could guess. Part of it was still attached to the glass. You wanted to vomit. You needed to puke. But you couldn't. You knew you should, but the urge wasn't there. It was as if your mind cried out at the obscenity before you but the rest of you was fine with it. It was normal. It was... expected.

"Anything?"

You stared at him. He was crazy. He'd deliberately hit the man! Killed him! It was no accident, it was planned!

"What?"

"You keep saying that," he said. "If you want to be me, you need to widen your vocabulary."

"But you..."

"We!"

"Not we! YOU!"

"Look, you need to take a breath. You need to understand. You agreed to this."

"I didn't agree to anything like this!"