“Coffee, David?”

“No, no coffee. I’ll just sit if that’s OK.” David went and sat down in his normal booth without touching it with his hands. The city diner. What a place to search for inspiration.

He had been coming here for the past two weeks looking for a story idea or characters to build on. His publisher was begging for another story, but David saw a writer’s block looming before him and it wouldn’t go away. One of his friends suggested he look around and on places, but when he chose this place his friend said he had carried it too far. David didn’t think so. When you loved your work, sometimes you just had to sacrifice your appetite.

The waitress who worked here never found it strange that he didn’t eat or drink anything. The people did it all the time. Those who did eat usually went running out within five minutes for an emergency trip to the bathroom. David decided he would skip that experience.

All his suffering was not for nothing. There was one man who struck him as a definite candidate. Every day at 2:27 in the afternoon, a man in a long, black trench coat would stand up and rush out like he was on a mission. David always tried to see where he went, but he would disappear around the building. An hour later he would return with a satisfied look, and sit there for the rest of the day. It happened this way every day at exactly the same precise time. David was intrigued.

He glanced at the man. He was sitting alone in a corner, munching absently on a bag of chips he had carried in. David then glanced at the clock. It was 2:26, with only a couple seconds left to go, so he turned back to the man.

At 2:27 exactly, the man’s eyes began darting back and forth more of a silly, and suspiciously. A look of anxiety crossed the man’s face. Suddenly he stood, spilling chips crumbs on the floor, and in his haste he dropped the bag also. David checked the time. 2:29.

The man’s feet crunched through the mess, and David could see chips stuck to the man’s boots. His trench coat brushed across David’s arm as he rushed silently by. As soon as the man’s hand had pushed open the door, David stood casually and walked, stretching on the way out. He had been sitting for over an hour watching the guy. This had better be worth it.

Once he stepped outside, David felt the chill of the wind and shivered. Why hadn’t he brought a coat? It hadn’t seemed this cold in the morning. He saw the man’s foot disappear around the corner, and he followed slowly, trying not to attract attention from inside the diner.

When no one from inside could see him, he followed after the man, but had trouble doing so; those past weeks of sitting in the diner had taken their toll. He had always taken pride in the fact that he was in shape, and he was going to be angry if he found this wasn’t worth writing about.

The man walked through some back roads until he came to an old house. David hid behind a bush and tried to catch his breath. Before the man entered the house, he looked over his shoulder with a paranoid glance, shrugged his shoulders, and then walked inside

David was thankful that the man left the door ajar. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he felt a dull ache in his legs. The man was tall and had long legs, so when he was walking briskly, David had to jog to keep him in sight. One thing was for sure; what ever it was was urgent business to the guy. He was hesitant to follow, because the man seemed like a homicidal maniac, just from what David could tell by his clothes in his manner. But he was sparking David’s imagination and slowly eating away the writer’s block. David had a feeling that this guy was his next story.

A scream of rage erupted from one of the broken windows. For moment David’s thought maybe this guy was a murderer.

“No! No! It’s not true!”

When David heard this, he decided to go in. It sounded like someone needed help, and if it was a dangerous situation, he’d sneak back out and call the police. The curiosity was too much.

As he approached the house and climbed up the steps, he was reminded of a haunted house. When he pushed the door open it would squeak on its hinges, and as soon as he stepped inside, the door would close behind him and the ghosts could do as they pleased.

He shook the image away and pushed open the door. It did not squeak, and when he stepped inside, the door stayed open. He stood for a moment and listened. Somewhere, he could hear faint ripping sound. But it got louder and louder until he heard things being thrown against the wall and he knew exactly where it was coming from.

He walked cautiously up the stairs towards the loud noise, hoping that his foot wouldn’t fall through rotted wood on his way up. Because of this, it seemed to take forever, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the top.

To the left and straight ahead was a door. Behind it David could hear ripping and the crash as something was thrown through the window.

David threw the door open, knowing he would chicken out if he didn’t, and what he saw frightened and amused him at the same time.

The man had his back to the door and was tearing books apart one by one. And when all the pages were out, he would throw the cover at the wall or out the window. Some he would tear with his teeth and some with his hand; he looked like a hungry lion tearing apart its prey. What really bothered David was the fact that he was eating some of the pages he tore out.

He turned to David, temporarily stopping. “Would you like to help?” he asked with a strip of paper hanging out of his mouth. “I need all the help I can. These books… they tell me evil things.” The man screamed and grabbed his head. “Shut up!” he began ripping the books again.

“Hey why don’t you stop? Come with me.” David Falk this guy needed to get to a mental hospital, but it sure was going to make a great story. “I can take you somewhere safe, and the books won’t bother you.”

The man ignored him solely crept out of the house and went to one of the houses nearby. He got someone to call the police and then went back to the man who was still tearing books.

David stood and watched, even when the police came. He was marking every detail for his story. The cops said they’d take him to a mental institution. Before they handcuffed the man, he came to David and pointed along finger at his nose. He had to concentrate not to stare at it.

“You,” the man said. “You don’t believe, but just wait. When they start calling you, you’ll believe me. You will hear them.”

David stared at the two men in white coats. “I swear that’s the truth. Every word of it. You can take this jacket off me now because you’ve got the wrong guy. It was him.” He nodded his head towards the man next to him. “I’m not lying!”

“Just a few minutes ago you were pointing out that man over there. Why don’t you come with us? We have somewhere to take you.”

“It wasn’t me,” David said simply, and they took him away.