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The Power of the Pen

John Palmer's publisher Rupert had telephoned to say the manuscript would have to be in his office in Reading by noon on the 14th June, or else no deal.
Although it was only March, John realised he would have to work constantly to meet Rupert's deadline of June. Foolishly he'd been very lax with his writing through having wild nights out with his friends. Writing was the last thing he could devote himself to when coming home tired and worse for wear with drink. The bouts of drinking would carry on into the following days with perpetual hangovers and the shakes. However, neither he nor Rupert could possibly have foreseen the unbelievable events lying in wait for them which would dramatically change their lives forever.

John already had the outline of the story and his characters, a riveting beginning, middle, and an end, but now it required the fill in, the hardest part. Today he was very pleased with himself as the first chapter of this latest novel, which he was calling The Power of the Pen, was completed in readiness for editing. There were five more chapters to finish by June giving him just three months. In the past he had written in excess of five thousand words a day, which by his standards was a lot. Since he envisaged this latest book was to be approximately one hundred and fifty thousand words, he gauged it would take him roughly a month to complete if he kept up the pace of five thousand words each day. Then in all likelihood up to another month to put it into proper English, along with another couple of weeks for final editing, which in all would just about meet the deadline
He looked at the clock and noticed it was approaching midnight. He was feeling very tired from a full day of writing, so having just finished a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits he made his way to his bedroom opposite his study and crawled into bed. Lying there, he couldn't sleep thinking of what Rupert had said to him. It was all right for Rupert he'd had life so easy being born into money. His parents had bought him his own publishing business and he had no financial problems during his life.
What the devil was that noise? John thought he could hear scratching but it seemed to have stopped.
He liked Rupert; he was his best friend, in fact, he was his only friend as the others were just drinking acquaintances. He was envious of him for many reasons. Firstly, unlike himself Rupert never put on any weight, and with his six foot frame, wispy blonde hair and

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