Thanks to my dad, a short story contest was brought to my attention and for the sake of getting better at writing, I thought I would give it a shot.  The rules are simply that it must be under 600 words and being with the line "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and end with the line "Nothing was ever the same again after that." So here is my story:

Elisabeth Writes  by Megan Dinan

    “Some people swore that the house was haunted.” Elisabeth had typed that line at least fifty times.  Her fingers ached and that one spot near her left shoulder blade twinged in pain, a sure sign she had been sitting at the computer for too long.  She wasn’t really sure why she felt the need to backspace and re-type the opener repeatedly; her best guess was that the lingering feeling of using one story’s line for another somehow haunted her.  Even if a story never quite materialized, it seemed inappropriate to force one body’s complete thought into another soul.  It was like the whole idea of reincarnation. It unsettled her.  One personality somehow morphing into another identity seemed unjust, even more so than the concept of fire and brimstone.  She leaned back into the soft office chair, carried away in metaphorical thinking. 
    The chime of incoming mail beamed her back to reality.  A friendly reminder from herself that the deadline for the writing contest was only one week away.  She didn’t even like scary stories, and certainly appeared to be lacking in her skills to create one.  It wasn’t as if it was a required assignment, just simply a little adventure that she thought she would take, a sort of baptism in the world of writing among writers. Yet there was some urgency pulling at her to write the story, to breathe life into a memorable character- the sort of graphic and unforgettable one that becomes a reality to the obsessed author and like a husband, brings home the bacon.  Leaning into the glare of the screen she began to type at a feverish pace, it was one of those moments that she loved.  In an hour she would be pouring over her masterpiece, reading it as if she had never seen it before.  It was that spirit of an author visiting her grey matter, making shocking connections between the synapses, taking over her body to the point that she was unaware of what she was writing.  That was her gift, and she could barely take credit for it. 
    The click of the keys was the soundtrack, making every line more meaningful.  Hopefully her readers would hear the music in their heads as they mouthed over the prose falling across the page.  It was with each pause that she would second guess herself, a moment of silence when she would wonder, for an instant, if the audience could taste her imagery, feel her metaphors, or see her irony.  She took a deep breath and moved into the climax, back tense, fingers rigid, breathing heavily as each word was carefully chosen to emanate maximum emotion.  Finally she went limp, like the athlete collapsing after a victorious run- a heap of pride, exhaustion, and amazement at the feat accomplished. This was a story, a tale of deep mystery, unrequited love, other-worldly experiences, agonizing fear and a complex plot. This attempt at being born into that enigmatic world of writing was more than being born, it was a grand entrance and Elisabeth was crowned queen!  Lifting her glazed eyes up to the throbbing stare of the screen she realized she had been asleep.  The precise computer clock read 1:00 AM.  Even though it was a dream, she knew that somehow she had changed. Something within her had become a writer.  Nothing was ever the same again after that.