Page 1 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Shhh...

No, no. Inside voice. People get uncomfortable when they catch you talking to yourself. Funny, isn't it? They never seem nearly as uncomfortable when they're lying.

The knife rested naturally in my hand, balanced perfectly against my fingers. There was a time when it had felt heavy now it felt like an extension of me.

I rolled the knife across my palm. Amazing how quickly a blade becomes an extension of your fingers. Practice, I suppose. Or repetition.

Before we begin…

We should establish a few rules. Not my rules.

Yours.

Because readers always have them. You believe stories have heroes, villains, beginnings, middles and endings. You believe the person telling the story is telling you the truth.

That…

I laughed quietly.

...is adorable.

The blade caught the light as I turned it over. Still sharp. Good. Sharp knives make cleaner work. Messy edges bother me. I like neat things. Organized. See for you it would look unorganized messy but for me it is perfectly perfect.

Understandable. Life rarely cooperates. Stories do. That's one of the reasons I love writing. Stories listen. Reality doesn't.

I made another careful cut. Much better.

You see...Stories lie. Not because they want to. Because that's their job. Authors are professional liars. We make you trust the wrong people. We convince you the monster is under the bed when it’s really standing in the doorway. Sometimes we tell you exactly what’s going to happen…and you still don’t see it coming. It’s my favourite trick. We build people who never existed. Convince you they matter. Then make you cry when they die. We're awful, really and the strange part? You keep coming back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

See? Humans are wonderfully predictable. Tell someone not to do something, and suddenly it becomes the most important thing in the world. That’s why mysteries work. Not because authors are clever .Because readers are nosy.

Present company included.

You hand us your trust before you've even learned our names. I think that's beautiful. A little reckless… But beautiful.

I gathered the smaller pieces into a neat pile. There. Much better.

Everything has a place. Everything should fit where it's supposed to. When it doesn't...Well... Sometimes you have to make it fit.

I reached for a fresh towel and wiped my hands.

Have you ever noticed that readers are detectives? You inspect every sentence. Every smile. Every pause. You're looking for clues. For foreshadowing. For the twist. You're probably doing it right now. Wondering why I'm talking about knives. Wondering what I'm cutting. Wondering if you should be concerned.

Maybe. Maybe not. That's the fun part. Curiosity is such a dangerous little thing. It starts with one harmless question. Then another. Then another. Before long...You're awake at two in the morning telling yourself,

"Just one more chapter."

Except...It never is. I leaned against the counter and looked toward the window. The night stared back. Strange isn’t it. People are terrified of being watched. Personally...

I think it's much worse when you don't realize someone's paying attention at all.

Where was I?