Laughingwolf...entries continued.

I realized that I only thought about scheduling for the whole month and actually only scheduled for the first week so...

That being said, I will be posting the rest of the entries I received for the October scary story contest.

Here is laughingwolf's:

Bummer...

Davis finished the last of his re-writes at 10:38 on new year's eve night, saved it all, ensured a backup was performed by the computer, printed off a paper copy, then burned it to a disk, as further protection. After all, he'd spent the last three years on this tome and wanted nothing to happen to his words like what had to his last effort, more than half lost due to a hardware hiccup.
His first two books had not made the best seller list, but sold well enough for his agent to encourage him to do better, and so he sweated over a 100-thousand word tale which he finally edited and painstakingly polished down to 85 thousand. The agent was duly impressed and said it was his best to date.

He locked his office door behind him, the disk safely tucked into the breast pocket of his leather car coat, bid a happy new year to Williams at the security desk, and dragged his weary bones to the local club where he hoped to grab a couple of beers, a Delmonico steak sandwich with raw Vidalia onion rings, Caesar salad and a plate of gravy-slathered golden fries.

It was nearing midnight, and he was sopping up the last of the gravy with part of a potato when a waiter brought him a neat glass of four fingers of single malt, complements of someone unknown to either. He took a test sip, found it acceptable and tossed the rest back with a flourish, feeling the Scots whisky immediately warm his innards.

Moments later he realized he was the victim of a mickey finn, but it was too late to do anything about it, and he slid to the floor of the booth.

When he came to a minute or so later, he was helped to his seat by the concerned bartender, apologizing profusely the whole time and assuring him the drugged drink had not come from the bar.

Davis rubbed the bruise on his head with still-numb fingers, wondering why he`d been drugged once a quick check of his back pocket proved his wallet was still there. But upon patting his coat pocket discovered the disk was gone... who could possibly know it was there, and what good would an unpublished novel do anyone? Especially since he had the original on his computer hard drive, and a printed copy in his desk drawer.

Still in a fog, he ordered strong black coffee in hopes of clearing his head for the drive home.
The countdown for the new year hit zero while he was sitting there, and he barely made out the wish painted on the bottoms of some nubile maids prancing on the small stage, and grinned to himself as he saw it.

The girls put on quite the show for the patrons, and an hour later he felt ready to drive home. He put his bill on a charge card and went out to his car in the lot behind the club.
To his amazement it seemed one of the dancers was waiting for him there, and felt the gods were smiling on him again, and his night would end joyfully.

As he closed the distance between them, she suddenly turned around, screamed... and beat him senseless with a baseball bat.
~ copyright 2010