Whithin the wals

The furious scribblings of an aspiring writer can be heard throughout the almost vacant library. A lone entity, in a blissful state of ink to paper, processes a masterpiece. James was dying to finalize his thought, but he could not wrap his consciousness around the perfect ending for his story. Frustratingly, he threw his utensil to the ground - happy in the thought that no one was around to see his embarrassing reaction to a seemingly trivial predicament. He had been working on the tale for months now trying to perfect his creation, but he did not care about temporal matters. He only wanted to be proud of his accomplishment - to be content in his first effort at an original writing. He laughed at the silly thought of just never finishing his work; that he would be doomed to endlessly staring at his incomplete narrative. Earlier in life, James was often shunned for his interest in writing. He was labeled as an outcast for dabbling in the arts, but he cared not for the opinions of others. Now that he was in college, the notion of someone devoting their life to writing was not as ridiculous - he felt pleased in that fact. He no longer had to defend his love and he could finally focus on it. Writing, however, was harder work then he was willing to admit. Every idea was taken and written in better manner than he could ever hope to achieve. That wouldn't stop him though, he had decided long ago that he would bring forth his true passion to tangible fruit regardless of the odds against him. He had read countless books on all manner of subjects, longing to be inspired - but never held his breath when delving into a new genre. All too often, he would sigh in disapproval at his choice of material, but one category never displeased him. Horror was an emotion James felt was neglected in modern society, it was a feeling most people wanted to forget as unnecessary to the human condition. James was saddened in the thought that he could not remember a time when he was truly terrified. What annals of his mind were untapped simply because he had not experienced the full range of natural stigmas? The question depressed James. He wanted to live these sensations and found much solace in the solution to his problem. Reading. By reading, James could react to scenarios he could never truly experience - he adjudicated that horror was the only genus of writings that would satisfy his emotional cravings. Stories of ancient artifacts, of evil entities, of rituals and murders all circled his dorm-room, but his favorite story dealt with a demon-like persona named Yendismai who prevents a scientist from discovering hidden truths about the universe. James enjoyed this particular read wholly because it made him feel like there was more to the world than just reality. These books transported him to another thread on the clothe of existence and he was enthralled in the escapist mentality of submerging oneself. James jumped up in cognizance of his trailing thought. 'Damn it! I have to focus if I ever want to finish this,' he thought to himself. He picked up his favorite pen from the ground and situated his paper to begin working again. Something bothered him though. He looked around the area he was sitting remembering that he choose a corner of the library on the third floor specifically so that he would be left alone. It was dark and the eerie silence was not completely known to James until now that he was observing his surroundings. He started to sweat, but ignored his uncomfortable state in light of the fact that he needed to finish his story. He quickly dismissed any premonitions and began to... 'What are you doing here all alone?' said the friendly voice coming from the new figure sitting across from him in the once-empty chair. 'How did you get here without me noticing?' James replied, somewhat unsteadily, fearing the response. 'I guess I have alway been quiet,' said the girl with a certain charm about her. 'What is your name?' 'Sidney.' James pondered the surreal nature of what was happening. He didn't know why, but he felt sick and disturbed at th