Ink Slinger

By Hope Walker

Ink Slinger definition: slang. n.
A professional writer, or one who edits/proofreads for professional writers.

Anna has aspirations to one day become a writer. Her dream takes a step toward reality when she has the opportunity to edit a book for one of her new favorite authors. But she gets a slow start on it when she notices similarities in the book she's editing, and the suspicious events that begin plaguing her at home, including a strange neighbor that is meandering around, a lost little boy she finds, and a story that is making her think she's going crazy.

The only way to solve the mystery is for Anna to continue editing the story in hopes to find the key to unlock the nightmare unfolding around her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hope Walker
• Release date: Dec 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301816651

Hope Walker

About the Author Hope Walker, a stay at home mother, resides in Washington State with her husband and daughter. When she’s not writing, she’s taking care of animals on their small farm located in Snohomish County. She enjoys watching chickens and ducks on their farm run and play. There’s something funny about watching flightless birds run. Busily involved with her daughter’s activities with school, sports and Girl Scouts, she is learning to pencil time in for herself by taking up running, and now putting her love of suspense, with just a taste of erotica, out there for others to enjoy. She hopes her first stories will just be the beginning of her childhood dream of becoming your favorite author.

Book preview

As I watch my daughter and her friend climb the steps of the school bus, I wave goodbye to them, shivering as the chill of the crisp morning air pierces my sweater. I wrap my arms around my chest and begin the long walk back to the house. The gravel in the driveway, mostly hidden by leaves fallen from the neighbor’s trees, crunches underfoot with each step.

I call out to my dogs that always make the long walk with us to the bus stop in the morning, keeping me company so I don’t have to walk back to the house alone. Normally there are three dogs with me, but this morning only two. The other is off on an adventure in the woods.

As I approach the gate to our house, I hear the rooster crowing. I look down at Roy, my Collie, and say, Go get the chickens, Roy! Off he runs to herd the chickens. This always puts a smile on my face.

I look toward our house and see smoke flowing out of the chimney, a sure sign that summer is over and fall is officially here. Once inside, I take off my jacket, grab my iPad, and plop down onto the couch.

As I scroll through the status updates on Facebook, I see a new post from a writer whom I recently become friends with online. After reading a few of her stories, I looked her up on the social site just to tell her how much I enjoyed her work and reading about her on her bio page. I expressed how there were similarities between us. Telling her about my love of reading, and how I too wanted to be a writer.

Her new post states that she just finished another story. Excited to have a new book from her to read, I type a response to her post. If you want, I will gladly offer my service free of charge to read your story before you publish it. You know, to check for errors. Lol. Snickering to myself, amazed by my cleverness, I post the response and turn off the iPad.

While I clean up the morning mayhem of breakfast, I think of how I have nothing else to do today. Or any other day for that matter. I recall my husband telling me on numerous occasions that I need to find a hobby.

His words echo in my mind as I wipe down the counters. I don’t know how you can sit here all day long and do the same thing over and over. I’d go insane. He’d said it many times.

It’s true. I did get a little stir crazy sometimes, but I enjoy the peace and quiet of the few hours a day I got to myself. A few pleasurable hours without the giggling of little girls, my husband in and out of the house, and all the other background noise of my household. I enjoy being able to think and hear my own thoughts.

After finishing some morning chores and making a few phone calls, I sit down to take a much-needed break. My iPad beckons me to play some mindless games and, of course check Facebook for status updates.

There’s a new message in my inbox. Anticipation washes over me in hopes that it’s from my writer friend. With butterflies in my stomach, I open the message, which reads: Hey, I would love to have you go over my work. The more eyes, the better, and I only have a couple people that go over it besides myself. So I'm going to give it another pass tonight and early tomorrow, then I'll float it your way if that's okay?

Can she be serious? My heart races, and drags my mind along for the ride. I’m so excited! How many people get this chance? My childhood dream was to become a writer myself one day, so this is potentially a great opportunity for me.

Without hesitation, I eagerly begin my reply: That is more than ok! I am delighted more than you know! My old boss use to call me Eagle Eyes because I would always find errors in the books he wrote when I edited them for him! LOL.

Later, when I tell my husband about it, I’m still giddy with excitement.

I’m just in heaven right now about it! You know me and my love of writing and reading! This is such an awesome opportunity for me! I say while washing the dinner dishes. Soap is splashing out of the sink onto the counters from my lack of concentration on the chore. I’m too busy gushing about my day.

I know, but what do you get for doing it? Scott says while snooping in the fridge for something to drink.

Everything always has to be about a monetary value with him. He loves that I get to stay home and raise our daughter. Neither of us would want it any other way, but the truth is, if I could work from home, and get paid, he would be happy.

"I get to read the book for free and before anyone else gets to read it. That’s enough for me. You keep telling me I need to find a hobby. Well, I think I just did."

Yes I get that, honey, but what if she has a deadline and you can't get it done by then? It's a lot of responsibility don't ya think? He asks after closing the fridge with a can of soda in his hand.

After drying my hands, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and turn to my husband of 15 years. With a deep breath, I respond, choosing my words carefully.

This is something I want to do, something I’m excited about. Can you please just be happy for me and support me?

He sighs, knowing I’m going to do what I want to do anyway. I know you’ve always wanted to be a writer, so if it means this much to you then I’m excited for you, honey. He comes over, wraps his arms around me, and pats my back like a dog. Though my husband loves me, he’s never been good at expressing affection.

The next day, I eagerly check my email, hoping to find the story in my inbox. Sure enough, a message from her awaits me, which I quickly open like a kid on Christmas morning.

I make myself comfortable on the couch, turn off the TV, and begin reading the first chapter of the book. Much like the author’s other works, it grabs me from the start.

As I read through the story, I make notes, intent on catching every mistake I can in order to prove to both the author and myself that I can do this. I can edit. I’m good at it; it’s what I know how to do. My husband is right when he says I need something to do. As much as I enjoy my quiet time alone, I also feel empty, like there’s something I should be doing. Though I’ve only just started editing, it feels right to me.

Something – or someone – was outside, lurking in the shadows, watching Julie, the character in the story. Though she doesn’t know she’s being watched, she feels a presence after returning home from her nightly run.

As I read the part where Julie goes outside to investigate a noise, I think to myself, Why do they always have to investigate the noise? It always makes me mad when they do stupid things like that in movies and books. I mean really, it’s just a noise. Let it go.

I shake my head and continue reading, but before I finish the next sentence I hear thump, thump, CLANK! Though the sounds come from outside, they are loud enough to scare me to the point of nearly dropping my iPad.

What the hell’s that? I say aloud for my ears only, since there is nobody else in the room.

I set the iPad aside and decide to talk to my Terrier, Bella instead of myself for a change, "Great. Now I’m hearing noises coming from outside. This book has me all worked up already. I look at Bella, who cocks her head to the side as if she gets it. Well I’m not going to check on it. I’ll tell you that."

Bella looks at me from her bed next to the fireplace, waiting for me to finish the one-sided conversation so she can get back to her nap. Or perhaps waiting for me to give in and go check on the noise. Which I’m not going to do. I’m not. It would be stupid to do so. If you’re looking to get yourself killed, that’s the way to do it.

I fold my arms across my chest and stare back at Bella. Normally, she barks at any loud noises that come from outside, but she didn’t bark this time. She didn’t seem to have heard any noise at all, loud or otherwise. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.

I decide against going to the window to look outside. If it’d been something strange, Bella would’ve got up and barked.

It's just me getting all worked up over this story, I say to her as I curl back up on the couch with my iPad in hand, Nothing to get all freaked out about. It's the middle of the day anyway.

I continue to read and edit the story of Julie and her spooky haunting until it’s time to greet my daughter off the school bus.

Bella follows me out the door and down the steps. She takes off running toward the neighbor’s house that owns the tree farm. The hair on her back is standing on end and she is growling, which soon turns into non-stop barking. I keep walking down the driveway watching as she dashes into the dark wooded area of our neighbor’s property.

They own about 10 acres that are home to several types of trees. The place used to be a nursery, but is now just a forest of old trees. The woman that lived there passed away, and her son and his friends now occupy the house. They’re always out on the property cutting trees to sell as firewood. I’ve never spoken with any of them, as they don’t seem the friendly, neighborly type. Let’s just say, you won’t catch me knocking on the door asking to borrow a cup of sugar any time soon.

I continue down the driveway, listening to the leaves crackle under my feet. It’s a beautiful fall day, accentuated by the colorful trees lining the driveway. Of all the trees around our property, these are my favorites. Especially during the fall, when the leaves turn and the sun cascades down through the yellow, red, and orange leaves, turning the driveway into a picturesque canvas.

We’re lucky to have so many sunny days in a row this time of year in the Pacific Northwest. Usually by now, the forecast is always rain. It’s the only time of the year where the weatherman is right.

Bella stops barking suddenly. She must’ve realized she’s barking at nothing and will soon make her way back out of the woods. She’s not as fast as usual since she’s pregnant, so I’m not concerned that I haven’t seen or heard her yet, even after a few minutes pass. She’ll pop out at some point between here and the end of the driveway.

Thump, thump! CRASH!

My heart skips a beat and stops me in my tracks. There’s that noise again. It sounds like a tree falling, or a limb hitting another tree. I take a deep breath and smile, almost positive that it’s the same noise I heard earlier, probably the neighbors cutting some more trees.

I laugh at the thought of Julie going to investigate it. I’d never be that silly. There’s always a reasonable explanation for noises when you live out in the country. I don’t feel the need to check it out.

Both my laughter and safe feeling are gone suddenly, replaced with heart-pounding anxiety. Where’s Bella? She still hasn’t made her way out of the woods. If that really was a falling tree, could it have hit her? She can’t run very