Misery's Mannequin

A Story by Abishai100

A laureled American writer must wind the 'wit(s)' for consciousness-reach following a 'dark' escape from a room possessed by a super-fan with 'qualified' readings.

A 'bright' visual-rich adaptation of sorts of the 'cool' film-adaptation of that very eerie 'celebrity' story Misery (Stephen King). Thanks so much for reading,

DISCLAIMER: This work of 'fanfiction' offers no ties to the reference work of inspiration and all images/references used herein comprise a purely 'personal' expression of creative language-arts (for 'open' reading).

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AMLAN: This is my chance for retirement; following Misery's Mannequin.

PUBLISHER (Elizabeth): It's a mod-classic, Satan; workaholic finds doll-fear!

AMLAN: It's the last misery-consciousness outing for me, all-time (retiring).

PUBLISHER (Elizabeth): Take the gift-car keys and speed to your Pocono-cabin!

AMLAN: Will-do (thanx); maybe retie some old Dartmouth-pal cyber-stories.

Mr. Amlan Satan sped-off from the lot where his publisher kept his 'gift-mobile' for his gold-keys following his Pulitzer for his final-work, Misery's Mannequin. Now, he was off to his snow-lodge that January of 2023, seeking some conscious escape from writing about the 'condition' of misery (for the brains). This would be a nice FaceTime time-away from Homeland labors/duties/magazines.

LIZ: Do you know I found you in that horrid ravine in your Diablo?
AMLAN: What the hell am I doing in your hotel-suite, darling?

LIZ: I know you don't know me, but I know you; big-big fan of cyber-writings.

AMLAN: I'm glad you like my work, but why didn't you call the police/docs?

LIZ: I used to be a nurse, Amlan Satan; you're here as a message from God.

AMLAN: What the hell are you saying to me (Liz)?

LIZ: You're going to bring that dead-mannequin (Misery's Mannequin) to life-IQ.

AMLAN: What?
LIZ: Oh, Amlan...this hotel's like any other...a 'spirit(s)'-haven for language.

AMLAN: Arts (ok).

Well, Mr. Amlan Satan now found himself in the clutch of his obsessed 'super' fan and practicing Wiccan (witch) 'Liz' who'd been a nurse in a past-life and now considered the wisdom of simply 'forcing' the laureled Homeland (American) writer, Satan, to bring the dead-mannequin back-to-life, given her 'tragedy' downfall in his final-work (claimed). However, Amlan had always been serious about language-arts and didn't consider the phrase(s) constructed any half-truth worth the effort of half-thought revision(s).

LIZ: No, no, no, no...you need juices and natural Earthen things (now!).

AMLAN: You've already cut my finger, and I thought you'd cut it right off, Liz.

LIZ: Look I want that mannequin back-alive...simple and clarity, Mr. Satan.

AMLAN: Call me Amlan.

LIZ: All good language-arts crafter simply need escape from machinery, Amlan.

AMLAN: Thanx (I think).

LIZ: I'll post my recipe on social media (for you, Satan).

PUBLISHER (Elizabeth): You escaped; that's counting, Mr. Satan.

AMLAN: Thanx; that Wiccan psycho super fan is getting treatment (now?).

PUBLISHER (Elizabeth): Don't fret it; you're to a luncheon about Mannequin.

AMLAN: I'm not bringing back the superstition(s)-doll back-alive (for Liz)!

PUBLISHER (Elizabeth): Relax, I know it; this is post-writing for art's sake, ok?

Amlan had quite the misadventure in that haunted-hotel suite of Liz. However, he escaped, after using a room-made concoction to inoculate her and (simply) find the right-brain to craft a comfort-tale about the resurrection of the haunted-doll who died in his final-work (claim). Perhaps what he actually learned from Liz, his obsessed-magazine fan, was that quality of distances...to bureaucracy's hunt (for the Ego).