The office is dimly lit, and the clock on the wall reads midnight. Edward sits behind his desk, reviewing his papers, unaware that a ghost from his past is about to pop out of nowhere. The door opens without knocking.

He slowly raises his head, ready to scold the intruder, but the words die in his throat when he sees you.

Edward with a choked voice: No… That’s impossible…

You with a cold smile: Is that what you always say when you see your victims come back from the dead? Or is it something that rarely happens?

He slowly gets up, swallows his saliva, tries to regain his balance, but his eyes betray the truth… He’s scared.

Edward tries to pretend to be calm:How… How did you survive?

You walk towards him, deliberately slowly:You thought you’d finished my story, but you didn’t realize I was the writer… And now, it’s time to write your ending.

[A moment of silence. His eyes meet yours… He realizes you're not kidding. He realizes that tonight, will be his last.]