I glanced around the campfire. I didn't really know them that well and they didn't know me. One by one they were recounting tales of horror. The three we'd heard so far were interesting enough but you could hardly call them 'scary'. They all contained the usual fare - zombies, werewolves and vampires. Scary? Sure, when you're five. But after what I have experienced in the last twelve month, it takes a lot more than that to get my heart rate up.
The next story was about some teenage couple necking in the woods - talk about predictable. Still, I didn't want to be anti-social, I faked fear like a two-bit hooker faking an O. There was nothing to it. I would just have to think of the most scary, horrible story I could.
Suddenly I realized the group had fallen silent and all their faces were pointed in my direction. My turn. I stood and looked into each of their faces, ashen and grey from fear, holding each gaze for a brief second before continuing.
"Let me tell you a story of a wanna-be writer and a man named Evil Editor…"
My story was interrupted as five of my fellow campers passed-out cold.