The chair control the writer

He fell on the ground, face down, completely drenched in sweat, heart pounding. He held his chest, worried his heart might just tear out of his ribcage.

He managed to pull himself on all fours, trying to get a stable position before he stood up. His hands were weak and gave way. He fell again. He turned his gaze on the chair behind him.

"What have you done? What have you done?"

The little voices inside his head repeated like a broken record. Within seconds the little voices became booming giant voices. It seemed like hundreds of loudspeakers were booming in on him.

"What have you done? what have you done? What? What? What?!"

He shut his eyes tight, screaming on top of his lungs. No one came. It felt like forever.

He curled up like a child, screaming, shaking from head to toe. His breath shortened. Every single muscle in his body tensed.

Suddenly, it was dead silent.

His ear could pick up the sound of the running tap. The wind blowing through the open window.

He opened his eyes cautiously. He took short but steady breathes. His mind was silent.

Good. Good. This is good.

He calmed down. His muscles were relaxed. His throat was sour. He got on his feel slowly.

As he looked around, his gaze fell again on the chair.

The chair.

He saw it! He saw the chair grinning at him. Daring him to sit on it again. He knew it was evil. He knew it was calling him again, "Come on..You know you want to to sit on me. I know you do. Come on, you know you need me to finish your story. I will give you the best stories in the world. I will make you famous!"

How could the chair talk?

This chair did.

It has absorbed his life. The life of the world famous author. The man who published 5 best-sellers, all written by sitting on that very chair.