R. L. Stine

The blob was hungry. The blob was always hungry.

I have to keep writing... If I stop, the blob will come for me next.

It’s just a story, right? It can’t really happen.

The typewriter keys clacked and clacked—almost on their own.

I stared at the green, sticky blob as it oozed closer.

If you write it, it will come to life.

Why did I have to write about a monster that eats everyone?

The blob doesn’t care who you are. It just wants to eat.

Lucy, run! It’s after you!

The words I typed... they started to become real.

I never should have used the typewriter.

There’s no way out. The blob is everywhere.