In the Wee Hours, Chapter 4: The Final Chapter
A message from the muse
Written in response to Reedsy prompt from Contest #304 "Center your story around an author, editor, ghostwriter, or literary agent." Expanded from original version.
*Originally published 6/22/2025; updated and split into four chapters on 8/25/2025.
Want to read the whole story? Here’s Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and Chapter 3
A noise in her hallway startled her out of a light doze. Sarah couldn’t quite remember what had happened to wake her. Furtively, she crept to her bedroom door. Looking out, she saw a woman holding a mop, facing away from her.
Ah, Mary. She had definitely done this one a disservice.
As she approached, Mary turned partway toward her, her eyes questioning, her lips saying nothing.
Sarah swallowed hard.
“Mary, you deserved so much better than what I gave you. I had plans, visions for you. I lost track of my notes and was working toward a deadline. I meant for you to have a degree in psychology; for you to have so much more to say in that story.”
Sarah felt very small in that moment, remembering the overwhelm she’d been feeling in that time and the choices she had made.
She looked up at Mary, still waiting silently with a gentle look on her face. “Instead, I gave you a mop and a menial position. I think I feared your clarity, to be honest.”
“You knew I could see patterns, Sarah. Maybe that’s why you left me mopping floors. I might’ve seen yours too clearly.”
With that softly spoken comment, Mary smiled wistfully and bowed her head. She turned and vanished from view.
Sarah had been wrestling with her own sense of worth during the time she wrote that story, being steadily smothered under the weight of her ex-husband’s excessive need of her every moment.
She hadn’t thought of the parallel between her and her character; she had just stuffed her into a neat box without a second thought.
Sarah realized something in that moment: these ‘ghosts’ weren’t here to torment her, but to stop being tormented by her neglect. But there was more to it than that. She felt something profound begin to shift beneath her surface but couldn’t yet name it.
Sarah lay in her bed, thinking. She was bone-weary, but her mind was racing. It felt as if the universe was holding its breath.
She felt a subtle shift in the air and wearily opened her eyes. Perched on the foot of her bed, composed but kind of wilted, was the old woman in blue.
She somehow looked different, as if a drawing not quite finished; her edges blurring into the background. As Sarah looked on, the woman turned her head to look her in the eyes.
Her voice was much softer than before as she gently asked, “Can you see now how much you’ve hurt us?”
Sarah’s voice trembled a little as she replied, “I think I do…”
The lady laughed softly, “You still don’t remember me, do you?”
“I’m trying.” Sarah felt her cheeks flush.
“Of all the people you’ve hurt, you cut yourself the deepest, my dear.” The words fell in the gulf between them. There was no accusation, only quiet truth.
A picture flashed in Sarah’s mind, brief, fleeting, but enough for her to lock onto. The old woman was one of her creations, but mostly unformed. Her sadness then enveloped her.
The lady smiled gently, “There you go. Time for you to talk to your muse. She’s missed you, you know.”
And with that, the lady faded slowly until there was no sign she’d even been there.
Sarah’s eyes swam with tears. A thought struck her and she scrambled out of her bed to her desk.
Rummaging around in her drawer, she found what she sought: her last unfinished manuscript. It was still in a rough phase, covered in Post-It Notes with ideas for her plot and characters. Among these was one that gave a brief description: “Lady in blue—guardian of the eternal, helps main character find her path”
Sarah sat down heavily in her desk chair. The manuscript lay in her lap, as she marveled at the events of the night. As her thoughts raced, she realized she had stuffed all her feelings into a small corner, then barricaded it from the rest of herself. She had become convinced she was untalented, a waste of space—not worthy of anyone’s attention, even her own.
The more she’d diminished herself, the further she treaded away from her beautiful muse. A dullness had swept across her world, and she’d lost touch with so much.
Tears slipped down her face, hot and fast, as she grieved what she’d lost: her access to herself. She bowed her head in silence.
Under that unbearable weight, a new thought broke the surface:
She could start over.
She looked toward the window, where gentle light had begun to filter through the blinds. A new feeling nudged her apathy aside: hope.
Tiny, but there. And all hers.
She ran to her kitchen and made a pot of coffee. She stirred her cup while carrying it back to her desk: an age-old ritual, almost forgotten.
She powered on her laptop and sat down, pulling her hair into a loose pony.
Her phone buzzed from her bedside table, long forgotten. She walked over to look as several messages populated from her boss. She noted the increasing tempo as the texts transitioned to all caps: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY CAR?
She had no illusions about what was most important to her in this moment. He had video surveillance, and she was not about to let anything else derail her.
She finally knew her place.
Right here. Right this moment.
She set her phone to silent and returned once more to her laptop, opening a fresh document.
Sarah began typing, the words coming faster as she leaned in, a gentle smile curving her lips. As she typed, a warmth built behind her ribs, an echo of someone she hadn’t felt in years.
Not a character this time.
Herself.
Click to read: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Thanks for reading! — Liora
voice through fire | www.liorawrites.com
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I am in love with your writing style... beautiful ❤️
Liora managed to pull something rare here: a horror story that pivots into recognition, where grief and hope end up holding hands. That’s not just craft, that’s vision. A fitting, and quietly powerful, closing chapter 🙏🏻