Jamie Conrad sat next to his bed hung-over. Outside the rain bounced off of his tin roof. He reeked of alcohol and would need a thorough shower before leaving the house. His heart pounded inside of his head and each drop of rain sounded like an amplified drumbeat. He had to get the horrible morning taste out of his mouth or he would soon vomit. James hadn't always been such a heavy drinker, but since the writer's block began, it had become a regular thing. A fairly successful author, his first two books had hit the top five on the on the New York Times best seller list. After his third novel, his ideas had just dried up, like someone turning off a faucet. What began as a minor annoyance soon evolved into full-blown stress. That was when he began to see the skeleton man. Now, here he sat in his own filth, feeling like he was losing his mind. James walked into the bathroom, and after relieving himself, took a long look into the mirror. Huge bags rimmed bloodshot eyes. His...