“How can I do that?” the author stammered.

“Write it you idiot!”

“But according to my book, a soul can’t just be created, it has to come from somethhing.”

“Well then I guess we’ll just have to take some one’s then.” he responded.

“Who’s?” asked the author.

“Your wife’s,” he grinned evily, “not a heavy loss considering how it will benefit me. And you.”

“How on earth would it benefit me?” he asked, not liking the sound of this conversation.

“Well if you don’t give me your wife’s soul, I’ll be taking your soul.”

The author actually laughed. “That’s riddiculous, you can’t force me to…”

With that the villain waved a long hand and a long, thin, and bloodstained knife appeared from thin air.

“One thing I do remember from the past,” he started, “is how to torture. How to kill.”

The author gulped and looked into his room at his sleeping wife then looked back at the villain.

“My soul is yours…”