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I'd felt drained and wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest but there was one last job to do.

Nearby was a can of gasoline that I had stashed away. I hefted it reluctantly and approached the image of Scratch I had spent so much time on. Never had I drawn a picture so large, and it was probably my best work, even if the subject matter was grotesque.

I didn't know if my bit of magic had transformed her into the picture or if she was simply trapped in whatever place villains go when you lock them away. But I remembered the stories: Whenever a gateway was left behind, the creature inside would always escape.

So I poured the makeshift solvent on the wall. The picture melted and dribbled down like a sidewalk mural etched in chalk melting in a rainstorm. The puddle of toxic goo on the floor was a sickly looking blackish red. And the remaining smudge was no longer recognizable as anything other than something left by an accident or a vandal.

I hadn't thought that my words about wanting more and more were prophetic. I had simply spoken an observation. There is a certain gratification that comes with working for something and then holding the fruits of your labor in your hands.

But there is also a forbidden thrill in taking what isn't earned, and a dark power that boils up from obsessive thoughts of desire of what someone else has. I don't mean a will for growth or improvement, but instead simple gluttonous hunger and envy. I had told her that addictive desire for something was fruitless. When nothing is ever enough and you want more and more of something with no end or satiety to be had, eventually you either find yourself completely spent by the effort, or you consume yourself. Either way there is never any joy or satisfaction. Perhaps little jolts of relief and false hope that come with each stolen hit, but it fades like frost against the morning sunlight.

When you go to war to fight an enemy, no matter how righteous the fight is, you know that you're still walking onto a field to hurt someone if not end them completely. I think one thing that shaped the final showdown was my belief in that there is an ultimate good and an ultimate evil, and that there are some things in this world that are beyond redemption. Ending them, although not a virtue or something to be celebrated, is something that needs to be done. When a dog goes mad and tries to kill everything it can catch, the dog is put down.

I don't celebrate death, but I also find solace in knowing that the mad dog can't hurt anyone anymore.

Outside the house that I had spent so much time in growing up the sun was rising. The eternal night was over and I would be leaving soon enough. I had power again and there were memories I could ride to escape before my prison faded away. In my own way I was still lost and far from my true home, but I had stepped a little closer today, and perhaps would be closer still tomorrow.

It was simply nice knowing that now there really would be a tomorrow.

---

I feel like I should write an epilogue to my epilogue, so here goes.

I didn't intend this to become the miniature epic it became. I can't bring myself to preen too much under the compliments as none of this was my original concept and it is far easier to build up on something someone else created than invent your own thing. But I'm also not one of these people who find fanfic an inherently bad thing as it's as useful for writing as stretching is for exercise. (I dislike bad writing, which means I'd rather read well written fanfic over bad original fiction anyday) Plus the world intrigued me. The concept of a creative person having to use that creativity in a strange otherworldly place is not a unique one, but Alan Wake took it to a much more sinister and subtle level than I've ever seen it before. Plus I have to admit that the idea of having to confront your inner demons made my inner armchair psychologist squee many times.

The first vignette was just meant to give a voice to the image Scratch I had initially drawn. I did a second one after that because some of the comments about how she was sexy and alluring made me want to get folks to understand that her beauty was paper thin, and there was a horrible creature under the disguise. Number three came when I thought it might be fun to do what they did in the Wake universe and have things from my memory shape the landscape, so I pulled up an old childhood conflict. After that I had momentum, and enough people had grasped my concept of Scratch strongly enough that they wanted to see her ended. So I needed to write an end.

So I'm glad you enjoyed my little indulgence. All of the unsold cards are now available for sale at http://littletales.storenvy.com