The Last Page

I have been writing a story for 12 years.

It’s the kind of story that people say “just write it and publish it already.” But I kept going back, editing, deleting, starting over.

One night, I was on page 347.

I had already written 347 pages of pure horror. The kind that makes you close the notebook and never open it again.

I was about to type the final line when my pen stopped working.

I tried three more pens. Same result.

I threw the notebook across the room.

It landed on the floor, open to page 347.

The last line was gone.

Not crossed out. Not deleted.

Just… gone.

I picked up the notebook. My hands were shaking.

The page was blank.

I wrote:

“The End.”

And closed the book.

I never wrote another word after that.

Creepypasta by Anonymous. Read at your own risk.