by Jacqueline Seewald

"Ambrose Bierce Baxter has taken on the mystique of a cult legend. He's a phenomenon in horror literature, bigger than King, Saul or Koontz. How do you account for that?"

I let out a deep sigh, my Editor-in-Chief, Dave Carter, was a difficult man to deal with, by turns patronizing and confrontational. I wondered what he was about now. Did he actually want my opinion or was he just baiting me to show that his knowledge of popular fiction was better? Dave often tried to demonstrate to me how superior his intellect was to mine. As far as I'm concerned it's a form of emotional harassment but I'm not about to take my injured ego to a courtroom for retribution. Many people work for insecure bosses like Dave and must find subtle ways to handle them. Lately, I've been reading The Dilbert Principle and find myself nodding my head in agreement.

I've been writing for Person magazine for the past five years, the literary scene being my specialty. I knew a little bit about Baxter, which isn't saying much.

"Is there a reason we're talking about Baxter?" I decided to cut to the chase.

Dave raised one bushy, silver brow in my direction.
"Everyone is curious about him. Aren't you? The man is consistently on the bestseller list. He's got quite a following. Yet he's a recluse who lives God knows where."

"Somewhere in rural Vermont I think. There are all kinds of rumors flying around about him."

“Such as?" my editor prodded.

I shrugged. "Some say he must have been an abused child, others that he's some maniac serial killer or maybe even a Mafia kingpin."

Dave narrowed his eyes to slits. "Sara, that's awfully vague conjecture, don't you think? Couldn't you hazard an educated guess?"

"Who knows? Could be any or all the stories circulating about him are true. The only thing we can be certain of is that Baxter's writing is the result of an extraordinary imagination, a talent for conjuring gory, grotesque imagery and weird plots. He uses mystery and horror with such invention you can't even refer to him as a genre writer."

"So being the literary reviewer and reporter for the magazine that you are, of course it would be the natural choice for me to assign you to interview the man. Don't you agree?"

I felt a sharp, metal trap close over me. Ka-ching! Now was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's virtually impossible to get an interview with Baxter. You ought to know that."

"Right," Dave said, coming around from behind his desk to confront me directly. His eyes had become demonically bright while my spine stiffened in response.

I am distinctly uneasy when Dave fixes his mind on a story for which he believes I don't demonstrate proper enthusiasm. It bodes ill for my career at the magazine.

"This could be a very big story for us. Think of how many copies of the magazine we'll be able to sell when you demystify Baxter for our readers."

"He's not going to cooperate."

"You'll make him. You have grit. You'll find a way
to get the man to talk to you, to spill his guts, tell you his secrets."