There was a man I once knew from my local writer's club. He was a strange old Ukrainian man by the name of Fedir Oleksandr. His writing was... intriguing. He wrote of wondrous things, his writing skills far surpassing myself and the others in my writer's club. Many a time I had wondered how he had not gone on to become a world renowned author. He never talked much and he seldom contributed to the conversations of the others in the writing club. He was an eccentric old man to say the least. Multiple times I complimented him on his genius writing, to which he would respond with an unintelligible mumble before walking away awkwardly.
I followed him out of the writer's club one day, strange as it may seem, but I was curious as to where this peculiar fellow lived and how he managed to create such fanciful writing. I followed him all through the city until he finally reached a section that I had never been in before. When he finally caught on to the fact that someone was pursuing him, he wasn't the slightest bit happy, needless to say. What did surprise me, however, was how quickly he decided to let me come along with him. He told me that no one has ever understood his writing, and he was glad that I'd taken such an interest in it. He welcomed me to stay the night in his apartment if I wished.
Eventually, after only a few minutes more of walking, we came to a rather shabby looking apartment building. He pulled open the door and we walked in. As we began to walk up the stairs, a sheet of paper covered side to side with notes and random scribbles fell from his suitcase. I bent to pick it up for the man, but he stopped me immediately with a slight glint of resentment in his pale green eyes. He sighed and the look faded. We continued up the stairs until we reached the top floor of the apartment. Fedir walked to a partially-rotted out door and reached above it and withdrew a rusty key from a small crack in the wall. He inserted it into the keyhole with hesitance, almost fearfully. The door creaked open and he walked in, motioning for me to follow. Now, I was more than a little wary at this point, but I was still eager to see how this mysterious man created his fabulous writing, and so I followed.
The apartment was a mess of crumpled and torn up papers and the few barren spots were covered in a layer of dust that must have been at least an inch thick. Fedir sat down at a desk near a boarded up window and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. He opened up a briefcase that was sitting on the floor next to the desk and pulled out a haphazard mess of papers, all covered in scrambled writing. He sighed and invited me to read what he had written so far. I accepted and walked over to him to relieve him of the papers in his hand. This was by far the most beautiful work of writing I had ever read in my days, and I was left dumbfounded at the intricacy of his ingenuity. He wrote of a mysterious city called Morte, a city shrouded in a hazy blue fog, full of beings of the unknown, horrifying yet beautifully created creatures of the night, all with unfathomably advanced intellect and lessons to teach all who bestowed them. I was brought close to tears by the wonder of his creative mind.
Suddenly he peered through a cracked in the boards covering the windows and gasped before pulling the papers out of my hands and carelessly packing them back into the briefcase, which he then threw into a small hidden cupboard in his old wooden desk. He pulled at the boards, as if to test their strength before he backed up, just staring at the covered window. I just stood there gazing at him confusedly. I knew he was strange, but I didn't expect this of the Ukrainian man. Suddenly Fedir shouted in terror as the boards covering the window exploded and a huge entity burst into the room and hovered immediately over to him. Fedir screamed and shouted in his native language, none of which I was able to understand, and the being stared at him harder and harder before it grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and dragged him out the window. I was unable to move. I was too stunned by what I had just witnessed. What... what had I just witnessed?! I gasped as the details of the being finally registered into my mind. It was one of the beings that Fedir had written about in his story about the city Morte. I simply backed up towards the door, never taking my eyes off of the window. There was nothing outside of the window. It was just a thick blue haze, much like the fog that Fedir spoke of in his writing.
No one ever spoke of Fedir Oleksandr again. It was as though he'd never even existed. I seemed to be the only one who knew the unfortunate man. I don't know what happened to Fedir, but I would rather not question it.