". . . but no matter how fast Susan Bones ran, the chipmunks ran only faster. And then she tripped. She screamed as the chipmunks overtook her, remembering again how they had killed other little-known characters. And then Susan, like everyone else, died."

J. K. Rowling leaned back in her chair to get a better view of the words she had just typed. Excellent writing, she thought. She was her own worst critic, but she had to admit that this wasn't half-bad. Though she did pity all the fans who would now go into deep depression now that Susan Bones was dead.

That's when it hit her. Susan Bones was dead. That wasn't too extraordinary. J. K. had killed off lots of characters in her Harry Potter series. Too many, in fact.

In fact, Susan Bones had actually been the last remaining living character. Five minutes ago, anyway.

And this was only the middle of Book #6.

Terror clutched J. K.'s heart. What had she just done?

No, it couldn't be true. There had to be another character somewhere. She stood up from the computer and rushed to her author's copies of the rest of the Harry Potter books and flipped through them. Every other page described a horrible death of one character or another.

Trying to keep calm, she rushed back to the computer and scrolled up to show the rest of the novel. Death, death, death, and more death. Characters being killed left and right.

It couldn't be! She still had to write Book #7!

It was too much for her. She sat back in her chair, horrified by what she had done.

Wait. She had to think sensibly here. She may have killed off every character mentioned in the series, but she had still had her choices.

She grabbed some supplies and headed to the bomb shelter. The disgruntled fans would be arriving soon.

The End.