The Creators: Book One by

“OK, Angela,” I hissed at her as I sat upright on my bed, “we need to talk about boundaries.”

“I was just curious to see what you were doing,” she said, giving me her big-eyed look of innocence, “it looked like you were wrestling with a squirrel under the sheets.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, giving her a frank look, “a squirrel.”

“A really big squirrel,” Angela smiled coyly, “the kind of squirrel all the women of the town would just love to see.”

“Angela,” I sighed, “get the fuck out of my room.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Angela giggled, “looks like it’s a chipmunk. Not a very impressive one either. Kind of sickly looking, and diseased, and limp-”

“Angela…” I growled.

“You know,” she said, completely unfazed by my irritation, “if you would just listen to my advice, you wouldn’t have to wrestle rodents under your bedsheets every night.”

I sighed, and pulled up my pants beneath the sheets. It was going to be another one of these nights. Sometimes, Angela left me alone, but as we grew older, she became more and more ‘curious’ about my nightly activities. Angela didn’t stay perpetually ten years old, she ‘matured’ at the same rate I did. I put ‘matured’ in quotations, because even though her ethereal body developed, her lack of social interaction with anyone but myself put a damper on her interpersonal development.

“How do I put this nicely…” I said, “your advice with women is fucking terrible.”

“It is not!” Angela huffed, “I feed you great lines, you just deliver them horribly.”

“Trish, are you doing anything tonight? Yeah you are… this guy.” I recited the last line Angela had given me, completing the phrase with a double-thumb-point to myself, just like she had said I should, “That one was a real panty-dropper.”

“I think she liked it.” Angela insisted.

“She laughed, and then slapped me in the face.” I replied frankly.

“She’s just playing hard to get.”

“She’s really taking the game to heart then.”

“Hey!” Angela snapped, “At least a woman touched you this time!”