Trevor Collins

It was a lot better than anything I'd written recently.

I brought the story to the new Word document and edited it up.

Then I posted it to all of my social media pages and it blew up.

Jackpot.

I got 2,000 new followers.

My sales went through the roof.

Amazon gave me that little orange number one bestseller in horror anthologies tag.

That night, with a glass of wine in my hand, I ran back to ChatGPT.

Open my ideas document, some of which have been languishing there for years, and began to rapid fire copy paste them into the AI.

Any story that was halfway decent went right into the queue.

But then, things started to get a little weird.

I entered the prompt, write a horror story about a creepy monster who lives in the basement.

Hannah had always been afraid of the basement.

It was always dark down there, and there were a lot of cobwebs.

She always let Mommy and Daddy go into the basement for her, but one night her parents were out.

She was too scared to ask her babysitter, so when her rainbow ball rolled down the steps, she decided to go down there herself.

I stopped.

I had a rainbow ball as a little girl.

It was one of my favorite toys.

And there was one night that it rolled into the basement.