He came from a village in the north. They called him “local author” because they dared not speak his real name, for fear he would appear behind them and ask them to read a sample chapter of his work-in-progress. Sometimes, at night, the villagers could hear the click click clack of his “vaguebooking” and they pulled their blankets closer to their chins. In the light of day, they practiced “nodding and smiling” in case they were ever cornered by him in person. The smiles would not reach their eyes as he told them of his latest release; fleeing was all they could contemplate.

They say that he had been writing since he was a youth, although when he was ever young enough to be referred to as such, none could verify. His collection of author copies of his latest books were rivaled in number only by his cats, they said. His many cats, and his many rats; he ordered their food from the Amazons, and snatched it from his porch moments after it arrived. No one ever saw his children, but they could all hear their screaming deep into the night. “Skibidi Toilet Ohio Rizz!” would echo through the neighborhood, and then he would bellow “Oh my GAWD just go to bed!” in response, after which the dark was blissfully silent, if only for a short while. From time to time, they could hear fragments of conversation between him and his wife, the author Aly Welch. All that could be gleaned from these jagged excerpts was that he was not prepared to read what she was working on, and her replies that she always read his, and so she did not see why not.

When he released a new book upon the world, he would speak of little else and to everyone and no one in particular. Those who lived in proximity to him would execute the “nod and smile” as they passed his home, quickening their steps to avoid being swept up in awkward, one-sided discussion with him. Yes, they’d heard of his writing. No, they hadn’t picked it up yet, but would soon. Yes, perhaps they would consider leaving a review with the Amazons once they had read the book. Yes, for the last time, they understood how important it was. Women clutched their satchels closer to their bosoms and hastened their tarrying children forward. Proud men walked hurriedly by with chins nearly touching their chests. No dog paused to urinate upon his front lawn; none, for they had been trained to pass it by. And so it was with the creature known as Mike X Welch.