I Am a Writer

Candy was awakened by the heavy, rhythmic pounding on the door. She shot up like a dart, her hair in an absolute mess and eyes nearly pink with the lighting-like snaking blood vessels at their surface. Disoriented and with a mouth half open in exhaustion she slowly turned her head to see the digital readout on her alarm clock. It mocked her with a number she hadn't seen on a weekend in years, six-thirty. "On a Saturday, who the f---"
She was abruptly cut off by another round of the heavy pounding on the door. She grunted, wrestled herself out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and jerked the waist tie into a knot as she tromped off to the door. She opened it to see two men in tan trench coats and sunglasses staring at her.
"Can I help you?" she croaked in her half awakened state.
"Are you CandyL?"
She furled her brow in a mix of concern and curiosity "Yes."
"We're from the FBI and we'd like to ask you some questions about some things you posted on a website called Experience Project."
"Oh Sh--"

Dun Dun Dun!

Humour is so hard to right, it has a totally different rhythm...

Hmmm, an EP horror story you say. . .