The Haunted Typewriter
Lil’s Spooky Stories: Day 1
For the month of October, I decided to try my hand at writing a genre that I’ve historically felt quite uncomfortable about… horror, creepy, haunting. I have not historically got on with this genre because I’m a baby and I’m trying to expand my repertoire and experiment with new topics to write about, so here we go.
Mina had just turned 16 and acquired her very first typewriter. It was a 1935 Woodstock, completely black except for the white letters on the round keys. She’d only just discovered that she wanted to be a journalist and she knew that she needed to practice typing things up and why not do so on something beautiful.
Her parents had ended up having to cut back on things to make sure that they were able to afford it, because they were the sort of parents that indulged her every whim. They had a whole garage full of Mina’s discarded futures: a grand piano, the finest chess board with hand painted chess pieces, half-created glass pieces, boxing gloves, running shoes, and boxes upon boxes of knitting yarn). Mina’s parents indulged her anyways, despite knowing how fickle their daughter was, because they’d both been the children of parents who tried as hard as they could, but didn’t think that children needed to explore their creativity or their passion.
Mina was quite beautiful, with her long black silky hair and her light whiskey colored almond shaped eyes. She had one of those symmetrical faces that looked breathtaking framed by the middle parted hair. Her lips were the color of blushing roses contrasted against her creamy pale skin. Mina made everyone look at her twice, because her eyes were so piercing and there were so many contrasts to behold. The sharp cheekbones always with a hint of peaches and the deeper laugh that sounded like muffled drumbeats. It was easy to say that she’d never been denied a thing although she’d never thought to wonder what it would even be like to be denied.
We come upon her now, sitting at her desk, a beautiful pale shade of pink, reminiscent of bridal dresses and the first spring roses with her new black typewriter atop it. The shop had loaded a fresh snowy sheet of paper in it as requested by her parents. They had wanted her to be able to type without delay, but they’d planned so many activities the night before that she fell asleep instantly and hadn’t had time to write anything at all.
It was the next night and she sat there pondering what to report. There wasn’t anything that had happened to her or at school that seemed appropriate. As she sat racking her brain, the h key dropped and an h stamped itself on her previously fresh piece of paper. Mina startled and dropped a book off of her desk onto the sage green rug, which muffled the sound of the thump. Her eyes bounced between the typewriter and the paper, the paper stubbornly confirming that a key had been pressed and it wasn’t Mina’s doing.
The typewriter sensing the opening, quickly hammered on the e, l, and o presenting the word “hello” on paper. Mina became very aware of how silent her room was now that the keys being pressed had stopped. She continued to stare in horror at the typewriter, from the twelve inches of space that she had put between herself and the desk. Then she watched in horror as a mist flowed out of the typewriter to solidify into the shape of someone who looked exactly like her.
Mina stood up and backed away rapidly towards her bed to put distance between herself and whatever or whoever this thing was and in a shaking, nervous voice asked, “Who are you?”
Mist-Mina examining her just created body flicked her gaze up to glare at Mina responded, “Why, Mina, who are you to ask me that?”
“I mean, you’re the one who emerged out of MY typewriter. I should think that I have the right to ask questions here,” Mina retorted with more bravado than was probably acceptable to deal with something that could only be described as supernatural.
Mist-Mina laughed, a short bark of a laugh, “It is in fact my typewriter and you, my dear Mina, are shortly going to belong to me.”
Before Mina could process what was going on, she realized that bits of her were disappearing and the typewriter began to emit a soft light that only got brighter and brighter as more and more of Mina vanished. She cried out, “What’s happening to me??”
“Why, love, you didn’t think that you could just use any old typewriter without checking to see that it was safe, did you? Historical objects always grow hungry and it’s your honor and privilege and simply it is your turn this time to feed the Woodstock,” Mist-Mina continued to leer at Mina as she faded rapidly.
With a jolt, Mina woke up and whispered, “Oh, thank goodness, it was just a dream.”
Then she turned around and saw that she was lying on her back looking at the bottom of the keys of the typewriter, except that they were much larger than her body. If anyone tapped at 1, 2, or 3, it would shatter her head, torso and legs in that order.
Before she could scream, the 2 descended.