The Typewriter
“Police are searching for escaped convict Leticia Decker, otherwise known as the Lafayetteville’s Lizzy Borden.”
Lonely Mike Dawson shut off the old dusty radio. After twenty two best selling horror novels, he preferred to rummage through his cluttered attic than stare at a blank page.
Lifting a sheet off a table he discovered an old typewriter. “Look at this.”
With one finger he typed D-A-R-K.
His flashlight suddenly died out.
“What the…” Dawson smacked the flashlight several times. It refused to work.
Dawson grabbed the typewriter, stumbled out of the attic, returning to his writing den. Filled with excitement, he accidentally bumped into the door causing it to shut.
Placing the typewriter on his desk, he shoved the laptop aside. He slid a sheet of paper in the type writer feed and spun the platen knob and typed.
Moonlight crept through the open window.
The desk slowly became brighter.
Dawson turned to face the open window. He watched the parting clouds reveal the full moon.
He realized he had discovered infinite power. Cracking his knuckles, Dawson typed with passion.
The young siren knocked on the door.
He heard heavy knocking.
The voluptuous woman let herself into the house. She slowly climbed the stairs, her footsteps announced her arrival.
Heavy shoes walked up the squeaky wood stairs, growing louder with every step.
Like an inspired conductor before the orchestra, Dawson typed with vigor and style. Tonight he would create a masterpiece.
She was young, beautiful, and full of desire.
Dawson laughed out loud. Tonight, his life would change forever.
No doubt she would be the death of him.
A bloody axe crashed through the door.
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