Category: Anatomy of Typewriters

An Anatomy of Typewriters Story

The content below was originally paywalled.

There seemed to be a gathering of people at his newsstand. The last time she remembers that happening was when the industrial building along the waterfront blew up. The incident and aftermath caused quite a stir for us and every newsstand across town for weeks. Everyone wanted answers and the local paper seemed to be the only place they could get any.

Nat approached the newsstand cautiously. She could hear him shouting over the crowd for everyone to calm down. People Nat recognized from this newsstand and in passing over the years as well as total strangers were reaching and practically throwing their money at him once they grabbed what they came for. In this case, the morning edition newspaper.

Nat was able to make brief eye contact with the proprietor who raised one finger at her. He knew exactly why she’d come and he spun around in his tiny booth till he found the magazine and held it up for her to see.

The covers were always a bit too art deco for her, splashes of colors that never seemed to make any sense. But Bernice said it’s what made their magazine stand out among the rest who relied on celebrity or pretty food that no one would ever be able to replicate no matter how hard they practiced or how closely they followed the recipe.

“We don’t need all that flash,” Nat could hear her saying. “Our quality inside is what will count in the end.”

After dealing with all of his customers who, after getting their hands on the morning paper, decided to mill around and read it like a collective gaggle of geese, he managed to exit the newsstand and hand Nat what she came for.

“I am sorry, Nat. I have not had an opportunity to read your story this morning,” he said. Reading her story was a highlight for him as he was more a racing pages kind of guy. Fiction was never something he was in and he was glad to be rid of it when he dropped out of high school. Now, he considered himself a literary critic just from reading Nat’s short stories every month.

“What’s going on, Pedro?” Nat asked as she thumbed through the thick magazine in her hands. Nat felt the increased number of stories featured in each issue watered down the really good ones but Bernice disagreed. It showed the public just how relevant they were. And in a way she was right and Nat hated agreeing with her. She knew for a fact that the magazine still received a sizable amount of new stories each month, despite Bernice’s insistence on keeping reams of paper to represent stories of yesteryear.

Pedro managed to squeeze through the throng of readers to grab the newspaper everyone else was reading but Nat didn’t need it, she finally looked away from her magazine to see in large black and bold letters on the newspapers everyone around her held up:

She nearly dropped her magazine when she read those words. He handed her the same paper and she swapped with him, giving him back the magazine to hold while she opened her newspaper to the first page.

She scanned the story for the part with relevant information. After years of working at the magazine she learned a thing or two, first, how to scan a story to get past the fluff, and second, speed reading.

“Can you believe the police had this information all this time and never made the connection or told us? Typical. They think they know everything. Now they cover their asses,” he said as he looked around at everyone continuing to read the rather long article that Nat managed to already get through.

She folded it closed and handed it back to Pedro. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, taking her magazine back from him.

“Keep the paper,” he said, pushing it back at her. “This shadow is more a danger to you than me.” And he was right. Her mother was right too. The police shared pictures of the women to be printed and they all were eerily similar not only to each other but to Nat. 

When the customers finally decided to poke their heads out from behind their papers they immediately started shouting at each other.

Comments on the safety of women, police neglect, public awareness, and a few choice opinions not to be repeated at the family table were barely audible as Nat ducked her head and returned to the comfort of her apartment. She did manage to look back as Pedro welcomed more morning commuters to his newsstand who were teeming to get their hands on the early edition.

It was colder than she expected outside so the first thing Nat did was to make herself a cup of coffee. She eyed the folded newspaper that she tossed on her dining room table that often dubbed as her mailbox. The word “BEWARE” seemed to follow her wherever she was in the kitchen.

She grabbed it and the magazine just beneath it and sat with them at her desk. She pulled out the magazine and decided to finish what she started downstairs at the newsstand. All she knew of her story was the title. Perhaps it had absolutely nothing to do with the latest shadow killer in the newspaper. The very real and very murderous phantom killer who attacks his victims in the darkness. Always managing to catch his victims from places where there is no light to help them identify him.

From what Nat read, the police likely would’ve kept all these details to themselves had his latest victim not been found murdered. They managed to connect him to several assaults on women that go back nearly a full year. But now he seems to have escalated to murder and keeping the citizens in the dark was no longer an option.

She found her story, nestled neatly in the middle of the magazine. She would’ve preferred to be nearer the front. More of a chance of being read by subscribers who take their time in reading each and every story. But as she quickly read through her story she was glad of its location. Her shadow and the shadow from the newspaper, her very made up and their very real shadow were indeed one and the same.

But how could that be?

She slammed the magazine closed and tossed it on the desk beside the typewriter. ‘The typewriter!’ She thought. ‘The damned typewriter! But wait, that’s absurd. Steady on, girl. Typewriters don’t write stories all on their own.’ She remembered what she most definitely saw it type on its own earlier as reassurance it was possible.

She lifted the page that was in the typewriter still as it was further out and saw more words were typed. Menacing words. Promising words.

She ripped the paper from the typewriter and started to crumple it then stopped herself. If something more sinister was up she’d need it as evidence. She smoothed out the paper just as her phone started to ring.

She knew from the familiar ringtone that it was Bernice. And she guessed why she was calling. Her story was out in the world now but there were at least two people who had read it and knew what it was about even before it went to press. 

“Yes, Bernice,” Nat said, answering her phone.

“What game are you playing at?” Bernice asked. “You’re either very smart or very stupid. I haven’t been able to work out which as of yet. So, I thought I’d call the source and find out. Where did the story come from, Nat?”

“Listen, Bernice, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.” As she said the words she cringed. Lying to Bernice was more of a foregone conclusion in their relationship and they both knew it. She sighed and tried to start again, “Trust me…” She stopped herself and found nothing else she could say to satisfy Bernice’s curiosity. That meant it was up to Bernice to fill in the blanks with her own theory.

Bernice always had a theory for everything. Nothing was a coincidence to Bernice. “You have someone on the inside who fed you this shadow killer and you thought you had time to share it before it came out. What have I always told you, Nat, ‘never fall for a cop.’ Sure, some of them are great in bed and good for a story idea but if you get too close then people will start to talk.” Nat rolled her eyes. For Bernice to insinuate that she’d slept with a cop in order to write a fictional story based on a recent true one was insulting. Nat would never do something like that. “I’m sure my phone will be ringing off the hook once our readers get to your little story and blab it all over town. Of course, any news is good news for us. But if the police come asking questions you better damn well have better answers than ‘I wouldn’t lie’ and ‘trust me’ cause that shit don’t cut it with me and it sure as hell ain’t gonna cut it with them.”

Nat heard the familiar click of the person on the other end having hung up on her. She slowly lowered the phone from her ear and put it face down on the magazine. She then grabbed her bottle of rum that she had several glasses of the night before and poured it into her coffee till it nearly spilled over. Then she brought it to her lips and sipped away.

Once the mug was empty she looked at the time. It was already noon and her stomach grumbled for food. She knew there would be none in her fridge or cupboard and decided to call her best friend who she hadn’t spoken to in weeks. She needed to get away from her dark apartment and get some fresh air.

“The stranger emerges from her cocoon. Any longer and I would’ve thought the shadow killer gotcha!” Her best friend was never one for tact when it came to making off color jokes that were better left unsaid.

“How about some lunch, Kate?” Nat said. She learned to just ignore her jokes after decades of friendship. Though this one stung a little and she poured a few drops more from her rum bottle for the road.

Kate was always a sure thing when it came to eating out. She was the golden child with her family and when she made partner at a law firm. As Kate always likes to remind Nat, “They are lucky to have me. So, if I want to take the occasional two hour lunch, I will.”

They made plans to meet at their favorite restaurant on Main Street. As always, Nat got there first and took the liberty of ordering their usual while she waited for Kate to arrive fashionably late.

Kate arrived just as their entrees hit the table. She sat down like she always does, out of breath. Nat thought she was a chronic jogger with how often she was out of breath whenever they got together.

“Tell me, what’s new. Tell me everything,” Kate said, taking a sip of her glass and cringing. The waitress who had just put down their plates of food looked concerned.

“Anything wrong, miss?”

“Yes, there is. It’s five o’ clock somewhere and you’ve brought me water? Take this away and bring me a tall martini,” Kate said, holding her hands out, palms facing each other to emphasize just how tall she expected her martini to be.

“I think I’m in trouble, Kat.”

Kat’s phone started buzzing and she did what she always does, put her finger up to signal Nat needed to wait while she dealt with whatever potential fire was happening back at the office. She scrolled through her phone quickly, decided it could wait, and put both her phone and finger down for Nat to continue.

“I wrote this story. Well, I think I wrote those story. I’m not exactly sure. I think the typewriter I inherited from my dead great uncle wrote the story—”

“The great uncle you mentioned a while back who’s completely crazy?”

Nat felt like her best friend had just stuck a dagger in her chest with that comment. “Yes, but, that’s not the point—”

“That’s not the point? Do you hear yourself? You’re accusing a typewriter of writing a story. If I didn’t know you I’d wonder if crazy runs in your family.”

“I’m serious, Kat. This is my don’t mess with me face. Do you recognize it?” Kate nodded her head and Nat continued. “The shadow killer,” Nat said, leaning in and whispering so no one else could hear her, “I wrote a story about the shadow killer two days ago.”

Kate shook her head. “That’s impossible. The police only just released information about the shadow killer yesterday.”

“Exactly.”

Kate’s martini arrived and she sipped it slowly, staring daggers into Nat who tried hard not to fidget in her chair. She knew what Kate was doing. She was “reading” her to find out just how truthful she was being. It was something she did with all her potential clients before deciding whether or not to take their case. Nat hated whenever Kate did it to her because they were best friends. Whether she was telling a lie or not, Kate was supposed to believe her.

“Let me read this story,” Kate finally said, then downed the last of her martini. She raised her left hand in the air holding the martini glass and snapped her fingers with the other to get the attention of their waitress. “I’m not saying I believe you, but I can see that you believe what you’re saying.”

“Gee, thanks Kat. I knew I could count on you…” Nat said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms in frustration. Kat was her only hope to figure out just what this all meant and how much trouble she could be in. “Besides, I don’t have the story. It was written on the typewriter. No copies but that one. If you buy our latest magazine you’ll be able to read it.”

“Funny. Very funny, Nat. Trying to get me to buy a magazine. You know I don’t read magazines unless I’m in it. But why call me? Are you in legal trouble?” Kate’s martini arrived and the waitress took her empty glass, delivering a nasty look as she walked away.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me. If the cops find out about my story will they come looking for me? What do I tell them? I swear it’s a coincidence. Right? I mean…don’t you think it’s a coincidence.”

Kate sipped her second martini. “Say nothing. If they come looking for you, which I doubt, say nothing. What are the chances they’ll be looking in your little magazine today? They’re too busy trying to catch this psycho. No. They’re not interested in you or your fiction.”

This news received Nat. It’s all she needed to hear. Kate could be a total pain sometimes but every now and then she said the right thing to get Nat to relax and relax was exactly what she did.

After their lunch date, Nat decided to spend the rest of the day walking around a nearby park. There was overcast in the sky but she welcomed rain if it were to come. Help wash away the little bit of lingering fear she had left.

Her hands started to get cold so she reached in her jacket pocket for her gloves when her right hand felt something unfamiliar inside. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. She couldn’t remember putting anything in her pocket before she left her apartment. Folded over twice she slowly unfolded it to reveal the type sentence she saw earlier that morning and had forgotten all about:

Had she put it in her pocket to show it to Kate and completely forgot about it? Or was it put there as a warning for her to stay on guard?

An Anatomy of Typewriters Story

The content below was originally paywalled.

The following morning Nat woke up to the sun peeking through a twisted blind and striking her right on her closed eyes. She opened one eye and looked around. She was definitely still in her apartment which was at least one positive. She couldn’t remember how she got into bed although she still wore the clothes she had on the day before. 

She managed to push herself into a sitting up position in bed and picked up her cellphone to see the time when it started to squeal in her hand. It was the perfect ringtone after all.

Suddenly, she remembered having ignored her boss all day yesterday. It might work for one day but not two days in a row. She had to answer it. Like her old teacher taught her, she put a smile on her face and answered the call.

“Hi Bernice. I’m so sorry I missed your calls yesterday. I was tied up—”

“Spare me the bullshit, Nat. You better have something for me or I swear to God I’m cutting you loose this time,” Bernice said. She could hear her through the phone popping open a medicine bottle. That was her way. She was always a bundle of frazzled nerves. Always taking a pill for this or that ailment. She never let a moment pass her by on the phone when she wasn’t consuming some medication. Nat often wondered if she did this with everyone she spoke to and if so, how she hadn’t overdosed on these medications by now.

“Of course I’ve got something,” Nat said, clearly trying to use some stalling tactics while she went to her laptop in the hopes of unearthing some old gem she could submit till she could get her act together to write something better. When she sat down at her chair she saw the paper in her typewriter had words on it. Several in fact. All the way to the bottom of the page where she read the words “THE END” dead center.

“You better not be fucking with me, Nat. And don’t try sending me something you wrote when you were in high school. You tried that before and quite frankly, your early work sucks.” Bernice moved the phone away from her mouth while she popped a pill and chugged water to swallow it.

Nat looked beside the typewriter and found pages turned face down beside it. She picked up the stack and found five fully typed out pages with a title at the top, also dead center, that read “THE SHADOW KILLER.”

How was this even possible she thought to herself.

“HELLO? Are you still with us, Nat?”

“Uh, yes. I mean, no. Nothing from high school. I’ll bring it in today. This morning,” Nat said, fumbling her words as the memory of the alcohol she drank the day before returned. Her friends always teased her for being such a light weight. But to have had so much she forgot having written an entire short story?

“Bring it in? Just email it to me,” Bernice said.

“I can’t. I…It’s typed on a typewriter,” Nat said, realizing how silly that will probably sound to Bernice. No one uses a typewriter anymore.

“A typewriter? My, aren’t we fancy. Fine,” she said, moving the phone away from her mouth again, this time to cough so violently Nat thought she surely hacked up a hair ball. “I’ll be in the office till one this afternoon. You better bring me something, Nat or I swear to God—”

“Yes, Bernice. Or you’ll make me wish I stayed in the obits department,” Nat said, rolling her eyes.

“Careful, Nat or the next obit we write will be yours,” Bernice said before hanging up. She always had to have the last word.

“Bitch.”

Nat grabbed the pages and pulled the last page from the typewriter. She eyed it strangely, a memory of tapping came to her mind but she couldn’t quite place it. 

Bernice is the managing editor of a fairly prestigious magazine. It was more like an institution now that the world was turning digital but Bernice was determined to keep things as they always have been. 

“If it was good enough in the 1900’s then it’s damn well good enough now. Our readers will see to that,” she always said at just about every team meeting.

The magazine was meant to be part fiction with flowery obituaries thrown in from the past and the present. It was the fiction that made the magazine a staple in the community. To this day many known writers got their start where Nat is right now and she knew it. The last thing she wanted to do was blow this once in a lifetime opportunity. A stepping stone to a real career in the arts. A way to let her family know her writing and daydreaming wasn’t for nothing.

She handed the pages to Bernice who prided herself in being a speed reader. She leaned back in her chair, surrounded by stacks upon stacks of paper. Each one a manuscript some poor sod had sent in to the magazine in the hopes of discovery. Bernice hated them all but she refused to throw them out. It made her feel more important than she really was. Sure, she got to pick the winners and losers but she was getting on in age and would need to retire eventually. Give up the power to someone else younger and with their own vision for the place. 

Whenever Nat and Bernice didn’t see eye-to-eye, Nat wished the piles of paper would just fall over onto her and crush her when no one was around. She didn’t wish that today as she sat in the chair on the other side of Bernice’s desk and waited.

Nat let her eyes wander the room while she waited. Photos that could’ve been photoshopped of Bernice shaking hands with politicians and celebrities. Many of them were dead or Nat didn’t think were so popular today but they had pride of place on the walls and on bookshelves. 

Bernice slammed the pages down on the desk so hard it made Nat jump in her seat. She pulled off her reading glasses and let them fall, resting on her cleavage from their tether. She stared at Nat who suddenly felt like she was being inspected under a microscope and it made her palms sweaty.

“This… is… brilliant!” She shouted. “Chris! Chris, get your butt in here now!” She continued to shout, this time over Nat’s head and through the shut door. 

Her office was behind floor to ceiling glass so she could see everyone in the office. Nat turned in her chair to see Chris stand up from her chair, a pencil keeping her hair up and her brown rimmed glasses dangling on the edge of her nose. She wore platform shoes that added about six inches to her height but were so heavy she hunched over when she walked in them for fear she’d fall over.

“Yes, boss,” Chris said, opening the office door and sticking her head in.

Everyone knew Chris was going to be Bernice’s replacement. Bernice wouldn’t say it but she knew it would be Chris as well. It’s why, for the last year, whenever she made any important decisions involving the magazine she made sure Chris was in the room when it happened.

“Read this and tell me what you think?” The ultimate test. Chris was being asked for her opinion. She had no idea if Bernice’s enthusiasm was one of excitement at having read something brilliant or satisfaction at having read the worst crap ever to cross her desk. Nat wasn’t sure either and now had to sit patiently while someone else read the story she didn’t even remember writing.

Chris planted herself in the seat beside Nat and just said, “wow.”

“Is that good?” Nat asked, unable to remain silent any longer.

“Is that good?” Bernice repeated mockingly. “Is that good?” Her voice louder. She looked at Chris to finish her thought.

“It’s probably the best piece of writing I’ve read in the last decade,” Chris said, cautiously. She looked at Bernice and hoped she would say the same.

Bernice nodded. “Two, possibly even three decades I’d say. Easily.” Nat breathed a sigh of relief. Her job was saved at least for now. “Make sure this gets in the next issue.”

“You mean the one going to press tomorrow? But we already sent the files last night,” Chris said, a note of panic in her voice.

“Well, unsend them. Get on the phone right now and tell them we have a last minute edition. Bump whatever you have to, but get this one in. Our readers will love it!” Bernice said, waving for both of them to leave her office. She chuckled to herself and the last thing Nat heard as she left Bernice’s office was, “shadow killer. Brilliant.”

Nat hadn’t expected her story to go so well, especially as she doesn’t remember writing it, let alone what it’s about. The whole way home on the bus she tried to remember the events of last night. Tried to picture herself sitting at the typewriter writing a story, this story, the one she left in the capable hands of Bernice and Chris. She wished she had asked for a copy before she left but figured she’d just read it when it hit the newsstands tomorrow.

The next morning, Nat made her breakfast like she always does; toast and coffee. She sipped and dipped while listening to classical music. The time had come for her to check her emails and organize her plans for the day when she saw the typewriter. It had a page in it. She remembered distinctly not putting paper in it the night before. And yet here it was.

Not only did it have a paper in it but she watched as it typed out letters on to the page all on its own. One letter at a time was pressed and with the strike of each onto the page she walked closer to it to see what it was typing.

Nat slowly sat down in her chair in disbelief. She did just see her typewriter act on its own and type without the aid of anyone and yet it couldn’t be. Surely there was some trick to it? Her great uncle must’ve sent it as some sort of gag gift.

Her phone rang and for the first time in a long time she answered it without first screening the caller ID or listening to the ringtone to alert her.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” It was Nat’s mother on the phone and as usual she seemed to be starting their conversation in the middle without any context.

“What?” Nat asked, an air of frustration in her voice. The last thing she needed right now was to play a game of twenty questions with her overbearing mother.

“Have you not seen the news? It seems the police have kept an investigation from the public that they now feel we ought to know. Typical of them to do that, isn’t it? Wait till the fifth body drops and all of a sudden they think ‘okay, we better tell people now.’ I mean, that could’ve been me.”

“Mom, I really wish you’d just say whatever it is you’re trying to say instead of talking at me like I’ve just been in the room with you for the last sixty years of your life! Jesus H.—”

“Do not speak the Lord’s name in vain, please. I raised you better. I’m glad to hear you’re so concerned for your mother. Especially, as now she’s living in the same town as a serial killer.”

Nat got very quiet. Her mother was prone to over exaggeration and if that’s what this was she was in no mood to play.

“Mom, what are you on about?”

“The Shadow Killer, dear. It’s been on the news all morning. Everyone is talking about him. Stalks his victims in the night. Usually woman who all look like me, quite frankly. Or maybe like me when I was your age…” she said, her voice trailing off. “Come to think of it, these women do look a bit like you.”

“Sorry, did you just say ‘Shadow Killer’?” I asked. “Are you sure you’re not just reading my story? Though how you got your hands on it already…”

“This isn’t one of your fantasy stories, dear. This is real life. Do yourself a favor and listen to talk radio in the mornings instead of all that classical music, you might learn something valuable. You know, maybe you can write about this serial killer and be a real journalist.”

“Uh, mom, my boss is on the other line. Sorry, gotta go. Bye.” Nat quickly hung up before her mother could say another word. It was her own fault for answering the phone. She would’ve guessed how it was going to go. The same way every conversation with her mother always goes. Inevitably she brings up the lack of a real job and Nat finds a reason to hang up.

But why did she mention the Shadow Killer? Wasn’t that the name of her story? She had to be sure so she got dressed to head down to the newsstand on the corner. They always got in her magazine specially, ever since the owner found out she would be featured in it. His very own celebrity. It made her cringe to see the picture he insisted taking of her that one time holding up her own article in front of his newsstand but because of it she was able to get whatever she wanted there for free.

Fresh out the shower and dressed, Nat hoped the newsstand would be crowded with people. It meant there would be no time for small talk. As she exited her building and made a left she looked up to the sky and gave thanks for small miracles.

An Anatomy of Typewriters Story

The content below was originally paywalled.

Her phone rang again for the third time in the last half hour. Ignoring her boss who was calling about a deadline was her second favorite thing to do. Her first favorite thing was writing. Though the words seemed to not be flowing as easily as they used to. She knew the reason. It was the time of year. In fact, her boss should also know as well why she was avoiding his calls.

The phone rang a fourth time. Too soon for it to be him so she picked up her cell phone that she had face down beside her laptop to read the caller id: BATTLE-AXE

Nat rolled her eyes and sighed. This was a call she had to answer. If she didn’t then it would be followed by a knock on her door in a day or two. A quick glance around her apartment told her a visit from mom was not ideal at this time.

She tapped the green answer button and forced a smile on her face. Her favorite teacher from high school told her the best way to make anyone believe the lie is to smile. Even over the phone they can feel it.

“Yes, mother?”

“Ouch! Damn it!” Her mother always seemed to call her when she was in the middle of doing something that required two hands. No matter who it was she had to talk to, it waited till she was loading the dishwasher, vacuuming, polishing the silver. She can picture her now, probably clearing out the closet, her cellphone dangling precariously between her left shoulder and her left ear. A box on the brink of falling on top of her as she lowers it onto her foot. “Your great uncle, Lou, passed away last week.” A few muffled sounds and a thunk could be heard on the phone. Nat was used to this and waited before saying anything in response. Her mother just dropped her phone. Muffle. Muffle. “Okay, I’m back.”

“Who the heck is uncle Lou?” Nat asked, staring down at her laptop. The screen dimmed, daring her to swipe along the track pad to bring it back to life. Instead she closed the lid. The last thing she needed was a continuous reminder of a blank page. The cursor blinking at her.

“Grandma Dottie. Your father’s mother. May he rest in piece. She had a brother. You heard us talk about him, surely?” She was starting to get out of breath now, and was breathing heavily into the mic of the phone. 

Nat put her mother on speaker and placed her phone down on the desk in front of her now closed laptop. “Vaguely, mom. Is that the one they put away? Why are you just now telling me a week later?”

“None of us knew till just yesterday. You know how his side of the family is…” Nat tuned her mother out at this point. No matter what reason her mother called the conversation always managed to turn back around towards her father’s side of the family. She claimed they cut her out of any news when he died because they never liked her. If not for Nat and her younger brother they probably would’ve cut her out completely. Blah. Blah. Blah. “…left to you in his will. It should arrive some time today, if not already.”

“Wait, what?” Nat tuned her mother back in when she heard the word ‘will’ but it was too late, her mother was already much too preoccupied to repeat herself.

“Listen, your brother is coming over with my grand baby so I can’t stay on the phone all day with you.”

“You called me, mother. Remember?”

“Talk soon. Kisses.” Her mother blew her two kisses through the phone and hung up. Nat stayed staring at the phone. Whenever she got off the phone with her mother it always felt like less of a conversation and more of a public service announcement: Here Are the Things You Must Be Told. Hang Up. Done.

Her mother never asked her how she was doing. Never showed the slightest interest in her career. In fact, she’d never stepped foot inside of Nat’s apartment. One day Nat won’t answer and it will force her mother to come and see her place. 

Nat leaned back in her chair and turned to look out of her seventh floor window. The curtains were drawn but they were the shear kind. She could see an overcast of clouds were about to step in front of the sun. The perfect time for putting words down on the page. She opened her laptop and hovered her fingers over the keys to type in her password when her intercom buzzer went off.

She pushed the TALK button on the square box next to her front door and said, “Yes?”

“Package for Natalie Winter.”

TALK: “Bring it up.” She pushed the door button and heard a buzz to let her know she had unlocked the door downstairs to let them in.

The present from her uncle already? Her mother had only just called her to expect it. Knowing her mother, who was always late with news, she knew about it days ago but only just today remembered to tell her daughter about it.

She looked through her front door peep hole and waited for the delivery man to reach her floor from the elevator. She heard a whistling and knew it must be him. When he rounded the corner to her apartment she opened her door, a bit taken aback by two things.

The first was the delivery man. He was actually wearing a recently pressed suit and tie. Long hair pulled back tight in a ponytail, black square rimmed glasses, and a goatee. He was no ordinary delivery man. The second was the large box he carried using two hands. It was rather heavy and he had to use one leg to help him leverage it in his arms better.

“Do you have someplace I can put this down before I drop it, ma’am?” His voice was a soft whisper that she barely heard over the sound of the elevator doors closing and descending back to the ground floor.

“Oh, of course. Come in,” Nat said, stepping to one side to let him in. She winced at the sight of her cluttered apartment. She wasn’t expecting a delivery. Let alone a delivery that would require letting a perfect stranger into her apartment to put it down somewhere. She closed the front door and followed close behind him, directing him towards her tiny kitchen table where she pushed aside bills and magazines to make room for the box.

He stepped back and reached into the inside pocket of his suit. “If you could just sign here and initial here,” he said, pointing to two places on a piece of paper he unfolded and placed on the box. He also pulled out a pen that he clicked and handed to her.

“You’re not my usual mail man,” Nat said, signing where he directed. She closed her eyes briefly, realizing how stupid she must sound having said that.

“I work for the law firm that handled Mr. Nathanial I. Winter’s estate upon his passing.”

“Really? I’m afraid I hardly knew my great uncle,” she said, handing him back his pen which he promptly clicked and replaced in his pocket along with the paper she signed. “What’s in the box? I can’t imagine he knew I existed let alone would’ve left me something. I thought he wasn’t allowed to have any personal things at the sanitarium.”

The man’s face hardened and she could tell he was not amused by her words. “Happydale was not a sanitarium, ma’am. And your great uncle lived a most interesting life right up until the end.” He took a step towards Nat who was frozen in place. She looked around for a weapon, should she need one at this moment, but her knives were all dirty and at the bottom of her sink. “He was always most fond of you. In fact, during our last visit with him he insisted you were to receive his most prized possession. He said you were the only one in his family who would know exactly how to use it.” He then turned and headed towards her front door. She watched him leave without saying a word. She didn’t know what to say. How could her great uncle think so highly of her? They’ve never met. Whenever she heard about him, he was already a resident of Happydale and from the way her family spoke about it, his stay there was for his safety as well as theirs.

She retrieved a blade from her junk drawer in the kitchen and opened it to open the box. On top of it was the business card of Randell Sayers, Junior Associates at Crocker, Pfeiffer and Associates.

Slicing through the tape around the box the flaps opened slightly and she pulled all four back to reveal crumpled newspaper. She tossed them aside, excited for what she might find inside. She saw the black case that was almost as square as the box it came in. She reached inside and used all the strength she could muster to lift the case out of the box. It was rather large and much heavier than she anticipated it to be.

The word ROYAL was embossed in silver letters on the case and Nat knew exactly what it was. She managed to get it onto her desk and tossed her laptop on the nearby couch to set up the case perfectly center. She then went to work finding the four clasps that were on all four sides of the case. Once she found them she took a deep breath and lifted the lid that was not as heavy as the full case. She set it beside her desk and sat down in front of a vintage typewriter. It was just like one she’d always wanted growing up but her parent’s would never buy her.

The blood red Royal typewriter looked as old as it was with scuff marks along the side and some letters on keys were worn more than others. Nat had no idea her great uncle was a writer just like her. She pushed her chair back from the desk and bent down to look under it where she kept her printer. With no other clear surfaces in her apartment it was the best place for it. Unfortunately, there was no paper there. She forgot to buy a new ream when she ran out a week ago.

She went back to the box and looked inside to find more crumpled newspapers at the bottom that she pulled out. Under them were two folders. The first was the same color red like the typewriter and had about one hundred sheets of blank paper, maybe more. Just what she was looking for. She set it aside and looked in the other folder. It had a handwritten letter from her great uncle to her that read:

Nat put down the letter and looked at the typewriter with a sense of fear she couldn’t quite place. She reached out one finger and quickly tapped the N key. The clicky sound it made felt amazing to her. She clicked it once more, slowly. Watching the letter rise from its resting place and strike the drum. She laughed to herself for letting her great uncles letter scare her. 

But what did he mean that he was murdered? Her mother didn’t tell her that. She didn’t say much about how he died now that she recalled their conversation in her head. She needed answers but knew calling her mother back wasn’t going to yield much results. This called for a Google search but not before she poured herself a drink.

Putting the typewriter to one side she fired up her laptop and got to work trying to Google her dead relative. As she might have guessed, he had no social media footprint at all. Why would he? He spent most of his childhood and adult life in an institution where any interaction he had with the digital or outside world would’ve been monitored. She figured that’s why he had, and cherished, his typewriter so much. 

Then she decided to search the name of the place where he lived his entire life but she didn’t know the name. Why would she. It wasn’t like she was writing him any letters and she doesn’t remember her mother ever mentioning visiting Uncle Nat. Her drink was starting to affect her. Made her feel dizzy as she shut her laptop and moved it aside for the typewriter that she plonked down in front of her. 

She started typing and chuckled when she realized there was no paper in the typewriter. She poured herself another glass and went to the table to retrieve a few sheets of the blank paper that accompanied it. As she sat down she noticed something strange about the feel of the paper in her hands. It wasn’t like printer white paper. She turned on the reading lamp on her desk and held it under to examine it closely. It was slightly thicker and felt rough to the touch, like it was as old as the typewriter it accompanied.

She fed one page into the typewriter and proceeded to type her name “NAT” in all caps and yawned before downing the rest of her drink. She was suddenly too exhausted to do anymore work. Her bed was calling her and she wasn’t going to let the sound of tapping keep her from the rest her mind and body were longing for.