Written by Ashton Allen.

We, as people of society aspire to make a career out of a talent we have. Some become photographers, doctors, astronomers, or even the common mechanic. All are vital to our way of life but we each strive for something different. It took me quite a while but I found my passion for writing.

Writing had never been something that I gave a chance, mostly due to the fact that I didn't think I would be good at it, but when I finally did I found that I had a great passion for it and continued to pursue it with the utmost ambition. Well, I grew up in a variety of locations; but, I discovered my talent for the literary arts in New Mexico. Roswell to be exact, yes the place where the fucking aliens supposedly landed, it was actually quite an uneventful town. Especially for the adolescence age group that I was a part of.

I moved there because my mother, whom had gained custody of me(my father wasn't much of a father but my mother loved and took care of me) was getting married to a man here. My step-dad was a very good man but had his fair share of issues. He took us into his home which was filled with antiques that had been passed down through his family.

My mother was a Wiccan and even though I was a Christian I believed and still to this day believe in here proclamations of the paranormal. Well she often found lingering spirits, and I have even heard/seen them from time to time, around many of the objects. However, there are negative types of energy called "parasites" whether you are of the Wiccan faith or not take note of what I have to say. Well these... parasites are just piles of negative energy left behind, that can manifest to cause harm.

Now my step-dad had an old typewriter that always gave me chills but, nothing paranormal about it. My brother, who was around two at the time, loved to play with that stupid typewriter. Pressing the buttons, climbing on it, pulling the paper holder, I remember at one point I felt sorry for the typewriter.

Amidst all the destruction it endured, the typewriter never showed fatigue, a button stuck here or there but it always remained strong. It was about 4 years and I was a sophomore at Goddard High School. I was home alone because my parents took my brother with them to a party. I was attempting to write a manuscript and I got this...feeling.

Have you ever got that feeling in your stomach like you just ate some bad salsa...similar to nausea but not exactly. Well that's the feeling I got in my house sometimes. Whether it was paranormal forces or not my house was just...creepy, my computer was in a very open area so when ever I got chills or read/listened to something creepy I felt defenseless. I shrugged off the feeling and continued my manuscript(which looking back probably wasn't very good). Growing tired of writing I turned onto YouTube, and sent a text to my girlfriend. Then I heard it...

Click...*

Click..*

It was as if someone was typing...but I wasn't... I paused my video and listened carefully for that sound that so clearly pierced the air before...

Nothing.

"I'm going nuts." saying it for nothing more but reassurance. I would honestly rather be crazy than face what I did that night.

8:45 PM Central Mountain Time

Is what my phone said as I checked it, for my mental fatigue was oddly high for it being relatively early (by my standards anyway).

As I was about to continue typing I heard that sound again...

click*

Click*

CLICK*

It was growing...louder I turned my chair in a 180 degree turn and saw that damn typewriter....typing?

Click click click click click click*

"How in the fuu...? My sentence died in my mouth as I sat their mystified by the astounding events that were taking place...

I grabbed a piece of printer paper out of curiosity and reloaded the typewriter for laughs mostly but, I wanted to know what was being typed...

L-

Okay, an "L" that could be anything..

I-

My heart beat continued to rise from excitement

G-

"L-I-G"? What could that be..could a ghost typo, laughing at this to myself I continued to watch.

H-

T-

S-

Lights...what about them-

The lights all throughout my house shattered in a instant! Not as much shattering as exploding!

"AH!!!!!!"

My panic was subsided with the intense fear of what else was occurring.

Blood... but why, I realized I was COVERED in glass shards. How I only had one light above the typewriter

the next word was quicker and even more menacing.

One word, yet it made me more terrified than I have ever been.

R-u-n....run

I bolted or at least tried before the carpeting, that was nailed to my floor before, was swept from under my feet. I had already the momentum of running so I face planted into concrete floor of my home.

I shattered 5 of my teeth and swallowed it all...the shards of my fangs had turned in to knives as they slid down my throat slicing it to ribbons..

Blood was filling my stomach... I needed something, I have no idea what. I ran into the bathroom to find something medical for my cuts. In the midst of looking I looked up and say my reflection...not mirroring my movements. I smiled at my self and then made a fist... My reflection then punched at the mirror causing it to exploded.

Of course, I got cut... a lot.

A bleeding mess I limped into my room extracted the largest shards from my body that I could find and laid there on the floor...gasping like a dying fish..

• Pounding*

My door was being attacked by...well I don't know... something. I turned around and used my T.V as a crutch to hold my broken body up.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!?!...WHAT DID I DO TO-" my sentence cut short as the door flew of its hinges at me.

Tired of all the shit I guess, in one last attempt I (kinda) ducked, the door however decided to turn mid air, while at the same time smashing into my ribs...then nothing..I blacked out...I woke up in the hospital two days later... My mother, girlfriend, friends, and family all scared for my health. Here was why.

I had seven broken ribs, forty-five total cuts on the outside of my body and 16 internal cuts, eighty-five percent of which were in my throat so I couldn't speak. A broken leg and a major concussion... but I was alive.

I stayed in the hospital for a year due to my injuries and on my own accord.

I wanted to be as far away from that house as possible... but when I got out I could speak, in a low tone, I could walk/limp, and I wasn't afraid... I walked in my home (completely repaired) sat down at my computer and tried to relax.

The typewriter left me alone for the rest of my time at that house.

I am now living with my best friend and my girlfriend in an apartment while we go to college.

I am gonna be a journalist...and I will NEVER have to see that god forsaken typewriter ever again...

I also just got a package from my mom... it's a good luck charm for my career as a writer. I am gonna go open it now.

Click...