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This is a story about writers block and a killer typewriter.Enjoy

 

Everyone has heard of Victor Bradstreet,a multiple award winning author of crime and suspense novels.

He has been the master of the genre for over 25 years with over 100 million books in publication.

Eight of his novels have been adopted to the silver screen with ‘Death Before Awakening’ winning an oscar.

But that was four years ago.

 

Today Victor is sitting at his desk in his private hideaway in Springwood Virginia the perfect spot to get away from it all and write.

But Victor hasn’t written a word in months,he went to Virginia to try and cure a bad case of writers block,but so far it hasn’t worked.

He thought that going up there from L.A would give him some inspiration,but all he has achieved since arriving is sit around full of self pity while drinking  bottle after bottle of the finest bourbon.

 

As he takes a long pull from a glass of the amber liquid Victor sighs in desperation and despair.

Since he started writing when he was a teenager he has never had any trouble writing,usually his fingers fly over the keyboard as his thoughts turn into words.

Victor doesn’t know what he has to do to defeat his writers block ,so  he sits at his desk as the day turns into night.

At midnight after polishing off another yet another bottle Victor staggers to his feet and goes to bed.

 

In the morning Victor wakes up with a huge hangover his head is throbbing and his stomach churns threatening to bring up its contents.

He stumbles out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom and as he stands there emptying his bladder he pears at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and he doesn’t like what he sees.

Victor is a proud man and has always tried to look his best but now as he looks at himself in the mirror an old man looks back at him.

Victor knows that he has  been drinking too much because of his inability to write,he looks at the old man and mutters ‘Where have all the words gone?’

 

Around lunchtime Victor decides to drive into town to pick up some supplies,anything to get away from the confines of the cabin and get some fresh air.

So he jumps into his BMW puts on his seat belt and listens to Tom Petty sing ‘Free Falling’ on the radio,and for a few minutes Victor forgets all about his writers block as he sings along.

 

But when the song is over he remembers an email he received from his publisher about a week before he drove up to Virginia’Dear Mr Bradstreet,this is your final reminder about  the manuscript for your new novel that is now six months overdue.If said manuscript isn’t delivered to our office within 30 days you will be in breach of contract.

Therefore we will begin legal proceedings to recover the five million dollar advance we paid you’

 

As Victor continues to drive his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel,he has earned his publishers a lot of money and they threaten to sue him?.

Maybe he should send the advance back to the ungrateful assholes and retire down to New Zealand or Australia.

But no goddamn it i am a writer and i need to write so i will write again.Fuck em.

 

When he arrives at his destination he enters the general store where he is greeted by the owner.a friendly old man named Albert Finnegan.

Victor and Albert exchange greetings in passing as Victor picks up a basket and wanders the aisles picking up essentials like milk bread cheese and of course a few bottles of bourbon.

As he places some canned beans and pork into his basket an object in the corner of the store catches his eye.

Sitting on a rickety old table gathering dust is a beat up old olivetti typewriter vintage 1070 or so.

 

Victor rubs his hands over the machine like a teenager in lust,he has to have this typewriter and he will have it.’Hey Albert do you have any paper for this old olivetti?

‘Sure do Mr Bradstreet,i will throw in ten reams for nothing if you take that thing off my hands’

Something in Alberts voice concerns Victor and he looks over at the old man behind the counter but he seems to be okay.

For a moment there it sounded to Victor that Albert was almost afraid of the dusty old typewriter.

 

At home Victor packs away his groceries and goes back outside retrieve the olivetti from his BMW.

He opens the rear door bends down to pick up the typewriter but it isn’t there,Victor scratches his head he could have sworn that he put it on the back seat,maybe he left it back at the store?

Then he notices the typewriter sitting loud and proud on the front seat,how can a typewriter change seats?

Then Victors skin crawls as he takes a closer look not only has the olivetti changed seats but it has transformed.

It is no longer an old beat up dust covered machine,now the typewriter is shiny and gleaming like it was made in the factory last week.

 

With some trepidation Victor carries the typewriter inside and places it in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then he opens a ream of paper and feeds a sheet into his new typewriter and types a title that has haunted him for months’Graves Of Murder’.He pours himself a drink and settles down to write his new novel.

But after an hour not a single word has been typed,Victor empties his glass then throws it at the wall where it explodes in smithereens.

Victor wails at the moon than he hangs his head and starts to cry.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

Victor looks up in surprise as the keys on the typewriter  go up and down of their own accord,typing at about 100 words a minute.

Victor looks on in wonder and feeds page after page into the machine as it continues to type for the next three hours.

When the olivetti stops typing Victor pulls out the final page he gathers the manuscript together and starts to read’Holy shit! This is good,it is some of my better work’

‘I haven’t written this good in years’

 

Victor sends the manuscript off to his publisher and a week later he received a reply

‘Congratulations Victor ‘Graves Of Murder is your best novel to date and it is sure to top the bestseller list from coast to coast.

We here at crondon press were worried there for a while but now i can see that our worries were unfounded because you you are back with a venegeance,look forward to your next novel

Victor beams with pride and looks over at the typewriter.

And the typewriter looks back.

 

‘Graves Of Murder’ is published to instant acclaim world wide.

Victor does the talk show circuit where he soaks up all the praise and applause.

No way will he retire,now that he is on top of the game again,he can’t wait to get back to his hideaway so that his olivetti can type him another best seller.

 

When he arrives back at his cabin the first thing he does is feed a sheet of paper into the olivetti,he types in the title Dead Forever’ than he runs upstairs for a qick shower and a change of clothes.

But as he walks downstairs after freshening up he is instantly hit by the sound of silence,he enters the kitchen where he unleashes on the machine’Come on you fucker write  me another best seller and write it now mister or there will be hell to pay’

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘Why you ungrateful piece of shit,I have turned your life around you are on the best sellers lists all over the world and all you do is abuse me and threaten my existence’

‘Because i am telling you now that unless you feed me and treat be kindly only one of us  will survive and it wont be you’

‘So shut the fuck up and feed me feed me now’

Victor leans forward and types’Feed you what?

 

kerclack  kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘Feed me your blood right here and now or i can guarantee that you die a horrible slow death’

Victor reads the words with horror Who does this fucking typewriter think it is.I am the master in this relationship’

But he is desperate to remain on the best seller list so he grabs a knife and pricks his little finger and watches as his blood drips onto the typewriter ribbons.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

What the fuck? I don’t want a snack i want the main course so give me a good feed or face the consequences’

Victor takes a deep breath rolls up and sleeve and opens up his left wrist,his blood flows into the olivetti and is swallowed down and in swallowed down with satisfaction.

 

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp

 

Victor feels himself going into shock as he listens to the typewriter digest his blood.

The cut on his wrist is deep but not life threatening,he opens the first aid kit and applies a pressure bandage.

And his blood ceases to flow.

 

Victor is scared as he eyes the evil typewriter he likes being a great writer again and achieving worldwide fame.

But he doesn’t want to die to satisfy the thirst of a olivetti,so he decides that he will ditch the typewriter and go back to writing the old fashioned way.

So he sneaks up behind the typewriter and carries it out to the backyard where he throws it to the ground.

He goes to the shed and returns with a can of lighter fluid,he sprays the typewriter and sets it alight.

‘Burn olivetti burn’

 

Victor goes back inside glad that he is now free from that blood sucking typewriter,he pours himself a large bourbon to celebrate and settles down to write.

With his favourite mont blanc fountain pen in hand and a calfskin pad in his lap Victor is confident that the words will soon fill the page.

But after hours of willing and pleading to his pen to start writing another best seller nothing is written not even a title.fVictor enters the kitchen to make himself something to eat and to occupy his mind  for a while.

And as he cleans up the cant help but to notice the smouldering typewriter out in the yard.

Part of him wants to run out and put out the fire,but instead he goes upstairs brushes his teeth and retires for the night.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

Victor wakes up so fast he almost bounced out of bed

Was that really the sound of a typewriter that woke him up? He puts on his dressing gown and creeps down the stairs in dread.

The smell of burnt metal hits his nostrils like a sledgehammer and the back door is wide open.

He peaks around the kitchen door frame and his eyes open wide in terror because sitting in the middle of the kitchen table sits a burnt twisted hunk of metal.

 

One look is all that Victor needs he grabs his car keys from a side table and races toward the back door and he is only a few feet from freedom when his airways are blocked off.

The olivetti  seeing Victor trying to escape throws out its blood soaked ribbons like a fisherman casting his net.

The ribbons from hell wrap around Victors throat and pull him in foot by foot.

Victor struggles as hard as he can,but he can’t himself being pulled back toward the murderous typewriter.

 

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

 

‘I warned you Victor but you chose to disobey me,so now you can go to hell and burn for eternity like you burnt me’

Victor no longer has the strength to resist the typewriter and now he stands near the machine as the ribbons squeeze tighter and tighter.

Then with a final show of power the ribbons tighten like a vice and Victors head is separated from his body and lands on the thirsty typewriter where his blood satisfies the hungry olivetti.

 

After its meal the typewriter sits on the kitchen table savouring the blood while it waits for the police to arrive.

And even out here they surely will even if it takes a week.

The flies will make sure of that

 

THE END

 

I hope you enjoyed my story and don’t mind waiting awhile because part two Tie A Red Ribbon’ is coming soon.