I found the old machine in the attic, and amused myself by cleaning and oiling it thoroughly. I tried to hammer out some jokes -- but they seemed to disappear into the mechanism. Then I tried typing my name. "William Shakespeare" appeared on the page. Flattering as that was, I gave it up, and parked the machine in the library as a curiosity.
That night, coming home quite late from the club, I heard a disturbing sound in the darkness.
Click
"Who's there " I called out.
Click-click-clickcame the reply. Then the mystery cleared itself -- for following close upon a thirteenth click came the gentle ringing of a bell. I knew then the typewriter was in action . . . by no means a reassuring discovery. Who or what could it be, using the typewriter at this unholy hour of 3 a.m.?