typewriter

As I slowly crept toward the typewriter, my apprehension grew with each click. I approached the desk with caution, not knowing quite what to expect. All of the sudden, it stopped typing, and my Great Aunt (at least that’s who I thought she was) sauntered ominously into the room. She seemed very pale and sickly, with yellow, sagging skin and patches of sparse white hair. I greeted her as cheerily as I could, and she responded with a crackly, hoarse, "site down, child". I obliged, not knowing quite what to expect. Was this woman crazy? Why did I come here? Why in the world does she own a seemingly possessed typewriter? A million questions were running through my head as she came nearer. "THWACK!" My world faded into a deep, black oblivion.