[ WP ] A ghost possesses a computer printer . No one realizes anything is abnormal .

“ Yes, that ’ s what it said on the screen, ” I said. “ *Feed me blood*. ” 
 
 “ Hmm, ” said the technician on the phone. “ I can ’ t say I ’ ve ever seen that one before. And you ’ re sure there was no error code? Without an error code, I can ’ t really look this up. ” 
 
 “ No error code, ” I said. It just keeps saying *feed me blood* on the screen every time I try to print. Weird, right? ” 
 
 “ Well, not as weird as you ’ d think, ” said the technician. “ Up until a few years ago, these machines were made overseas. A lot of the error messages tend to be cryptic like this. Bad translations, you know? That ’ s why I need the error code. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m telling you, ” I said. “ There is no error code. ” 
 
 “ There ’ s always an error code, ” said the technician. 
 
 About this time, some sales guy from downstairs was approaching the machine with a stack of paperwork to copy. I snapped my fingers at the secretary and motioned to the guy. 
 
 “ Can ’ t use the printer now, Harvey, ” she said, “ It ’ s out of blood or something. ” 
 
 “ But I ’ m just making copies, ” said the sales guy. 
 
 On the phone, the technician was asking me, “ Did you try restarting the machine? ” 
 
 The secretary said, “ Can ’ t use it for anything. You ’ ll have to come back later. ” 
 
 I sighed and said, “ Yes. I restarted it. I turned it off for awhile. I pulled everything apart. Everything looks fine as far as I can tell. The toner cartridges don ’ t feel empty. No paper stuck in it or anything like that. And look, I don ’ t know if this is relevant or helps you figure this out at all, but shortly before it started giving the error message, everything that we printed came out in what looked like, I don ’ t know, Latin or something? ” 
 
 Over by the printer, the sales guy was saying, “ I ’ m meeting with a customer in twenty minutes. This is the only copier in the building. I need to use it *now*. ” He was loading his documents up. 
 
 “ Well, ” said the technician. “ It probably wasn ’ t Latin. I mean, I think this model was made in Korea or somewhere like that. You sure it wasn ’ t Korean? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t think it was Korean, ” I said. 
 
 “ Feed me blood? ” murmured the sales guy. “ Just what the hell does *that* mean? ” 
 
 I covered the phone receiver and yelled, “ I ’ m working on it right now. ” 
 
 The secretary said, “ I told you. The printer ’ s broken, Harvey. ” 
 
 “ But I ’ m just making *copies*, ” repeated the sales guy, obviously agitated. “ If I don ’ t have this paperwork ready in twenty minutes, I could lose this account! ” 
 
 The technician said, “ Are you still there? ” 
 
 “ Yeah, ” I said. “ I ’ m here. ” 
 
 “ I can put in a service call, but my guy won ’ t be able to make it out there until this afternoon. ” 
 
 The sales guy was pounding on the buttons of the printer. “ Feed me blood, ” he repeated. I watched as he rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a black ball point pen. Without hesitation, he jabbed the pen into his wrist. The secretary shrieked. I cringed. 
 
 “ What the f— “ I started, but couldn ’ t complete my sentence as I looked on, horrified. 
 
 The sales guy, blood streaming from his wrist, looked at the screen and calmly punched a few buttons. He lifted the cover of the machine up and smeared his blood over the copier glass. A cool breeze drifted through the office and what sounded like a low moan emanated from the machine. A moment later, it whirred to life and started making copies of the sales guy ’ s documents. He gave me a smug look. “ Was that so hard? ” 
 
 On the phone, the technician said, “ And that ’ s best case scenario. Realistically, he probably won ’ t be able to come out to take a look at the machine until tomorrow morning. ” 
 
 “ You know what, ” I told the technician. “ It looks like the printer ’ s working again. I don ’ t think we need somebody to come out after all. ” 
 
 “ Great, ” said the technician. “ These bugs have a way of working themselves out sometimes. ” 
 
 “ Yeah, ” I said. 
 
 The printer churned out copies, one after another, with a rhythmic hum. Maybe it was my imagination, but it sounded almost like chanting. Like a deep voice, reciting some malevolent prayer in Latin or Korean or something. I shook my head and took a sip of coffee. Now that was just ridiculous.
