[ WP ] You have discovered an old typewriter in your attic , but it does more than simply print words onto paper ...


 I had n't ventured that far into my grandmother's attic before. Beyond the cloth covered mirrors of long ago, past ancient furniture and old dusty records haphazardly stacked in boxes strewn all over the floor, sat an old typewriter. It was one of those archaic, forgotten, mechanical beasts that made more of a clunk than a clack sound, with every line ending with that familiar whirr, preparing it for the next. And it might've remained forgotten had I not gone exploring that fateful Satuday afternoon. 
 
 I remember it well. I'd been hoping to go out with my friends to the creek nearby, in search of whatever wild animals or creepy crawlies we could get our hands on, but Mother Nature had other plans. I'd sat by my window, sighing as the rain continued to pour at a steady pace. It was the kind of rain that seemed to last forever, and it was n't long before the boredom overtook the melancholy, leading me to explore this old house. 
 
 Before the typewriter, I'd stumbled across an old cupboard with a key stuck in it that would n't turn anymore, filled with different plastic figures that I could n't quite make out, although there was one that reminded me of a native american. That novelty wore off quickly, so I'd turned my attention to a tall wardrobe that was locked in a similar fashion, ornately carved and somehow feeling alive, which was strange for wood that had to be almost a hundred years old. It seemed familiar somehow, but I could n't quite place my finger on it, so after a bit I gave up and proceeded to dig through a small pile at the far end of the attic. There I found a leather bound book with a strange symbol on the front, covered in dust. It looked rather unusual as I picked it up, but after a moment to read the title I set it back down again - I was n't really interested in reading a story that had no conclusion. 
 
 No, I was more interested in this little curiosity of a typewriter. As I sat down in front of it, a shudder went through me. I was n't sure if it was the draft, or my anticipation at what might be, and as my fingers lightly touched a long space bar attached to the bottom of it, I felt a strange surge within, an electrical jolt of sudden inspiration. My body shuddered as a million words and images flooded my mind, as countless worlds of opportunity and exploration were suddenly opened to me. I felt as though I could do anything, be anything, see anything, and it was... heavenly. My body felt light as a feather as my fingers began to dance across the keyboard to a song not heard of in so many years. With each press, a spark seemed to shoot off to the side from the paper that each letter printed so neatly onto, and little did I realize how many hours I spent in front of this typewriter. 
 
 When I was finished, I stared at the piles of pages that had been stacked neatly next to it, and I wondered aloud how I, the most mundane of people, could have had the imaginative spark to create such a wondrous tome. And so it was that I brought my new creation downstairs to show my brother, and how jealous he would be at my newfound talent! 
 
 Little did I suspect that the typewriter had other ideas - my ideas - that were slowly transforming the attic of fantasy into reality, one plot twist at a time...
