Paranormal Machine

• Brionee Scowcroft, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

“A machine just sitting there, looking like it’s about to murder. Even though it’s a machine, a simple typewriting machine, the keys look like daggers ready to stab. The paper old, worn out and burnt” said the boy.

“So this is what you recall happened before you passed out?” said the investigator, Mr. Murphy.
“Well, I didn't mention this, but I wrote something on the paper. I knew how a typewriter works.”

Mr. Murphy gets up and walks around the office, a simple office with a bookcase in one corner, a desk in the other and a rug on the floor with two pale, worn out lounges. “So, you wrote something, what did you write exactly?”

“I wrote what I wanted to happen, a wish basically.”

A noise, a tapping noise started coming from the window.

“Ignore that, it’s just the pipes. So, what was your wish?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“Yes, you do, if you want us to help you and with these horrendous events happening, we need all the inside information we can get.”

“Ok, I wished that I could see what ghosts looks like, I don’t know why, don’t ask.”
“Wait, how old are you exactly? Around fourteen, fifteen?”

“I’m only fourteen, turning fifteen in ten days.”
“Hmm, ok. So, do you have any idea what could have caused you to pass out?”

“No, I think I saw something before I went, like a human. But it was very pale.”

“Ok, well I’m going to try figure this out, can you please sit quietly right where you are.”

‘Knock knock’

“Hang on a sec, someone’s at the door”
Mr. Murphy walks to the door and goes to open it. The second his hand touches the door knob, a shrilling scream erupts through the hallways outside the door. He opens the door, ‘Tap, Tap’ A tapping sound started. The same one from before. It sounded like it was coming from behind him. Mr. Murphy turns around, to see the boys lifeless body slumped, like a ragdoll, over the side of the couch. Mr. Murphy stands there in horror, while a body, looking like human and all, but yet so pale, like a ghost loomed behind him. Murphy realises there’s something or someone, and turns around but it’s too late. The last you hear of Mr. Murphy is a loud, deafening scream as the ghost like figure starts to tear apart his body, limb from limb, blood sprouting everywhere.

By Brionee Scowcroft