She dragged me to the desk chair. She pushed me into it.
“Hey—” I protested. “I almost dropped the candles.”
“Type something,” Alex instructed. “Go ahead, Zackie. Type something—and
we’ll see if it comes true.”
The wind howled outside the house, rattling the windowpane. I set my candles
down, one on each side of the old typewriter.
I leaned forward and read the story so far.
Alex was right.
Everything I had typed had come true.
But her idea was totally dumb.
“Type!” she ordered, standing behind me, her hands on my shoulders.
I glanced back at her. “Alex—haven’t you ever heard of
coincidence
?”
“Oooh—big word!” she replied sarcastically. “Are you sure you’re ready for
such a big word?”
I ignored her remark. “A coincidence is when two things happen by accident,”
I explained. “For example, I type that it’s stormy out—and then it starts to
storm. That’s called a coincidence.”
She shoved me toward the typewriter. “Prove it,” she insisted. “Go ahead, Zackie. Type the next sentence, and let’s see
if it comes true.”
She squeezed my shoulders. And then added, “Or are you
chicken
?”
I wriggled out from under her hands. “Okay, okay,” I groaned. “I’ll prove
just how dumb you are.”
I reached for the handwritten pages of the story. And I found the next
sentence.
Then I raised my hands to the old typewriter keyboard and typed it in:
THEY HEARD A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
I lowered my hands to my lap. And sat back.
“See?” I sneered. “Any more bright ideas?”
Then I heard a knock on the door!
I gasped.
Alex let out a startled cry.
“That didn’t h-happen,” I stammered. “I didn’t hear that. I imagined it.”
“But we
both
heard it,” Alex replied, her eyes wide. “We
both
couldn’t imagine it!”
“But it’s
impossible
!” I insisted. I picked up a candle. Then I jumped
up from the desk chair and hurried across the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Alex demanded, chasing after me.
“To answer the door,” I told her.
“No—!” she gasped.
I was already jogging through the dark hall. My heart pounded. The candle flame seemed to throb in rhythm with my heart.
I glanced back and saw Alex running after me. “Zackie—wait!”
I didn’t stop. I ran to the front door.
“No! Please—don’t open it!” Alex pleaded.
“I have to,” I told her. “We have to see who’s there.”
“Zackie—don’t!” Alex begged.
But I ignored her. And pulled open the door.
Alex gasped.
I stared out into the rain.
No one there.
No one.
Rain pattered the front stoop. The big raindrops bounced like balls in every
direction.
I pushed the door shut. And brushed a cold raindrop off my forehead.
“Weird,” Alex muttered, tugging at her blonde ponytail. She pushed her
glasses up on her nose. “Weird.”
“It had to be a tree branch,” I said. “The wind blew a tree branch against
the door. That’s all.”
“No way,” Alex insisted. “Tree branches don’t
knock.
I heard a knock
on the door—and so did you.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. Then we stared at the door.
“I know!” Alex declared. Behind her glasses, her eyes flashed excitedly. “I know why there was no one at the door!”
“I
don’t
want to know!” I groaned. “I don’t want to hear any more
crazy ideas about my story coming true.”
“But don’t you see?” she cried. “There was no one at the door because you
didn’t
write
someone at the door!”
“AAAAAGGH!”
I screamed. “Alex, please—give me a break. You don’t really
believe that I am controlling everything that happens—do you?”
She twisted her face, thinking hard.
“No,” she finally replied.
“Good!” I exclaimed.
“I think the old
typewriter
is controlling everything,” she said.
“Alex—go lie down,” I instructed. “I’m calling your parents to come get
you. You are
sick.
Definitely sick.”
She ignored me. “Maybe that’s why the woman in the burned-out shop gave you
the typewriter,” she continued. “Maybe she knew it had strange powers. And she
couldn’t wait to get rid of it.”
“I can’t wait to get rid of
you
!” I snapped. “Alex, please tell me
you’re not serious. You’re scaring me with this nutty talk. Really.”
“But, Zackie, I’m right. Everything you type—it comes true!” Alex grabbed
my arm and started to pull me down the hall.
I pulled back. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded.
“One more test,” she insisted.
I followed her into my room. “One more?” I asked. “One more test—and then
you’ll shut up about this?”
She raised her right hand. “Promise.” She lowered her hand. “But, you’ll see,
Zackie. You’ll see that I’m not crazy. Whatever you type on that old typewriter
comes true.”
I sat down at the desk and slid the candles closer to the typewriter. I
stared into the flickering orange light, reading the words of the story.
“Hurry up,” Alex urged. “Type that someone is standing on the other side of
the door.”
“Okay, okay,” I muttered. “But this is crazy.” I raised my hands to the old
typewriter keys and typed:
DRENCHED WITH RAIN, ADAM STOOD ON THE FRONT PORCH.
I lowered my hands to my lap.
I listened for a knock on the front door.
But all I heard was the steady rush of the wind and the patter of rain
against the house.
I waited, listening hard.
No knock.
I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly, listening.
Listening.
“No knock,” I told Alex. I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across my face. A triumphant grin. “See? It didn’t work.”
She frowned. She leaned over my shoulder and read the words again. “Of
course
it didn’t work,” she said. “You didn’t write that Adam knocked. You
put him on the porch. But you didn’t make him knock.”
I sighed. “Okay. If it will make you happy…”
I turned back to the typewriter and typed:
ADAM KNOCKED ON THE FRONT DOOR.
As I lowered my hands from the keys, I heard a loud knock on the front door.
“See?” Alex cried. It was her turn to grin.
“This
can’t
be happening!” I gasped.
We didn’t bother with candles. We both ran full speed through the hall to the
front door.
Alex reached it first. She grabbed the knob and pulled open the door.
“Is it really Adam?” I called.
I gaped in shock as Alex pulled Adam in from the rain.
He was drenched! His curly black hair was matted to his forehead. He wasn’t
wearing a rain slicker or jacket. His soaked T-shirt stuck to his body.
“Whoooa!” he exclaimed, shivering. He wrapped his arms around his chubby body
as if trying to warm himself.
Water poured off him and puddled on the floor.
“Adam—!” I opened my mouth to say something—but I was too shocked to form
words.
“It—it’s
true
!” Alex stammered. “It really works!”
“Huh?” Adam appeared dazed.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling dazed myself.
His eyes wandered around the living room. “I’m not sure!” he exclaimed. “I—I know I came here for a reason. But I don’t remember what it is.”
“Zackie
made
you come here!” Alex declared.
Adam shook his head hard, shaking water off himself like a dog. He narrowed
his eyes at Alex. “Excuse me?”
Alex studied Adam. “Did you stand on the front porch for a while before you
knocked?” she demanded.
Adam nodded. “Yeah. I did! I’m not sure why. I just stood there. I guess I
was trying to remember why I came over here. How did you know that?”
Alex grinned at me. “See? I was right all along.”
I swallowed hard. My head was spinning. “Yes. You were right,” I murmured.
The old typewriter…
Whatever I typed on it came true.
“What’s going on?” Adam demanded impatiently. He shook more water onto the
rug. “Why are we in the dark?”
“The storm knocked out the lights,” I told him. “Follow me.”
I led the way to my room. On the way, I stopped at the linen closet and gave
Adam a bath towel. He dried himself off as we walked to my room.
I couldn’t wait to tell him about my amazing typewriter. “You’re not going to
believe this!” I started.
I took him over to the typewriter. He stared at it in the orange candlelight.
Then Alex and I told him the whole story.
When we finished, Adam burst out laughing. “Very funny,” he said.
He shook his head. His curly hair was still soaked. Water dripped down his
forehead.
“I know you want to pay me back, Zackie,” he said. “I know you want to pay me
back for putting the mice in your locker. I know I embarrassed you in school.”
He put a moist hand on my shoulder. “But there is no way I’m going to fall
for a dumb story like that. No way.”
“Zackie will prove it to you,” Alex chimed in.
Adam sneered and rolled his eyes. “I can hardly wait.”
“No. Really,” I insisted. “It’s not a joke, Adam. It’s real. Come here. I’ll
show you.”
I pulled him up to the desk. Then I dropped into the chair and quickly typed
the next lines of my scary story:
THE STORM STOPPED SUDDENLY. ALL WAS QUIET. TOO QUIET.
Adam and Alex read the words over my shoulder.
I jumped up and pulled Adam to the window. “Go ahead. Check it out,” I urged.
All three of us slid around my desk and pressed our faces to the window.
“Yes!” I cried, shaking my fists above my head. “Yes!”
The rain had stopped.
I edged between my two friends and pushed up the window. “Listen,” I
instructed.
We all listened.
Not a sound outside. Not even the drip of rain from the trees. Not even a
whisper of wind.
“Yes!” Alex cried happily. She and I slapped a high five.
I turned to Adam. “Do you see?” I cried. “Do you believe us now?”
“Do you see?” Alex repeated.
Adam backed away from the window. “See
what
?” he demanded. “Do I see
that the rain has stopped? Yes. I see it.”
“But—but—” I pointed to the typewriter.
Adam laughed. “Have you both
lost
it?” he cried.
“Do you really think
you
stopped the rain? You two are
totally
messed up!”
“It’s true!” I insisted. “Adam, I just proved it to you.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes.
I wanted to punch his laughing face. I really did.
Here was the most amazing thing that ever happened to anyone in the history
of the world—and he thought it was a big joke!
I grabbed his arm. “Here,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll prove it again. Watch.”
I dragged him to the typewriter.
I didn’t bother to sit down. I leaned over the desk and started to type
something.
But before I had typed two words, Alex tugged me away.
“What are you
doing
?” I cried. I struggled to break away. But she
pulled me out to the hall.
“He’s not going to believe us, Zackie,” she whispered. “You can prove it to
him a dozen times, and he won’t believe it.”
“Of course he will!” I insisted. “He’ll—”
“No way,” Alex interrupted. “Go ahead. Type ADAM HAS TWO HEADS. If you do it,
both
of his heads won’t believe you!”
I had to think about that one.
“One more try,” I said. “Let me type one more sentence. When Adam sees it
come true, maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll see it isn’t a joke.”
Alex shrugged. “Go ahead. But he has his mind made up, Zackie. He thinks
you’re trying to pay him back for the mice in your locker.”
“One more try,” I insisted.
I glanced into the room. “No—! Adam—stop!” I shrieked.
He had his back turned to us. But I could see that he was leaning over the
typewriter.
He was typing something onto the page!
“Adam—stop!” Alex and I both wailed.
We dove into the room.
He spun around, a wide grin on his face. “I’ve got to go!” he exclaimed.
He swept past us and out into the hall. “So long, suckers!” he called. He
disappeared down the hall.
I hurtled to the desk. My heart pounding, I stared down at the typewriter.
What did Adam type?
I heard the front door slam. Adam had run out of the house.
I didn’t care about Adam now. I only cared about one thing.
What did he type on the old typewriter?
I grabbed the sheet of paper—and pulled it from the roller. Then I held it
close to a candle flame to read it.
“Careful! You’ll set it on fire!” Alex warned.
I moved it back from the flame. Orange light flickered over the page. My hand
was trembling so hard, I struggled to read it.
“Well? What did he type?” Alex asked impatiently.
“He—he—he—” I sputtered.
She grabbed the paper from my hand and read Adam’s sentence out loud:
“THE BLOB MONSTER HID IN ZACKIE’S BASEMENT, WAITING FOR FRESH MEAT.”
“What a jerk!” I cried. “I don’t believe him! Why did he type that on my
story?”
Alex stared unhappily at the page. “He thought it was funny.”
“Ha-ha,” I said weakly. I grabbed the page back from her. “He ruined my
story. Now I have to start it all over again.”
“Forget your story. What about the Blob Monster?” Alex cried.
“Huh?” A chill tightened the back of my neck. The sheet of paper slipped from
my hand.
“Everything typed on the old typewriter comes true,” Alex murmured.