I hold the candle in front of me as I creep down the hallway. The flickering light causes shadows to jump all around me like a hoard of evil spirits.

They flit about at the edge of my vision, each time I try to catch sight of one, it evaporates.

I tremble a bit as I hear the sound again. My feet drive me inexorably toward it, against my will. Before I can protest, I'm standing in front of the door. The sound is clearer now. It's an old typewriter clacking.

Stop in front of the door and the sound ceases. I hesitate, wondering what the mystery typist has in mind for me.

The glow of my candle bathes the doorknob in an eerie light. I reach for it, half expecting it to be locked, but it swings open.

I steel myself...

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