VIII. (1)
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After a few sips of very strong coffee, I carried my cup downstairs to the basement. I didn't know what else to do, but I planned to remove that foul machine from my house as soon as possible. I nearly dropped the coffee mug when, next to the Remington, I saw a pile of typed pages neatly stacked. Every sordid story was there just as they had been the night before, right before I burned them all. I stood in front of the Remington and reached down, hands beneath the frame to lift it from the desk, but as if affixed by some unseen force it would not budge. I repositioned my grasp and tried again, thinking that the Remington was merely stuck to the desktop, but as I tried to lift it the entire desk moved with it as if the infernal device were permanently mounted. Bewildered and resigned, I sat down...

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