The Blob that Ate Everyone Chapter 6:
Another squishy footstep. Closer.
A chill swept down my back. I nearly dropped the typewriter.
This is not my first Goosebumps rodeo; it’s probably another cat. There ain’t no way we’re getting the real spooks at the start of chapter freaking six.
It turns out it’s just a woman walking around, and she calls out asking if anyone’s there. I think in this situation I’m more scared for the woman who would probably be scared shitless if two kids jumped out at her right now. She probably actually has a legitimate reason to be in this store with an obviously haunted typewriter.
No footsteps. No beam of yellow light.
The front door banged shut.
Alex and I exchanged glances.
Was the woman gone? Did she leave the shop?
We didn’t move.
We waited. And listened.
Then Alex sneezed.
“Gotcha!” the woman cried from somewhere behind us.
I was wrong! This was terrifying! WHO DOES THAT WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS LADY?
It turns out the woman does indeed have a good reason to be there – she’s the owner, Mrs. Carter. She does not immediately throw these two hooligans out of her shop for reasons unbeknownst to me.
Mrs. Carter let out a bitter laugh. “Well, you could certainly write a scary story about this place!”
“I’ll bet I could write awesome scary stories on that old typewriter,” I said, staring down at it.
“You want it?” Mrs. Carter asked quickly.
“Yes,” I answered. “Is it for sale? How much does it cost?”
Mrs. Carter motioned with one hand. “Take it,” she said.
“Excuse me?” I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly.
“Go ahead. Take it,” she repeated. “It’s yours. For free.”
Ohhh this must be their punishment for breaking and entering! I see now. Why waste the time and resources of the police department when you can just give these punk ass kids a haunted typewriter? That’s both inventive and effective as fuck.
Mrs. Carter bent down and picked up something from the floor. “Here,” she said.
She handed me a fountain pen. A very old-fashioned-looking fountain pen. Heavy and black with silvery chrome on it.
“For me?” I asked, studying the pen.
Mrs. Carter nodded again. She smiled at me. “It’s my Going-Out-of-Business Special Offer. You get a free pen with every typewriter.”
That is a terrible combo deal. That’s like if you got a free candle every time you bought a lightbulb.
They leave the store, and Alex clocks on pretty quickly that something is not quite right here:
“She seemed so eager to give it away. It’s almost as if she wanted to get rid of it,” Alex said. She headed toward her house, which is next door to mine.
My knees buckled as I started up my driveway. My arms ached. My whole body ached. I struggled to hold on to the typewriter.
“That’s crazy,” I muttered.
Of course, I didn’t know how right Alex was.
I didn’t know that carrying the old typewriter home would totally ruin my life.
Jesus! Leave some mystery, won’t you?
Zackie brings his new – obviously haunted – typewriter home.
Mom and Dad were in the living room. They sat side by side on the couch, doing a crossword puzzle together.
They love crossword puzzles. I’m not sure why. Both of them are terrible spellers.
They can never finish a puzzle.
Lots of times, they end up fighting about how to spell a word. Usually, they give up and rip the puzzle to pieces.
Then a few days later, they start a new one.
This has to be the saddest detail ever included in a Goosebumps book ever. It’s like a complete story within a story.
Anyway, his parents are so excited to have something to distract them from their never-ending crossword puzzle nightmare, and they ask a million questions about the typewriter. None of which are, “How did you not immediately notice how fucking haunted this thing is?”
“Why do you need an old typewriter?” Mom asked, frowning at me. “No one uses typewriters anymore. You only see them in antique shops.”
“I want to write my scary stories on it,” I explained.
“What about your new computer?” Dad demanded. “What about the laser printer we gave you?”
“I’ll use that too,” I said. “You know. For school-work and stuff like that.”
These are also very legitimate questions, and quite frankly, I’m not satisfied with Zackie’s answers.
Zackie heads to his room and hears a weird sound…
“My typewriter!” I cried.
The typewriter was bathed in a bright blue glow. Blue sparks buzzed and crackled off and flew in all directions.
I stared in amazement as the blue current snapped and hummed over the typewriter.
Zackie tries to get his parents’ attention, but they’ve been sucked back into the crossword vortex again and cannot be reached. Finally, Zackie gets them to come look at the typewriter, but it’s cleverly gone back to acting innocent.
Zackie decides that he should try to touch the typewriter again to see if it shocks him. This is a terrible plan, and I am here for it.
There’s a fucking time skip to Zackie telling Alex the typewriter didn’t shock him. This is some Lost-level future jumping.
Some other kids show up and start making fun of Zackie for being afraid of monsters. He tries to defend his honor, but then…
I turned away from their grinning faces. I turned the lock on my locker and pulled open the door.
Then I knelt down to pull out my books.
And something leaped out of my locker!
I saw a white flash.
“Huh?” I cried out in surprise.
Another one jumped out.
And then I gasped when something plopped onto my head. Something alive!
I fell to my knees. Reached up to grab for it. I felt its claws tangle in my hair.
“Help!” I cried. “Help me!”