Let’s take a moment to consider the miracle of what is happening right now.
You, the reader are reading a story submitted by a writer. Nothing particularly special about that.
Perhaps the true miracle is in how this story is being read. A writer typed it out into a submission form, where its data becomes part of the internet, a massive source of information storage and transfer. The computer translates the story into a series of Ones and Zeroes; the story is then transferred onto your computer/tablet/portable device. And translated from Ones and Zeroes back into the language of your computer.
This sort of process has a couple of effects.
If the story is good, then you might be scared by it. If it is bad or not scary, then you are given the opportunity to tell the author this without knowing or meeting him/her.
But there is one more effect you might not know.
Our actual story begins with an aspiring author named Thomas Givvens. He is not a particularly good author; his stories are neither compelling nor fun to read. When he writes horror, the books aren’t scary. When he writes comedy, nobody laughs.
Chances are that he will never be published.
However he is a very proud man, he is most proud of his story: The trash man. It is a story about a murderer who disposes of his victims in the trash; his victims know when he’s coming because he sings.
It’s a rather ridiculous premise but Thomas is incredibly proud of it, he has all his friends read it, he even shows it to people he hasn’t met. He tries to post it online but it is rejected outright.
He is a bit of a fool, he thinks that it’s because the website owner has a grudge, denying entirely the poorness of his work.
One night, around 2am, he’s writing in his favorite form. He tries to submit his story to a different website, when his computer (Old enough to be in a museum) freezes completely. This happens many times, he knows it will be like this for an hour at least but he really wants to keep writing. He’s in the kind of zone only a writer can understand. So he has an option, he can keep going on a different medium or stop writing and possibly loose his groove.
Luckily for him, he has a separate medium. He owns a typewriter that his father once wrote with. He goes to get the typewriter, only to find out.
“No ink ribbons?”
Now he’s really in trouble, he has to keep writing and he doesn’t have any pencils.
He gets in his car, he needs an ink ribbon. Unfortunately he can’t think of somewhere that sells ink ribbons that would be open at this time of night.
To some stroke of incredible luck he finds a pawn shop barely a mile south from his house, at the very least it’s worth a shot.
He stops his car, entering the pawn shop is an unpleasant surprise. He looks around to see the walls lined with complete junk. He sees a man at the counter and walks up, it’s his best chance.
“Do you have any ink ribbons?”
“No but I have a magical pen.”
Great, he thinks, another nutso.
“Does the pen have ink in it?”
“It never runs out, but I warn you. This pen will truly make your writing come to life.”
“Whatever, how much?”
“Only a dollar.”
Thomas buys the pen and goes back to his house; he’s seen enough horror movies to know to test the mysterious magical pen before writing about murder. He chooses instead to write about something nice, he writes a description of a sweet and powerful alcohol.
The alcohol sits in his lap.
He is shocked at first but his shock fades as he drinks, he realizes that he never needs money again, as long as he has the pen.
He goes to bed, tired and more than a little drunk. When he wakes up he can’t tell if it was a dream or not. He can’t find the pen so he assumes it was a dream.
A couple of days pass and the pen slips his mind, he finds it again days later but forgets about what it did.
Somewhere around a week later he is in a similar situation to the first night. Computer frozen and no ink ribbons.
He finds the pen but can’t decide what to write, perhaps writing something he knows will help jog his creative spirit.
He writes The Trash Man again, he has it commited to memory. He writes it out of order, starting with his favorite scene, the trash man coming at midnight, climbing up the victims stairs and singing “Hey Jude” in a gruff voice. He writes the scene about the trash man killing the victim with a rusty knife. He ended it with the villian uncaught, no happy endings in horror.
He wasn’t feeling anything so he did what all great authors do, he gave up. He went to bed.
Not for long though, he woke up at 12:00 it took him a minute to understand why. Some drunk idiot was singing “Hey Jude” He shouted.
“Keep it down you drunk dumbass.”
The singing stopped, he figured good and tried to go back to sleep. That lasted a few seconds, the door blasted open from a kick of unmeasurable strength.
He bolted up in bed, standing in the doorway to his room was a greasy-haggard looking man. He smiled a row of sharp-broken teeth.
The man charged across the room towards Thomas, the smell hit him before the man made it halfway. Thomas understood what was happening instantly, the pen, the guy in his room, it all clicked.
He rolled out of bed and crawled under it, it would provide him about 20 seconds if he could think of a plan.
He found a paper under the bed, he grabbed for a pen. Wait a minute, he thought I’m under my bed.
The trash man was away enough from the door that Thomas could make a run for it. If he got to the pen, he could prevent this from ending badly.
He ran, the trash man laughed behind him. He saw the room in front of him, the pen was on the desk. He ran and wrote as quickly as he could.
“And then the police burst in and shot the monster.”
The trash man grabbed him from behind, lifting him easily with one hand and holding the knife to his face with the other.
“B-but I wrote you dieing.”
“You didn’t say when, where, or which monster.”
That is the real reason why Thomas Givvens corpse was found in a garbage can. The police blamed it on a robbery gone wrong. Either they never caught the trash man, he died with Givvens, or his death was covered up.
Just remember that if you hear somebody singing “Hey Jude” than you may not just be dealing with a drunk idiot.
Now, this is where you the reader get to decide what you believe. I didn’t write this using that pen, so you aren’t guaranteed that it is true. If it is true, then there is still a psycopathic madman who walks up the stairs singing “Hey Jude” and killing you before leaving your corpse in a trashcan. But if you deem the story as a work of fiction, then why is there a coroners report for a Thomas Givvens? Perhaps we all should look at the miraculous technology that brings you this story, and how it would appear like magic to somebody from only a generation back. Perhaps there is that same kind of magic in the pen found by Thomas Givvens. Perhaps I didn’t hear a man singing “Hey Jude” last night outside my room, perhaps it was a trick of my mind. Perhaps my sister is still alive, perhaps I’m not afraid he’s coming for me next. I guess it’s up for you to decide.
Credit To – CidJo