Evaira: The Typewriter Phenomenon

But in light of that, I figured this was not just a coincidence.  Maybe if it happened twice, but three times, no, there’s something more to it.  Maybe if it wasn’t only because fifteen variables all fell perfectly into place.  I used to write things off as coincidence a bit too often – I’ll have to thank my old friend Bradley for teaching me that lesson.  I wonder how he’s doing now in the San Francisco PD.  Regardless…


Evaira remembered reading that diary passage while listening to the news report.

“Though the death of Officer Bradley Wilcox appears to be natural causes,” the reporter said, “many are suspicious of the timing of his death, happening during an important investigation, and the police are investigating further to determine if it’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Evaira asked, knowing he was the Bradley mentioned in the journal.

“This Bradley Wilcox,” Bill said, “you know him?”

“I never met him,” Evaira said, “but Liza knew him.  For a short time before she went out on her journey, she shadowed four paranormal investigators for stories, and to learn some research techniques.  Bradley Wilcox was one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not a coincidence,” Chira said, peeking out of her pot, “Leo died a couple weeks ago, also a heart attack.  Though he was in New York at the time.”

“Two deaths,” Evaira said, “both heart attacks, and such a short period of time.  Not a coincidence.  Something’s going on here.  Alpha, can you check your copy of the internet to see if either of the other investigators had a heart attack too?”

“As you request,” Alpha said.

“So why doesn’t she mention them much in her diary?” Bill asked.

“She didn’t really start her diary until after their team split up,” Evaira said, “and she started her own trip.”

“You know, Evaira,” Chira said, “I’m kind of surprised you aren’t more anxious here.”

“What do you mean?” Evaira asked.

“Think about it,” Chira said, “if something’s indeed going around killing Liza’s old team, perhaps it might go after Liza too.  Perhaps it might have already gotten her.  I mean, we knew she was alive back when she sent you the dream communication, but that was a while ago now.”

“You have a point,” Evaira said, starting to get sweaty and anxious at the idea, “Alpha, you find anything yet?”

“Yes,” Alpha said, “Jack Wilson died of a heart attack in Miami three days after Leo.”

“Three deaths,” Evaira said, “three different times, three different cities, all heart attacks, all part of Liza’s old team.  Any sign of Mildred?”

“I already searched for details on Mildred,” Alpha answered, “as of my last internet update at 8 a.m. this morning, she was alive.”

“So it appears they didn’t get the entire team yet,” Evaira said, “that means there’s hope.  Alright, Alpha, could you try and call Mildred Canning on the phone.  We’ll need to discuss this with her.”

“As you request,” Alpha said.

There was a brief silence as Alpha attempted to call Mildred.  When he finally got through to her, and Alpha put her on speakerphone, she answered with a quiet, paranoid “How did you get my number?”

“This is Evaira,” Evaira said, “Liza’s sister.  I had to look your number up, but this is important.”

“This isn’t a good time,” Mildred said, “I need to remain under the radar.”

“I know,” Evaira said, “but this is important.  Bradley, Jack, and Leo are all dead.  All heart attacks, all different cities, and all in a short period of time.”

“Heart attacks?” Mildred said, “All three of them?  I may know what’s happening, but it isn’t safe to talk over the phone.  Someone is listening to everything.”

“Who?” Evaira asked.

“I can’t say,” Mildred said, “Listen, right now, from my call monitoring system, I can see you’re close to the place where Liza found the inspiration for ‘Light of the Blue Sun’.  Can we meet there?”

“We’ll meet there,” Evaira said.

“Okay,” Mildred said, “I’ll be there in two hours.”

Mildred hung up and the call ended.

“So,” Bill said, “Light of the Blue Sun?  What’s that one about?”

“You really have to start reading Liza’s books,” Evaira said, “they’ll tell you so much.”

“I haven’t had the time,” Bill said.

“But since we’re looking for Liza,” Evaira said, “they’ll give some useful clues.  Perhaps you’ll notice something I didn’t.”

She reached over to a bookshelf and handed Bill a copy of “Light of the Blue Sun”.

“There was this strange blue light that appeared mysteriously,” Evaira said, “and anybody who saw it had their memories scrambled up.  It was a difficult one for Liza to investigate, but she ultimately found it to be someone’s twisted science experiment, and put a stop to it.  If you ask me, it’s one of her best books.”

She then turned to Alpha.

“Alpha,” Evaira said, “take us to Great Mill Park.”

“As you request,” Alpha said.

Evaira sat down while Bill opened and began reading the book.  Alpha started driving to Great Mill Park.

Meanwhile, a few vehicles behind them, Axel was riding his motorcycle, while talking with somebody on a phone embedded in his helmet.

“I tell you,” Axel said, “they’re more of a threat than they are helpful.  We should cut our losses and kill them.”

“No,” his contact answered, “Remember that they’re investigating a lot of Liza’s old mysteries, and finding us a lot of interesting information.”

“But nothing we wouldn’t have found on our own,” Axel said, “we have Liza’s complete diary, and they only have a burned copy.  We have more info on where Liza’s been than they do.”

“But they have a more personal connection to Liza,” the contact replied, “Her sister has information that isn’t in her diary.  Right now, the benefits of allowing her to run free with that information are much greater than the drawbacks.  Remember, we’ve led them off our trail once and we can do it again if need be.”

“I still don’t trust them,” Axel said.

“And neither do I,” the contact replied, “They are ultimately our enemies, but…”

“I know,” Axel said, “and I’ll do it your way for now.  But I still disagree.  It would be better to just kill them now.”

Axel continued to follow the RV as they drove to Great Mill Park, and parked in a lot on the edge of the park.

Evaira departed the RV.  Bill, Alpha, and Chira stayed behind to keep an eye on things in the RV, and so Bill could continue the book.  Evaira walked to a bench in the northeast corner of the park.  There, they saw a woman was sitting, wearing a red hooded sweatshirt, with the hood up, and sunglasses, even though the sun had already set.  Knowing Mildred, Evaira knew that was her.

“Mildred,” Evaira said.

“Don’t say my name,” she said back, “they’re listening.”

“Okay,” Evaira said, “what should we do?”

“Sit down,” Mildred said in a bit of a whisper, just barely loud enough for Evaira to hear, “and let’s talk.”

“So,” Evaira said, “what do you know?”

“I think this is the work of the Killer’s Typewriter,” Mildred explained.

“The Killer’s Typewriter?” Evaira asked.

“It was one of the last investigations we all worked on together,” Mildred explained, “we learned of a series of deaths, all heart attacks, all suspiciously connected.  After much investigation, we discovered they were victims of an object called the Killer’s Typewriter.  It’s a very powerful, very dangerous item.”

“What does it do?” Evaira asked.

“To put it simply,” Mildred explained, “If some were to type a name on the Killer’s Typewriter, then that person will have a heart attack and die.”

“That is powerful,” Evaira said, nervously.

“Well,” Mildred continued, “it’s not quite as powerful as it seems.  More often than not, you need more than just a name.  The typewriter can only kill one person each day, and it is possible for more than one person to share the same name.  You also need to type enough about the person to differentiate them from everybody else who shares that name.  It’s difficult to do it right, but if you can learn enough about somebody quick enough, it can be a deadly weapon.  And these days, with the internet and all, it’s very easy to learn enough about somebody to have them killed.”

“So somebody’s using this typewriter to kill your old team?” Evaira asked.

“Yes,” Mildred said, “but the question is who?  The previous user of the typewriter was killed when we confronted him.”

“Then what happened to the typewriter?,” Evaira asked.

“We left it,” Mildred said, “but we removed a key piece so it couldn’t be used again.  Of course, whoever’s using it now probably replaced that piece.”

“Then maybe somebody related to the first killer,” Evaira said, “seeking revenge for what happened to him.”

“It’s possible,” Mildred said, “do you know where I can get a computer with an untraceable internet connection?  I can look for possible suspects.”

“No,” Evaira said, “but I have a robot with half the internet downloaded in his brain back at my RV.”

“That’ll work,” Mildred said, unfazed by the idea, “we should get moving anyway.  It would be a good idea to go to the place where my team and I found the typewriter the first time, and look for clues.”

“Before the killer finds you,” Evaira said, “or Liza.  Assuming they haven’t found Liza already.”

“Right,” Mildred said, “I’m not easy to track down, but no security is flawless.  Let’s get moving.”

Evaira and Mildred returned to the RV.  Mildred spoke with Alpha, describing the details behind the Killer’s Typewriter investigation, hoping to find connections that could lead them to who’s using the typewriter now, while Evaira repeated what Mildred had told her to Bill and Chira.

“Creepy,” Bill said, “a murder weapon that always looks like natural causes, and the killer doesn’t even have to be present.”

“Indeed,” Chira added, “all they need to do is know their target, and they can kill them.  Somebody with this typewriter could be quite dangerous.”

“Definitely,” Mildred chimed in, “it’s very dangerous in the wrong hands.  The previous user of the typewriter, Sean Marcus, thought himself some sort of vigilante, and targeted criminals and lowlifes the police couldn’t touch at first.  But the power eventually got to his head, and his definition of who are the criminals got much looser.  Thankfully, we stopped him when we did.”

“So,” Evaira said, turning to Alpha, “find anything?.”

“Nothing relevant,” Mildred said, “there wasn’t much public knowledge of the incident.  As far as most people were concerned, his victims were simply people who died of natural causes, as was his own death.  Very little about it in the news.”

“If Wilcox wasn’t a police officer on an important investigation,” Evaira said, “his death wouldn’t have been on the news either.  We’re basically chasing a ghost.”

“I did find one thing relevant,” Mildred said, “an article about Diane Marcus, the killer’s wife, and her death.  Shortly before all this started, she apparently died in a mugging gone wrong, and the mugger never was caught.  That would explain why Sean Marcus went down the path he did.  According to the article, the suspected mugger was one of the first people he had killed.”

“Interesting,” Evaira said.

“Yes,” Mildred said, “We didn’t find this little tidbit before.  Our old team always thought more about ‘the what’ than ‘the why’.”

The RV continued travelling to the original crime scene.  When they arrived, it was early the next morning.  Evaira, Bill, and Mildred were standing outside an abandoned, overgrown, dilapidated mansion on the edge of a small town.  Chira was nearby, hiding in the grass while Alpha remained at the RV.

“This is the place,” Mildred said, “where the killer did his typing, where my team found him, and where he died.”

“And why is it still abandoned?” Evaira asked, “I mean, this did happen many years ago now.”

“From what I heard,” Mildred said, “locals think this place is haunted, and nobody wants to move in.”

“But nobody knows the true story,” Bill added.

“True,” Mildred said, “but you know how it is, people don’t want to live in a house where someone else has died….and besides it does look like a haunted house.”

“Right,” Bill said.

“Anyway,” Mildred said, “we should check inside.”

“Chira,” Evaira said, “stand guard and give a loud grounderspeak squeak if you hear somebody coming.”

“Right,” Chira said.

Evaira, Bill and Mildred approached the mansion.  Mildred pulled on the door – it was stuck so it took a couple tugs to open it.  Once the door was open, they walked inside the mansion’s foyer.

“Looks cleaner than expected,” Evaira observed, noting the condition of the mansion floors and walls was noticeably better on the inside than the outside.

“Almost as if somebody’s been maintaining it,” Bill added.

He paused, and turned to face a hole in one wall covered by spiderwebs.

“Albeit poorly,” he concluded.

“So where do we find the typewriter in this place?” Evaira asked.

“It was on the first floor,” Mildred explained, “If I remember correctly, there are nine rooms off the back hall.  The typewriter was kept in the sixth room on the left side, second shelf in the back of the room.”

Mildred walked towards the back of the house.  Evaira and the others followed.

“Then lead the way,” Evaira said, “but we’ve got to be careful.  If somebody is maintaining this place, they could be the killer and we can’t get caught.”

“Relax,” Bill said, “we’ve got nothing to worry about.  The killer can’t kill us if he…”

At this point, Bill tripped over a piece of debris in the middle of the floor, and fell to the ground with a thud.

“Bill,” Evaira sighed.

He got up.

“Well,” Bill said, “what I was going to say is that the killer’s been only using his typewriter, so he’d need our names to actually kill us.  Even if he catches us, so long as he doesn’t learn our names, we’re safe.  Plus, didn’t you say the typewriter can only kill one person a day.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Mildred whispered to Bill, “you can never be too careful, especially when dealing with unexplained phenomenon like the typewriter.”

Bill sighed, but he seemed to understand.  Shortly after, they approached the door to the room Mildred mentioned.  Mildred carefully opened it, and they walked in.  The room was mostly empty, but in the back of the room, there were two wooden shelves.  The typewriter sat on the second shelf, the one on the right, in front of an old wooden stool.

The typewriter was an ominous black color, and was old fashioned in appearance, even by typewriter standards.  Evaira and Bill felt an ominous chill when they looked at it.

“So this is it,” Bill said.

“Yes,” Mildred said.

They approached the typewriter.  Evaira looked at the sheet of paper in the typewriter.  The names of the three deceased members of Liza’s old team were typed out on it, next to a brief description of them, their jobs, and their lives.  Above them were two other names that she didn’t recognize, and above that, the paper was torn.

“These names at the top of the page are Shawn Marcus’s last two victims,” Mildred noted.

“Your sister’s name isn’t here,” Bill said, “that means Liza’s safe.”

“From this threat at least,” Evaira said, “so what do we do with the typewriter?”

“This thing has caused too much death,” Mildred said, “We have to destroy it.”

“I can do that,” Bill said, preparing to shapeshift one of his arms into a heavy mallet.

“Hold it right there,” a voice said from behind them, “that typewriter is mine!”

They turned around, and saw standing in the doorway a short, young man with long red hair.  The man had a gun in his hand, pointed right at them.

“You…” Mildred said, “You’re doing this?”

“Yes,” the man said.

“You look familiar,” Mildred said.

“Maybe you know my father,” the man said, “Shawn Marcus?”

“You...” Mildred said, “You’re…”

“Yes,” the man said, “I’m Joshua Marcus, Shawn’s son.  And don’t even try to type that name in the typewriter.  My gun will have you dead before you can finish.”

“You wouldn’t shoot us,” Bill taunted, “killing with the typewriter is one thing, but an actual gun is more personal, and traceable...”

With that, there was a gunshot.  The bullet narrowly missed Bill and struck the wall, hitting the center of a flower in the pattern on the wallpaper.

“Next time,” Joshua coldly remarked, “I won’t miss.”

Bill quickly shut up.

“You’re the ones breaking and entering,” Joshua added, “If I shoot you, I can easily make it look like self-defense.  I’d rather avoid that mess, but if you force my hand…”

“Terrific,” Bill sighed.

“I should have expected this,” Joshua said, “when the bodies start dropping, the rest of the team that killed my father would see the pattern and come running.  Though the guy doesn’t look familiar at all, and the girl with the skirt only looks sort of familiar.”

“You saw us?” Mildred asked.

“I saw when you arranged that little accident for my father,” Joshua said, “with my mother dead, I was all alone.  So I began planning to get my revenge.  It took me quite a bit of work to replace that missing piece of the typewriter, and figure out how it worked, but it’s finally paying off.  Now I just need to add the rest of your names, and it will all be over quickly.”

“Like we’d really tell you our names,” Evaira said.

“Well,” Joshua said, “you can tell me, and I’ll make sure to kill you while you’re sleeping peacefully.  Or don’t tell me, and I’ll just shoot you now.”

“Good luck,” Mildred said, “I’ve had my name legally changed three times.  Even I don’t know which name the typewriter would accept.”

“I’m certain we can figure it out,” Joshua said.

“Well,” Mildred said, “Diana Prince, then Sarah Connor.”

“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Joshua said, pointing the gun in her direction.

While Joshua was briefly distracted, Evaira whispered to Bill.

“I think I have a plan,” Evaira said, “Bill, you know what to do?”

Bill paused for a brief moment before nodding.  Evaira joined in the distraction.

“I’m Marilyn Monroe!” Evaira joined in.

“You’re not even trying!” Joshua said, “This is your last warning!  Say your real name or I’ll just shoot you!”

“Okay, you got me,” Evaira said, “It’s Lucille Annabeth Victoria Veronica Judith Merriweather Elizabeth Bethany Johannsson the fifth.”

“I warned you!” Joshua cried out.

“How do you know it’s not,” Mildred joined in.

“Wait,” Joshua said, realizing Mildred’s point, “then, Lucille…Veronica…Monroe…just give me the first and last…”

But before they could distract him further, he grabbed his heart in pain.  He dropped the gun.

“What the heck?” he cried.

Evaira and Mildred turned back to the typewriter.  Bill had used his shapeshifting to stretch his arm, discretely stretching it under and behind the shelf, to type on the typewriter, “Joshua Marcus, son of Shawn Marcus, who used this typewriter.”

“No!” Joshua cried as he fell to the floor, dying.

“Nice work,” Mildred said, “now destroy the thing.”

Bill stretched his arm back, before turning it into a giant mallet, which he then pounded the typewriter with, smashing it to pieces.

“Nice,” Mildred said, “now let’s get out of here before anybody else arrives.”

They left the mansion.  Chira was waiting in the front lawn.

“So,” Chira said, “it’s over?”

“Yes,” Mildred said, “that typewriter will take no more lives.”

“So,” Evaira said, “now we’d better get back to looking for Liza.  Thanks for the help, Mildred.”

“No problem,” Mildred said, “Anyway, I should get going - if I stick around here too long, they might find me.”

“Should we give you a lift back to Great Mill Park?” Evaira asked.

“Thanks,” Mildred said, “but I’d better find another way back, I think it would help me keep a step ahead of them.”

“Well,” Evaira said, “talk to you later, then.”

“Listen,” Mildred said, “if you need a hand on any of your future investigations, you can give me a call.  But only if it’s important, okay, because I may need to lay low for a while.”

“Thanks,” Evaira said.

“Then good luck,” Mildred said, as she put her sunglasses back on, her hood up, and walked away.

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Evaira said, “we have more mysteries to look into.”

Evaira, Bill, and Chira got back in the RV, and rode off.

Meanwhile, Axel was looking around the mansion, and found the smashed typewriter.  He grabbed his cell phone and placed a call.

“Yes,” the man on the phone answered.

“I found the Killer’s Typewriter,” Axel said, “This is what she was investigating.”

“Ah, interesting,” the contact replied, “We lost track of that thing years ago.  I’ll have somebody come collect it – we could use it.”

“Unfortunately,” Axel said, “they smashed it before they left.  I don’t know if it can be repaired.”

“I understand,” the contact said, “but we can at least try.  And we can study the remains.”

“You were right about not killing her,” Axel said, “the lead they followed did not come from the diary, and while we’ve been watching Mildred, she has been quite difficult to keep track of.  We wouldn’t have found this particular object without them.”

“So you understand,” the contact answered, “good.  Tell me your location and I’ll send some people to collect the remains of the typewriter.”

“Of course, professor,” Axel said.