TToW - The Keyboard Breaks

Ghost Writer let a contented sigh pass through his lips as he wandered around his home. Finally, finally, he had coffee. Granted, he’d had to go through the Box Ghost, an angry cafeteria worker and some scary prophecies to get it, but it was coffee and therefore worth it in his eyes.


His eyes gleamed and a grin spread across his face as the kitchen door came into view. He gripped the bag of coffee beans tightly in his left hand and strode towards the door, throwing it open when he reached it and nearly skipping over to the kettle with happiness.


However, the caffeine-high mouse from earlier was still zooming around the floor at an incredible pace, and Ghost Writer was far too wrapped up in his own little coffee-loving world to notice.


BREAK!


One bruised nose later, Ghost Writer sat down at his keyboard, ready to begin writing the Fright before Christmas. Smiling happily, he set the mug of coffee on a nearby table (within arms reach of course) and started typing away happily.


The time passed quickly, with Ghost Writer stopping every once in a while to sip at his coffee.


It was at one of these times that he brought the mug to his lips and found that all the coffee was gone from the cup. Sighing and half-glaring at the mug for it daring to run out of coffee, he got up and rushed away to the kitchen.


BREAK


Ghost Writer poured the boiling water into the mug, absent-mindedly stirring it as he added the milk and honey. Sighing slightly, he wandered over to a cupboard to put the honey and coffee away. Upon opening the cupboard, he was promptly showered by an avalanche of teabags.


Blinking in surprise, he stood up and gazed at the sea of teabags surrounding him. He groaned in defeat – he’d have to clean this up before he could start writing again! He reached for the tea box, only to discover it wasn’t there. A vague memory of the Box Ghost hiding in the cupboard floated through his mind, and he mentally smacked himself.


Well, at least I know where it is he mused as he unceremoniously shoved the teabags into the cupboard. And I know it’ll be taken care of. Like he’d let anything happen to a ‘precious cubical box!’.


The last teabag was thrown in, the door shut and Ghost Writer began to walk back to his coffee. He was about to pick it up when he had a sudden thought about a new plot twist for The Fright Before Christmas.


He seized his mug of coffee and bolted through the corridors, and charged through the door of his study to where he could see his keyboard.


His foot caught the edge of a rug and he slipped.


The mug flew out of his hand.


All Ghost Writer could do was watch as the coffee spilled out of the mug, almost in slow-motion, and splash all over keyboard – the screens, the keys, everywhere.


He panicked and scrabbled towards it. Its fine, nothing’s wrong, it’ll still work –


The keyboard made a hissing noise and a few sparks shot out of it before the words vanished. Ghost Writer cautiously approached it and pressed a few of the keys, praying that it wasn’t going to –


A few more sparks leapt out from the spaces between the keys, and smoke began to fill the room. Ghost Writer decided that now would be a good time to get out of the room and promptly ran out.


BREAK!


Once the smoke had stopped gushing out of the keyboard and the room had stopped smelling of fried electronics, Ghost Writer managed to find the inner courage to go and inspect the damage (but only after another strong coffee to brace him – and a biscuit).


When he approached the keyboard there was one thing that he noticed immediately; he simply couldn’t repair it. There was no question about that. He let himself slump down to the floor to mope for a few minutes, before an incredibly obvious solution wandered into his head.


The keyboard was a fusion of ectoplasmic stuff (he didn’t know the technical term) and electrical stuff, right? So surely the so-called ‘Master of Technology’ could fix it …


Ghost Writer mumbled unhappily beneath his breath as he stood and dusted his clothes. He never had much patience for Technus, but he was going to have to be calm and polite for Technus to help him.


Joy, he thought. Not only am I in mental pain from my keyboard being broken, I’m also miserable. What great companions.


Ghost Writer glanced at an old clock hanging on the wall before scowling and walking out of the door, but then stopped and turned around to address the clock.


“Don’t say anything, you insufferable know-it-all.”


The clock struck eleven and started chiming insultingly.