Casper slipped the key into the lock and unlocked the door, he hesitated, behind this door in that room lay an unfinished novel. Twenty years ago, he put the pen in the holder, flipped the cap up on the well, and laid the green blotter paper on the manuscript, got up from his writing desk, closed the window and pulled the draperies, turned down the wick and blew out the lantern and walked out of the room locking the door behind him.
Casper had no idea what the reason for this recrudescence in his writing. There was some force within him something seized him, an unseen force, something was driving him back to that room, the words, the pen, the ink, and that cursed paper enslaved him and his every thought he had escaped once but now it was enticing him back.
Casper opened the door the hinges creaked and squealed as if to shout to him, “Do not enter!” Casper breathed heavily and pushed ahead slowly striking a match to light the way to his desk. He lit the candle which rested beside the desk and placed it in the holder and then sat down in his chair at his desk. His pen was still there in the holder, the ink had long dried up. The vermin had used his desk to frolic and fornicate on these many long years. His manuscript the beetles had use it as a playground and drilled little holes through all the pages.
Casper breathed heavily cradled his head in his hands, “Well, he thought I suppose I could go buy one of those newfangled Typing Machines, it would sure make it easier to re-copy all these pages than do them by hand.” He stood up threw open the draperies, looked out into the night sky at the stars. “I suppose it is time to write about all those demons who have been haunting me all these years, then maybe they will go away,” he muttered.