It was a recipe for chaos, whipped up in the kitchen of imagination. The ingredients? Two startled students, a dishevelled library, and one massive orc wielding a glowing fluorescent magic stick like it was a toy.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Luke demanded, waving his arms at Braglok, who stood grinning like a child. “Actually, why am I not freaking out? This is completely insane!”

“When life gives you lemons…” Adara started, her tone light and confident.

Luke squinted at her. “You what?”

“You crack open the tequila!” she finished with a cheeky thumbs-up.

Luke blinked. “Your solution is drinking?”

Adara shook her head, rolling her eyes. “No, it means don’t panic. Keep calm, you know? Besides, look at him.” She gestured towards Braglok, just as a string of drool slipped from one of his tusks and landed with a wet splat on the crest of his wizarding uniform. “He’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Luke repeated. “Adara, he’s a walking mountain of death! He could crush us like grapes!”

“Aw, don’t be so dramatic,” she said, tilting her head and studying Braglok’s dopey, almost delighted grin. “You wouldn’t attack us, would you, big guy?”

Braglok tilted his head, scratching his chin with a hand that looked like it could crush a watermelon. “Attack you? Nah, why’d I go do a thing like that? Ain’t no reason to go bashin’ a Muggle.” His brow furrowed, his gruff voice dripping with genuine offense. “What d’ya take me for, some kinda pureblood nutter?”

Luke stared, his brain struggling to process. “That’s… strangely comforting… I think.”

Adara smirked, triumphant. “See? Gryffindors aren’t just brave; we’re loyal, noble, and good-hearted too.”

“Fantastic…” Luke said. “Save the Gryffindor ad campaign for later. Right now, we’ve got an actual problem to solve.”

“Hey! Braglok isn’t a problem,” Adara shot back, patting the orc’s arm. “Don’t listen to him, Braggy.”

“Braggy?”

Braglok frowned and clapped his massive hands over his ears, muttering, “Mean words don’t go in. Mean words don’t go in.” The sight was both ridiculous yet pitiful.

“Happy now?” Adara asked, glaring at Luke.

“Oh, for the love of—this is not what I meant!” Luke groaned. “How long do you think it’s gonna be before someone walks in, sees him, and starts screaming?”

Right on cue, a group of students rounded the corner, arms piled high with books. They froze like deer in headlights, their gazes locking on Braglok.

The orc waved with a dopey grin. “Hullo!”

The students dropped their books with a loud crash, let out synchronized, high-pitched screams, and bolted in every direction. One tripped over their own feet, landing in a heap before scrambling to join the others.

“Like that!” Luke jabbed a finger toward the fleeing students.

Adara shrugged, unfazed, as if orcs wandering libraries, were an everyday occurrence. “Yeah, alright. Fair point. But let’s focus, how do we fix this? Where did he even come from, and how do we look after him?”

Luke’s jaw dropped. “Don’t you mean send him back?”

“Aw, can’t we keep him?”

“Keep him? Adara, he’s not a stray cat! He’s an eight-foot orc!”

“So… he’s a big cutie!” Adara gestured toward Braglok, who was now busy making faces at his own reflection in the fluorescent light bulb.

Luke groaned, rubbing his temples. “Cutie? He’s a liability! What happens when he gets hungry or, I don’t know, decides to redecorate the library with his bare hands?”

Braglok perked up. “Oi, I’d be proper good at redecoratin’, I would! Red walls, couple o’ skulls ‘ere an’ there, real cozy like. Want me ta start now, do ya?”

“NO!” Luke and Adara shouted in unison.

Adara turned back to Luke, her grin unwavering. “See? He’s eager to help!”

“Adara, this isn’t a puppy adoption. He came from the typewriter, so he must go back to the typewriter,” Luke snapped, jabbing a finger toward the glowing room.

Before either of them could move, a deliberate throat-clearing noise echoed from behind. They spun around to see the librarian, arms crossed and expression indifferent, standing as if she’d materialized out of thin air.

“Oh, not again,” the librarian muttered, sounding more exasperated than surprised.

Luke blinked at her, incredulous. “Wait. This has happened before?”

The librarian sighed, brushing a speck of dust off her cardigan with the air of someone far too used to magical mishaps. “Yes. But not for a long time.” She pointed at them with the kind of authority that came from dealing with nonsense on a regular basis. “Now, you two listen up.”

Adara shot Luke a triumphant look and mouthed, “See? Everything’s fine.”

The librarian ignored their silent exchange and gestured towards Braglok, who was now gnawing on the glowing light bulb. “That,” she said with a sharp jab of her finger, “is a magical conduit mishap.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “A magical what-now?”

“A magical conduit,” the librarian repeated with a long-suffering sigh. “Everyday objects enchanted to interact with other magical devices. In this case…” She pointed at the fluorescent light bulb clutched in Braglok’s oversized hand. “…your friend here is holding it. And whatever that typewriter conjured got anchored to the conduit.”

“Wait,” Luke said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re the one who told us to use the typewriter.”

The librarian drew herself up, looking affronted. “Excuse me? That typewriter is an integral part of this Academy. Countless students have used it without conjuring an eight-foot, green-skinned… thing.” She gestured at Braglok, who waved again. “I do hope you’re not blaming me for this blunder.”

“No one’s blaming anyone,” Adara said, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace.

“I am,” Luke shot back. “If you knew it could even possibly do this… even if it’s a one-percent chance…, why would you let students use it at all?”

“Hey, calm down,” Adara interjected, giving Luke a warning look before turning to the librarian. “You know how to fix it, right? I mean, you do know what you’re doing… don’t you?”

The librarian nodded, her earlier indignation evaporating. “Of course I do. As I said, the light bulb is a magical conduit. The typewriter manifested your friend here, but the conduit is what’s keeping him… well, real.”

Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, can we just pause for a second? We seem to have brushed right past the whole part where the real world, the one we live in, apparently has magic. You’ve moved straight from normal to Mordor in two steps, and I’m still stuck on step one!”

Adara snorted. “Yeah, well, welcome to the chaos train. Where there are no brakes.”

“Yes, Luke the world has magic. Now can we stay on task? Chaos or not, this is a solvable problem.”

Adara tilted her head. “So, what? We take the light bulb back to the typewriter, and… poof, no more Braglok?”

“Precisely,” the librarian confirmed. “Take the conduit back, place it near the typewriter, and it’ll undo the manifestation.”

Braglok’s cheerful grin faltered. “Wait… undo? Like, gone-gone?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Adara stepped protectively in front of Braglok, arms outstretched. “You’re just going to erase him? What if he likes it here? What if he has dreams?”

Braglok grinned, his tusks gleaming. “I do have dreams. Mostly of feasts… and smashing things.”

“He won’t be erased. Just sent back to where he came from,” The librarian said with a sigh.

“Can’t we talk about this, we only just made friends,” added Adara.

“This isn’t a debate,” the librarian wiggled her finger at the pink haired student. “Unless you two fancy more creatures popping out of that typewriter.”

Luke’s face drained of colour. “Wait… there could be more Bragloks?”

“And worse,” the librarian said.

Luke frowned. “Define ‘worse.’”

The librarian arched an eyebrow. “What kind of villains did you write about?”

Adara looked sheepish. “None really… Unless you count angst.”

Luke spun toward her, incredulous. “I thought you said you didn’t have enough time to add angst!”

“There’s always room for a little angst,” Adara replied with a shrug.

The librarian groaned. “Can we please stop talking about angst and focus on the problem?”

“Fine,” Adara said. “Let’s do this before a glowing Sirius Black cursed king starts roaming around…”

Luke’s eyebrow twitched. “Let’s.”

“Although,” Adara added with a sly grin, “a glowing cursed king Sirius might be a little—”

“Focus, Adara!” Luke snapped.

“Alright, alright! Glowey stick to clickey clacky, got it.” She gestured toward the typewriter.

“Good,” the librarian said with finality, her tone clipped as she stepped closer to Braglok. Her gaze flicked between the group, and for the briefest moment, Luke caught a glint of something in her eyes. Eagerness? Triumph?

“Well, technically,” the librarian muttered, almost to herself, “There’s never been two stories that crossed over before, so who knows?” She continued mumbling under her breath, mentioning unstable conduits and magical interference, while zeroing in on the glowing light bulb Braglok clutched to his chest.

“Let’s just get this over with before anyone else shows up and decides we’re hosting a magical zoo,” Luke said, his tone dry but urgent.

“Good decision, Luke,” the librarian replied, stepping toward Braglok.

Luke froze. Wait. That’s twice she just called me by name? His gut churned. Maybe she’d seen his name in the student records. Or… had she read his assignment entry?

Adara, oblivious to Luke’s inner turmoil, turned to the towering orc and gave his massive arm a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, big guy. You’re going to a better place.”

Braglok drooped his head, looking like a sad puppy.

“Give it here then,” the librarian said, extending her hand toward him. “The light bulb. Hand it over.”

Braglok clutched the glowing object tighter, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wotcha want it for? It’s my magic glowy sticky wand thing!”

The librarian sighed as if she’d dealt with this kind of nonsense far too often. “Just give me the light bulb. It’s not a toy.”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“It’s okay, Braglok,” Adara said. “She wants to help.”

“I can fix this,” the librarian interjected with an air of finality, her hand still outstretched. “You won’t disappear… you will just go home. Don’t you want to go home?”

Luke’s brows furrowed, unease prickling at the back of his mind as he glanced between the librarian and Braglok. Something about the situation felt off, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. He opened his mouth to say something, but Adara seemed far too focused on the prospect of saying goodbye to her new orcish friend to pick up on anything suspicious.

Braglok hesitated, then reluctantly handed over the glowing bulb with a forlorn look, his shoulders slumping like a dejected puppy whose favourite toy had been stolen. “But it’s mine,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get you a new glowy stick. Maybe one with sparkles,” said Adara.

Luke opened his mouth to say something, to point out how easily the librarian had yanked the conduit from Braglok’s grip, but before he could get the words out, the librarian spun on her heel and marched toward the typewriter room.

“Hey!” Luke called after her, his unease growing. “What are you doing?”

The librarian didn’t respond. Without hesitation, she stormed into the glowing room, her movements deliberate and precise, muttering under her breath. Luke and Adara exchanged glances, Luke’s face tightened with growing unease, while Adara’s was marked more by curiosity than alarm.

“What is she up to?” Luke whispered.

Adara frowned and shrugged. “Fixing things? Probably?” Her attention flitted between the librarian and Braglok, her concern more focused on the latter’s fate.

The librarian halted in front of the typewriter; the glowing conduit clutched in her hand. But instead of transporting the orc back into the machine as Luke had assumed she would, she placed her other hand atop the typewriter, her fingers caressing it.

“Finally,” she cheered.

Luke’s unease deepened as the librarian turned back to them. There was no urgency in her expression, no focus on fixing anything. Instead, her face was lit with something else entirely, a gleam of triumph that sent a chill crawling up Luke’s spine.

“Thanks children,” she said, her voice calm, as if they’d handed her the final piece of some grand puzzle.

“Wait,” Luke started to protest, stepping forward.

But before he could reach her, the librarian’s body morphed, stretching and spiralling as if yanked by an invisible force. In an instant, a swirling void opened above the typewriter, pulling her in with a flash of blinding light.

Adara staggered back, shielding her eyes with her arm. When the light faded, the room fell silent, the typewriter’s glow seemed even brighter.

Adara stood frozen, her mouth hanging open. “Did she just…?”

“She just got sucked into the typewriter,” Luke finished. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “But… that didn’t look like she was trying to fix anything.”

Braglok, still clutching the empty space where his “magic sticky thing” had been, glanced at them with a forlorn expression. “So… does this mean no home?”

Luke ignored the orc. His eyes focused on the typewriter, his gut churning. Whatever the librarian had done, it wasn’t what they’d expected. And now, they were left with more questions than answers.

Adara turned to Luke, her brow furrowed. “Where do you think she went? You think she’s coming back?”

Luke crossed his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Doubt it. Pretty sure we were just the suckers in some kind of nefarious scheme.”

Adara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

Braglok, who had been observing their exchange, scratched his head with one massive hand. “Humans sound pretty dumb-dumb,” he grunted, as if stating an undeniable fact.

Adara turned to him, wagging a finger like a strict schoolteacher. “Hey, that’s not nice! Calling someone dumb dumb is naughty, mister.”

Braglok’s green cheeks darkened with what might’ve been a blush. He shuffled his feet and stammered, “S… Sorry.” His sincere tone was pitiful, making him sound like a repentant child apologizing for stealing cookies.

Luke, meanwhile, wasn’t paying much attention to their exchange. His eyes stayed fixed on the typewriter, his mind racing. Something about the whole situation didn’t sit right. The typewriter was still glowing, and it didn’t seem like whatever power was supposed to shut off had done so. Instead, it felt like the librarian had gotten what she wanted, and whatever that was, it had nothing to do with Braglok.

“This isn’t over,” Luke muttered. “I think more might,”

Before he could finish, the room gave a violent shudder. The glow from the typewriter intensified, and with another deafening bang, a jagged crack formed in the air itself. It shimmered like broken glass under sunlight, and from the rift, a small figure tumbled out.

“Is that a house elf?” asked Luke.

Adara gasped as the new arrival flopped onto the floor and fought to pick himself up. It was a diminutive elf-like creature with oversized floppy ears and a bald head that gleamed under the flickering light. The elf was clad neck to toe in glossy armour that looked more expensive than practical. In its tiny hands, it wielded a long steel blade that gleamed with gold fancy filagree.

At the sight of the orc the little elf pointed his blade and narrowed his eyes.

“Prepare thyself, beast!” the house elf bellowed, its voice dripping with overly dramatic high pitched flair, as if it had stepped straight out of a low-budget Shakespearean play. It raised the blade high, pointing it squarely at Braglok. “For I, Sir Reginald of the Radiant Order, shall vanquish thee, foul creature, in the name of truth, valour, and justice!”

Braglok blinked, confused. “Wot?”

“Oh god, not Reginald,” said Luke.

Adara threw herself between the elf and the orc, her arms outstretched. “Oh no, no, no! Who are you, and why are you yelling?”

The elf froze mid-step, his blade still aloft. He turned to Adara with an expression of exaggerated gallantry. “Fair maiden, remove thyself from harm’s way! This noble knight cannot allow thee to remain in such peril. The monster must be smotten for the greater good!”

Adara looked affronted. “I’m not in peril! And he’s not a monster, well, okay, technically he’s an orc, but he’s a good boy. Look at him! He’s a student for crying out loud.”

Sir Reginald’s eyes narrowed as he peered past her at Braglok, who was scratching his head again, looking even more confused. “Do not be deceived by his brutish charm, m’lady! Evil lurks in his oversized muscles and tusks. Stand aside, lest thou regret thy hesitation!”

“Nope,” Adara replied, firmly planting her feet. “Not happening. Braglok is a good boy.”

Luke watched the scene unfold with a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, stepping forward. “Adara, I don’t think this guy’s gonna listen.”

Adara shot him a glare. “Luke, do you really think I’m going to let this shiny tin can chop up a fellow Gryffindor?”

“I’m just saying,”

Before he could finish, Sir Reginald let out another bellow, twirling his blade. “Have at thee, villain!” he cried, charging forward in what could only be described as a very short but determined sprint.

Before anyone could react, Sir Reginald let out a mighty, “For glory, WHOA!” as his foot caught on a rogue stack of books strewn across the floor. In an almost cartoonish display of clumsiness, his legs flailed, and he fell forward like a toppled tower of shiny armour. His blade spun into the air, then murdered a stray book on the floor. Reginald, meanwhile, hit the floor face-first with a resounding thud.

Braglok tilted his head, blinking down at the fallen knight. “Yer mate’s got the coordination of a drunk goblin, ‘e does.”

Adara burst into laughter, her finger pointing at the groaning heap of armour on the floor. “Oh my God, Luke. Is he… is he supposed to be like this?”

Luke sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed. “Yep. That’s Reginald. Straight out of my story.”

Adara raised an eyebrow, still snickering. “Wait, wait, wait. You wrote him? You wrote a guy who trips over his own shadow?”

Luke looked both defensive and defeated. “For the record, he’s not supposed to be this bad. He’s an unlucky human warrior, sure—pompous, lower-tier royalty, kind of a pain in the ass—but he had some redeeming qualities.”

Adara tilted her head. “Like what? His ability to fall with dramatic flair?”

“Not just that!” Luke groaned. “He’s meant to be a moral foil for the protagonist. You know, devil’s advocate. The guy who questions the hero’s decisions, forces them to think through their choices. Stubborn? Yes. Annoying? Absolutely. But not this useless.”

Adara folded her arms, smirking. “Luke, he just face-planted into a pile of library books and lost his sword mid-battle cry. If you ask me, he’s one step away from being Sir Cadogan.”

Luke blinked. “Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.”

Adara gestured to the knight, who was now attempting to retrieve his sword with all the grace of a flailing toddler. “Really? Because all he’s missing is a fat pony and a penchant for challenging paintings to duels.”

Reginald, oblivious to their conversation, pushed himself up on one elbow and declared with great gusto, “Fear not, fair maiden and noble comrades! Sir Reginald of the Radiant Order shall rise again to smite this creature of vile origin!”

Braglok snorted, scratching his chin. “Mate, I dunno who yer talkin’ about, but I’m just standin’ ‘ere.”

Adara leaned closer to Luke, her grin widening. “You really wrote this guy, huh? Like, on purpose?”

Luke ran a hand down his face. “Yes, Adara, I wrote him. And no, he wasn’t this ridiculous when I did.”

Reginald, undeterred by Luke’s apparent disappointment, attempted to rise with great fanfare. Unfortunately, his foot caught on a stray book, sending him tumbling to the floor once again with a resounding clang.

Adara doubled over with laughter. “Okay, I take it back. He’s exactly like Sir Cadogan. And it’s perfect.”

Luke groaned into his hands. “This is going to be a very long…” an abrupt ding rang out from the typewriter. He turned toward it, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What the hell? Why is it making noise? It didn’t even have paper in it a minute ago!”

Adara snapped her head around, her pink hair bouncing as she stared at the haunted typewriter. “Oh no… what now?”

The orc and the elf, now in clear league due to their shared intrigue, shuffled behind Luke like nosy neighbours leaning in to watch a drama unfold.

Braglok squinted. “Oi, wots it doin?”

Reginald puffed up his chest, attempting authority despite his dented armour. “Fear not, comrades! I shall investigate this peculiar contraption myself!”

“No,” Luke said, holding out a hand to stop him. “You’ll probably trip and knock it over. Everyone, just… stay back.”

The typewriter clacked and clicked on its own, the keys moving as if guided by invisible hands. Steadily, a blank piece of paper rose from the machine, revealing bold, ominous text scrolling across its surface.

Adara crept closer, her eyes wide. “Is it… typing by itself?”

“Yup,” Luke deadpanned. “The typewriter is haunted.”

Braglok leaned in, his massive green hand hovering near the paper. “Can I eat it?”

“No!” Adara hissed, swatting his hand away like an annoyed babysitter. “Just let it finish!”

The note scrolled upward with a distinct finality, revealing a message in crisp, mechanical lettering:

Hello one, and hello all.

This is a magical auto-message from the Grand Steam Machinist.

All alarms have been triggered.

Beware: the Witch of Nightmares has returned.

She has somehow found her way back into the Land of Dreams.

Find the young scribe, Margaret. She is our only hope.

Silence fell over the group, the room heavy with the gravity of the words, well, for about three seconds.

“The Witch of Nightmares?” Adara read. “What is this, a bad fantasy movie? And who’s Margaret?” Adara asked, squinting at the glowing typewriter as if the name might reveal itself. “And what does it mean by our only hope?”

Luke’s brow furrowed, his gut tightening. “Margaret’s my mum’s name.”

Adara froze mid-eye roll. “Wait. Seriously? That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Luke paced back and forth, his mind racing. “It’s gotta be… I mean, it’s not like haunted typewriter knows my mum, right?” His voice faltered, the absurdity of the day crashing down on him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to type as quick as he could. “I’ll just… ask her.”

“Um, you going to call?” Adara leaned closer, peering at the screen.

“Nah, I’ll text her,” Luke replied. His thumbs flew over the keyboard as he typed:

‘Hey Mom, do you know anything about the Witch of Nightmares?’

“Are you sure she’s not gonna call you crazy?” Adara asked.

Luke shrugged. The phone chimed as the message sent. He stared at three little dots as they flashed.

Adara slid to his side, watching over his shoulder. “She’s replying!”

Meanwhile, Braglok and Reginald craned their necks, fascinated by the glowing device in Luke’s hands.

“Oi, what kinda magic box is that?” Braglok asked, his tusks gleaming as he leaned closer.

“It’s a phone,” Luke muttered, distracted. “Not magic.”

Adara smirked. “To them, it is. Don’t ruin the mystery.”

The three dots blinked on and off, taunting him. Then, the reply popped up:

‘Come home. Quickly. Bring the typewriter.’

Luke blinked, rereading the text. “What the fuck?”

“What? She knows about it!” Adara said, her brows lifting. “You’re not just going to ignore that, are you?”

“I can’t ignore it!” Luke replied, his voice tinged with panic. “This is insane. Why would she know anything about this?”

Braglok scratched his head. “So… yer mum’s got somethin’ to do with all this nightmare stuff?”

Reginald curtsied, as though all mysteries had just been unravelled. “Indeed! She must be a key figure in this tale of destiny and danger! A hidden heroine!”

Luke groaned, shoving his phone into his pocket. “She’s an English teacher. Not exactly ‘hidden heroine’ material.”

Adara grinned. “Well, she did just get called our only hope. You gotta admit, that’s pretty badass.”

Luke let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Let’s go to my mum’s place.”

Adara grabbed her bag, grinning. “Road trip with a knight and an orc? This day keeps getting better.”

Braglok pumped his fist into the air. “Long as there’s food, I’m in.”

Reginald extended his blade. “To the house of Margaret! Let us uncover her secrets and rally against this vile Witch of Nightmares!”

Luke and Adara stared at the typewriter, then at the hulking orc and the Shakespearean elf.

Adara broke the silence. “And… How on earth are we supposed to get across campus with these two? They look like extras from a bad fantasy movie.”

Braglok fumbled with the ill-fitting wizard robes that grasped his hulking frame. After some grunting and shifting, he produced a large tree branch. He held it aloft, his expression serious.

Adara blinked. “Is that… a stick?”

“It’s my wand!” Braglok announced, waving it with all the flourish of a professional magician.

“I thought the glowey stick was your wand?” asked Luke.

“Dat was a conduit. Weren’t you listening to the bad lady?”

Luke sighed.

“Anyways… Watch this!” He said then muttered something in garbled Latin, gave his ‘wand’ another dramatic flick, and, in the blink of an eye, his orcish form morphed into… Luke. Well, an off-brand version of Luke with broader shoulders and an intense grin complete with buck teeth.

Adara let out a burst of laughter then raised a hand in protest. “That’s not a real spell! You just waved a stick and, what even was that Latin? It sounded like pig Latin’s awkward cousin!”

Luke sighed. “Adara, it worked. Let’s not question it.” He turned to Braglok, now pseudo-Luke, and gestured toward Reginald. “Can you do the same thing to him?”

Before Reginald could object, Braglok waved his “wand” again, muttering more dubious Latin. In an instant, the elf was transformed into a pink-haired doppelgänger of Adara, complete with substantial ears and monstrous feet.

Adara gasped, staring at the elf. “I do not look like that!”

Luke shrugged, already moving toward the door. “Close enough. It'll do. We don’t have time for perfection.”

Adara huffed, muttering something about artistic integrity, but she followed as Luke paused by the typewriter. Without a word, he yanked it from the desk and tucked it under his arm.

“Where are we even going?” Adara asked, glancing at the motley crew now following Luke.

Luke didn’t look back. “My car’s on the other side of campus. Let’s move before anyone notices us.”

“Right,” Adara said with a sigh, glancing at the elf-turned-Adara and orc-turned-Luke trailing behind. “Because nothing about this situation screams notice me.”

The party of four dashed through the winding halls of Birdwing Academy, their footfalls echoing like a chaotic drumbeat. Ahead of them, a harried security guard jogged in the opposite direction, trailed by a cluster of shrieking girls.

“I swear, it was HUGE!” one girl wailed, clutching her friend’s arm.

“It had tusks!” added another, her voice trembling.

The guard sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s probably just a big possum. Or, I don’t know, a koala on steroids. Let’s not get carried away.” He trudged toward the library, muttering under his breath about kids watching too many monster movies.

“Keep moving. I parked in the student lots,” Luke said puffing.

As they ran, the light within the typewriter's increased. And a whisp of smoke snaked through its cracks, curling like something alive. Poor unlucky Luke remained oblivious of the ticking time bomb as he bolted toward the exit.