Whispers in Valley View: The Ghost of the One Black Eye and the Midnight Prank

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My wife and I were woken up at 2:30 a.m. the other night when the printer all of sudden began to print a document. It was very eerie and so I decided to write a short story about it. What did the printer print out? Well..read the story and find out.

 Whispers in Valley View: The Ghost of the One Black Eye and the Midnight Prank

In the quiet little subdivision of Valley View, where shadows whispered tales of the supernatural, an ordinary night took a chilling turn. As the clock struck 2:30 a.m., a printer, untouched by human hands, came to life in a dimly lit room. The sheets it expelled bore a haunting message: "Don't go into the shed!"

Unable to resist the lure of the unknown, I found myself standing before the creaking door of the shed. With each hesitant inch, the door revealed an unexpected scene – a vintage typewriter resting atop my dormant riding lawnmower.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack echoed through the shed as the typewriter, seemingly animated by an unseen force, continued its cryptic composition. Braving my fear, I read the unfolding words, discovering a mysterious warning about the past and the shed's sentinel nature.

In a daring move, I delved deeper, learning of the "Ghost of the One Black Eye." Legends whispered of its spectral presence, and the typewriter seemed to connect with this spectral entity. The shed, a repository of forgotten time, held the keys to secrets unknown.

As the night unfolded, the typewriter's message guided my quest for answers. The shed, once a mundane storage space, became a portal to the supernatural. With each revelation, the presence of the Ghost of the One Black Eye grew more tangible, weaving a tale that transcended the boundaries of time and mortality. The typewriter, an instrument of the otherworldly, continued its enigmatic narrative, leaving me to confront the mysteries that lurked within the shadows of Valley View.

It recounted the tale of a lone traveler seeking shelter in a remote motel for the night. The clerk, with a solemn expression, disclosed that only one room remained available, cautioning that it was rumored to be haunted. "I don't believe in ghosts," the lone traveler retorted, unfazed. "I'll take the room."

Fueled by skepticism, the traveler entered the room, indifferent to the clerk's forewarning. The door creaked ominously as it closed, plunging the space into an unsettling silence. The dim light exposed a room suspended in time, its faded wallpaper whispering tales of eras long gone.

As the traveler unpacked, a subtle chill settled in the air. A soft murmur, nearly imperceptible, carried the weight of an unseen presence. Undeterred, the traveler dismissed the notion of hauntings as mere folklore.

Nightfall descended, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Then it began—a faint, ghostly whisper narrating forgotten sorrows and untold secrets. Initially defiant, the lone traveler felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

Curiosity grappled with disbelief as the room's atmosphere thickened. Unseen hands seemed to trace the air, leaving an ethereal touch. On edge, the traveler questioned his convictions. Was there more to this remote motel room than met the eye? Then he said out loud, "dadgum it! There ain't no such thing as ghosts and I'm tired! I'm going to bed!"

As the night progressed, the boundaries between skepticism and the supernatural blurred. The once-resolute lone traveler found himself entwined in a spectral dance, pondering the existence of ghosts and wondering if the echoes of the past had found a way to resonate in the present.

A chain began to rattle and a low, spooky voice began to call out, "I'm the ghost of the one black eye." The traveler, trying to get some sleep, just rolled over. Then the chain shook more violently, and the voice called out much louder, "I'm the ghost of the one black eye!" The traveler, now becoming quite annoyed, rolled back over to the other side. The chain shook even more violently, and the voice sounded even louder, almost like a ghostly shriek, "I'm the ghost of the one black eye!"

The traveler all of a sudden jumped up and screamed at the top of his lungs, "IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP, YOU'RE GONNA BE THE GHOST OF THE TWO BLACK EYES!!!

And right at that moment, my riding lawnmower came to life! Its 11.5-horsepower motor roaring through the still of the night. The headlights were ghostly-looking and seemed to call out my name in a spooky voice: Ricky! Ricky!

I heard myself screaming as I turned and ran out of the shed toward the house. I opened the back door and ran in, slamming the door behind me. Then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed. As the last piece of paper was coming out of the printer, I realized it was all a dream. I slowly closed my eyes and went back to sleep. Later that morning, I found out that the printer, for some reason, chose to print out coloring pages for my granddaughter Annabelle to color... at 2:30 a.m.

 ©11/28/2023, R. L. Whitmire, All Rights Reserved