Ghost Writing . . .

My studio/office is right off the back of my garage where most people have storage rooms. It's glorious to have my own space that is attached to my house but has a separate entrance from the outside (ie, you can't access my studio from inside my house). It's a door that I often forget to lock.

My family and I were gone all day Saturday watching the Kentucky Derby with friends. I had worked in my studio a little that morning, but I didn't return to it until later on Sunday afternoon.

I have a good bit of kitschy-chotsky in my studio--a flying frog, Tim Gunn bobblehead, ceramic lady with false eyelashes that doubles as a pencil holder . . One of my favorite things is a battered Underwood typewriter that I salvaged from my grandparents' attic (aren't all writers supposed to have one on a bookshelf??). It stays here:

Always.

Sunday afternoon when I returned to work, it was here:

And someone had been typing . . .

The ribbon is a good sixty years old (maybe older). There's some random letters and places where the carriage got stuck and letters were typed over each other. But, front and center.

New Neighbor

Cue the Twilight Zone music.

I replaced the typewriter on the shelf, scanned in the paper to my computer and ran inside to tell my husband that we had a specter. He looked at me and said, "Quit touching that. Don't you want to call the police?"

I must admit that calling the police had never crossed my mind. Besides, what would we say? Someone broke into my studio and typed???

It's been three days, and I'm definitely sleeping with my ear to the wall. There have been no more messages. No more visits from our "neighbor". I need to think of a witty response to type back to him/her . . . but I'm definitely locking my door from now on. Just to be safe.

sf