Goosebumps: Revenge of the Invisible Boy

Talking with a Typewriter

While Zach tossed and turned, trying in vain to forget what had happened, something very different was happening in the house across from his window.

The Stine house was eerily quiet. Crickets chirped outside, and moonlight flooded in through the windows.

The house was dark, save for one room, where a single lamp was lit.

Stine's office.

The clicking and clacking of typewriter keys hitting the paper was the only sound that could be heard in that room.

R.L. Stine sat at his desk, typing away furiously, completely focused on his work.

He was so focused that he didn't dare to read aloud what he typed, for fear that he might lose his train of thought, and precious time.

Hannah was in trouble. He had to work fast.

He was shaken from his concentration by the harsh sound of the grandfather clock, chiming away in the silence.

Stine looked up from his work. Three o'clock already? Did he really lose track of time that much?

It didn't matter. He had work to do. He had to finish this book, as soon as possible.

To save Hannah from that Hell he had created.

He didn't even know if he could do it. Sucking a monster out of one book and into another, then releasing it from that book? All without allowing any other monsters to escape? Was that even possible?

Well, he intended to find out.

Stine yawned a big yawn. He had not slept since Slappy had escaped and wrecked havoc on the small town of Madison, Delaware. Not even a wink of sleep.

How could he sleep? He had condemned Hannah, his daughter, his only family, the only person he had ever truly loved, to the same fate as the worst of monsters. She was alone in there, one girl against so many monsters that would like very much to hurt her.

No, there was no way he could sleep.

But still, he was exhausted. It was becoming harder to focus. He took the newly completed page out of the old typewriter and carefully placed in in the pile with the rest of them, waiting to be bound. That made six pages.

He decided to take a coffee break. Maybe that would wake him up.

He got up and went to the table on the other side of the room, where his coffee machine was. He frowned at the full mug. Apparently he had already brewed some coffee. Wow, he must be tired. 

He brought the mug up to his lips and took a sip. The warm fluid rushed down into his stomach with an welcoming and invigorating feeling. He was about to take another drink when he heard a familiar sound behind him.

The clacking of typewriter keys.

He whirled around and looked at the typewriter. It was chugging away on its own, then stopped. He set down the coffee mug. He knew what this meant.

He took a look at the paper, reading the words on it.

"Hello, Robert."

Stine paused. He was right.

"It's been a long time, old friend." He spoke out loud. The typewriter began typing again.

"That it has. I missed you."

"I'm sorry." Stine replied, speaking to the typewriter. "But things got complicated. I couldn't keep writing."

"Because you were on the run," The typewriter typed. "Running away from every town who had seen the real R.L. Stine. Running away from everything your books had done. I don't blame you. They can really do some damage."