Typewriter

I looked up at the roof in the hall. I pulled a little chain and a huge ladder fell down, uncovering a latch in the ceiling that looked easy to pull. I climbed up the ladder and pulled the latch. Inside there were cobwebs, creaky floorboards, and old paintings and pictures. As I climbed up something odd caught my eye. On a stool in the middle if the room stood a typewriter that looked brand new with paper already inside and the buttons barely pressed. I grabbed an old seat and dusted it off than sat down in front of the writer. I began to type something in it. It was a story I had been thinking of for a while. It was a story about a girl around my age went missing and went out into the forest to look for her parents. Until she got kidnapped and wasn't able to find any of she relatives. The short story ended with the cops finding her body. Dead. The next day when I woke up. A girl the same age, and with the same name went missing.