She found the typewriter on a weathered desk shoved behind a chest-high stand of dried weeds near the shed. Mavis stood looking at the typewriter with one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes from the late afternoon sun. Sweat from clearing weeds and bramble from her newly purchased property dripped down the back her neck.

“Well, it ain’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen today,” she said to herself. “Better condition than I would have thought being out here.”

As she finished talking the keys on the typewriter depressed as if someone was responding. Mavis jumped back, hand flying to her chest. “Now that’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen today.”

As the typewriter keys started clacking again, she ran for the house and threw open the porch door without breaking her stride. A few moments and a few curses later, she ran back with a piece of paper in her damp hand.

“Now don’t you be typing while I thread this paper through, you hear.” She waited and nothing happened, so she slid the paper into the typewriter. As soon as her hands left the machine, it began to type with faint words from its nearly exhausted ribbon appearing on the paper.

“Nice to have someone to talk to,” the message read.

Mavis fingered the large ring strung on a cord around her neck. “Isn’t it just? But shall we get out of the sun?”

“Much obliged.”

Mavis picked up the typewriter and walked back into her house. The sounds of clacking keys and laughter soon filled the air.