The Printer From Hell Read online

  “What difference does that make?” she asks.

  “What if someone else had the printer before us,” I continue, “they sent these images to it, and then when the damn thing didn't work they took it back to the store? And then we bought it, I got the damn thing up and running, and the previous owner's pictures are finally coming out?”

  I flop down next to her, and for a moment we both sit and stare at the latest picture.

  “And their bedroom just happened to look exactly like ours?” Mary points out.

  “Not exactly like ours,” I reply. “The bedsheets are different. The nightstand is different. The place in the picture generally looks dirtier.”

  “There's a shadow,” she adds, pointing at the corner of the image.

  Sure enough, there's another faint hint of a shadow, just at the very edge. Once again, someone seems to be standing just out of sight.

  “I don't want to look at it anymore,” she says, sounding exhausted. “I don't even want to think about it. Honey, can you please sort this thing out tomorrow? Either the printer miraculously starts working properly, or we're taking it back to the store. They have to give us a full refund once we explain what it's been doing.”

  I pause, before setting the print-out aside. There's no way in hell I'm surrendering to this printer, and I'm going to find a way to make it work the way it should. For now, however, I simply turn the bedside light off and then settle next to Mary. After a moment, I place a hand on her waist.

  “You have got to be kidding,” she says firmly, as if she'd been expecting the move. She pushes my hand away. “I am so not in the mood anymore. Oh, and don't forget I'm going to visit my father tomorrow, so you're picking Josh up from school.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Why does Mummy say she misses Grandma Kate?” Josh asks the next day, as we walk away from the school gate.

  Slightly surprised by the question, it takes me a moment to work out what to say. Then again, he's only seven years old, so I guess I should have known that he'd struggle with this a little.

  “Well,” I tell him cautiously, “Grandma Kate was her Mummy, and she loved her very much, so she just wishes she could still see her and talk to her. That makes sense to you, doesn't it?”

  “But doesn't someone have to be gone before you can miss them?”

  Reaching the car, I unlock the passenger-side door for him. I feel like I'm walking through a minefield, and one wrong comment could permanently screw up my son's understanding of death. “We talked about this before, buddy. Grandma Kate has gone to a different place now. A very happy place, where she can be reunited with lots of friends she hasn't seen for a long time.”

  “Can't Mummy see her anymore?”

  I watch as he gets into the car. “Can you see her?” I ask.

  “Can't you?”

  I pause, before closing the door and heading around to the other side. Once I'm in the driver's seat, I realize I have to find out exactly what Josh thinks he sees. I'm sure nothing's wrong, but at the same time I don't want him to start getting all Sixth Sense on us.

  “Maybe we didn't explain this to you very well,” I tell him. “Um... Okay, listen, Grandma Kate died, buddy, and that means -”

  “I know she died,” he replies, interrupting me. “I'm not stupid.”

  “Of course you're not.”

  “I remember her funeral.”

  “And do you remember how we tried to make it a happy day, so people could talk about how much they loved Grandma Kate? People cried, but they also shared their happy memories of her life.”

  “But I still see her sometimes. In the apartment. She seems angry a lot of the time.” He pauses. “At least, I think it's her, she's difficult to see properly. Don't you ever see her?”

  “You miss her a lot, don't you?”

  “She smiles at me.”

  I can't help feeling just a little creeped out by his earnestness. Josh has a great imagination, but I swear he seems to genuinely believe what he's saying right now.

  “Does she ever... talk to you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “She just looks at you?”

  He nods.

  “And how often does this happen?”

  “Lots.”

  I pause, wondering exactly how I should deal with this problem. Josh's insistence is becoming just a little too keen for my liking. The last thing I want is for him to start believing in ghosts and all that crap.

  “But you don't really see her, do you?” I continue. “You think about her, and you think about what she used to look like when she was happy, but that's all in your head. That's different to actually seeing someone with your eyes.”

  “No,” he replies matter-of-factly, “I see her with my eyes. She's so blurry, all I can really make out is her shape and two dark patches where her eyes are, but it has to be her. Doesn't it? I mean, she's the only person I've ever known who died, so who else could it be?”

  I pause again, before starting the engine. “Let me know next time you see her, okay?” I tell him. “And maybe don't mention this to your mother for a while. It might upset her.”

  “Why would it upset her?” he asks. “If she misses Grandma Kate, wouldn't she be glad to know she's still around?”

  “Mummy tends to believe these things a little more than Daddy,” I explain diplomatically. “She might actually start thinking that... Well, let's just keep it between us for now, okay? It can be our little secret.”

  ***

  “Daddy doesn't think I should talk to Mummy about you. He thinks it might upset her.”

  Stopping next to the stove, just as I'm about to start dinner, I suddenly realize I can hear Josh talking in his bedroom. We've been back in the apartment for about an hour since I fetched Josh from school, and I thought he was busy reading one of his books. Now, however, he seems to be whispering to someone.

  “I don't understand why he thinks that,” he continues. “I think Mummy would be happy if she knew you were here. She's looked really sad ever since you died. She really misses you.”

  I drop the pasta into the boiling water and set the timer, before heading through to the hallway and stopping at the door to Josh's room. Sure enough, he's sitting on the end of his bed, looking up at thin air as if he genuinely thinks someone is standing right in front of him. As much as I want to laugh the whole thing off, I can't deny that right now my son is being more than a little creepy.

  “Hey Daddy,” he says, turning to me suddenly. “I can see Grandma Kate right now.”

  “You can, huh?”

  He nods, before looking back up at thin air.

  “Can't you see her?” he asks.

  Although I know he's imagining the whole thing, I can't help feeling a little uncomfortable as I step into the room and follow his gaze. Mary would probably be very open to the idea that her mother is somehow still with us, but fortunately I'm a little more rooted in the real world and I know that such things are simply impossible. Figuring that I need to nip this whole delusion in the bud before it takes root, I sit next to Josh and try to work out how, exactly, I'm going to make him understand that he's wrong.

  “So what do you see?” I ask finally.

  “I see someone standing right there,” he replies with a frown. “Don't you?”

  “And it's Grandma Kate?”

  “I'm pretty sure it is.”

  “But...” I pause. “You don't know?”

  “It's difficult,” he continues. “I can't really see her properly, she's too fuzzy, but I can tell she's looking at me.” He hesitates for a moment. “It has to be Grandma Kate. Who else could it be?”

  “So you've never actually seen her face?”

  He shakes his head.

  I turn and look again at the spot in front of the bed. Figuring that I should pretend to really focus, I stay quiet for a few seconds. Long enough, I hope, that I can make him believe me.

  “There's no-one there, buddy,” I say finally. “I'm pretty sure
that what's happening here is that you're mixing up your imagination, which is inside your head, with what you can actually see.”

  “No,” he replies, “I really see her. I'm not an idiot, Daddy. I know the difference between real and make-believe.”

  “I'm really not sure you do,” I mutter under my breath, before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Have you told anyone else about this? Anyone at school, for example?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Well,” I continue, “I think it'd be a very good idea to keep it that way. Let's not get Mummy spooked, okay? Like I said earlier, she tends to be more open to this kind of thing, and she can get...” I pause, trying to think of the right word. “Ruffled.”

  “Ruffled?”

  “Concerned. Upset by suggestions. And then she'll go out and buy a Ouija board, and bring a priest in, and the next thing you know the whole apartment will be overrun by ghost-busters. Trust me, one little spark is all it takes to set people off when they believe in this sort of thing.”

  I stare at the empty spot for a moment longer.

  “Just please, please don't mention this to your mother,” I add finally. “Trust me, we do not want to get her worried about ghosts in the apartment. That is a whole can of beans we definitely do not want to open.”

  “She's looking at you now,” he replies, and when I turn to him I see that he's frowning. “I think she's really angry.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You don't mind, do you?” Mary asks over the phone a few hours later, as I finish clearing away the pots from dinner. “I just think Dad seems so lonely, and I'd feel awful if I left now.”

  “It's fine,” I tell her. “Watch a couple of movies with him, stay the night. Josh and I are fine here, we're having a boy's evening. It's almost his bed-time and -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize I can hear the printer starting up in the bedroom again.

  “Honey?”” Mary continues. “Are you okay?”

  “Absolutely fine,” I reply, figuring there's no point getting her worked up about the goddamn machine again. She doesn't need to know every little thing that happens while she's away. In fact, it might even be very good timing that she's not here for Josh's weirdness. “I know this might be hard to believe, but Josh and I are quite capable of surviving one night without you. You won't come home tomorrow to a burned-down apartment.”

  “I should get back to Dad, but give Josh an extra big kiss goodnight from me, okay? And tell him I'll be back in the morning. And Steve... I love you.”

  Once the call is over, I load the dishwasher and set it on, and then I head through to the main bedroom. The printer has finished making noises and is back in standby mode, but to my surprise I find that there's no print-out waiting for me. I swear I heard the machine starting up and going through the whole printing cycle just a couple of minutes ago, but there's absolutely nothing. I even check under the bed, in case a sheet of paper flew off the edge of the desk, but all I see are a few dust bunnies.

  “You're weird,” I mutter, turning to look back over at the machine. “You know that, right? You're the weirdest printer in all of human history, and if you don't shape up and improve, your days are numbered. So just...” I pause, aware of the absurdity of the situation. “Just buck your ideas up and start being a normal printer. Final warning.”

  “Who are you talking to, Daddy?” Josh calls out suddenly.

  Heading through to his room, I see that he's already in his pajamas and sitting cross-legged on his bed.

  “I wasn't talking to anyone,” I tell him. “Mummy's staying with your Grandpa tonight, so it's just you and me. Do you wanna stay up past your bedtime and watch a movie?”

  He pauses, before shaking his head.

  “You don't?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “Come on, Mummy isn't away that often. This might be our only chance for a while. I used to love staying up late when I was your age.”

  He shakes his head again, and this time there seems to be a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, heading over and sitting next to him. “Mummy's okay, you know. She's just spending time with your Grandpa because she wants to make sure he's not lonely. She'll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

  “I know,” he replies, wriggling under the duvet. “I'm just tired. I want to go to sleep.”

  “Well, I guess that's fine,” I reply, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead. Getting to my feet, I head to the door and reach out to flick the light off, but after a moment I glance back at my son. I've got to admit, I was hoping he'd have more of a rebellious spirit, but I guess there's time for that once he's grown up a little more. “You don't see her right now, do you?” I ask. “Grandma Kate, I mean.”

  He stares at me for a moment, and there still seems to be a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “No,” he says finally. “I don't see her now.”

  “Okay,” I reply with a smile, turning the light out. “That's great. Goodnight, buddy.”

  ***

  Several hours later, midway through my second slasher movie of the night, I suddenly realize I can hear a noise somewhere in the apartment. Grabbing the remote, I pause the movie and sit in silence for a moment, and sure enough I hear another faint creak after just a couple of seconds.

  “Josh?” I call out, turning to look at the door that leads into the dark hallway. “Buddy? What's wrong, can't you sleep?”

  I wait for an answer.

  “Do you need the bathroom? Do you want something from the kitchen?”

  Silence.

  Glancing at the screen, I see that the picture is paused on a shot of a semi-naked woman getting grabbed from behind by a guy with a large rusty hook. Figuring that Josh probably shouldn't see something like that, I stop the movie before getting to my feet and heading through to the hallway, where there's still no sign of anyone up and about. I hesitate for a moment, and then I head to his bedroom door and look through.

  He's in bed, and so far as I can tell he seems to be fast asleep.

  “Josh?” I whisper cautiously. “Is everything okay in here?”

  After a moment, he stirs and turns to me.

  “I heard you moving about,” I tell him.

  He stares at me for a few seconds, as if he's not quite sure how to answer. “I was asleep,” he says finally.

  “I heard you moving about just now,” I reply. “Do you need the bathroom?”

  “I was asleep,” he says again. “You woke me up.”

  “I did, huh?”

  I pause for a moment, before realizing that there's no point pushing him. I know damn well that he was out of bed, but the last thing I want is to make him feel like I'm annoyed.

  “Okay,” I say finally, “that's fine. Just go back to sleep, buddy. Everything's fine. You -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize I just heard another brief set of steps, this time coming from the front room. I turn and look across the hallway, but I quickly tell myself that the whole thing must have been in my imagination. I guess Josh's weird claims from earlier have managed to unsettle my thoughts.

  “Get some sleep,” I mutter, glancing back at Josh. “Just ignore Daddy's silly questions.”

  Heading through to the front room, I can't shake a slightly uneasy feeling in my gut, even as I look around and see that of course there's no sign of anyone. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just in case I hear the sound again, and then I can't help but smile as I realize how easily I let myself get spooked. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost midnight, and I figure that maybe it's too late to start the movie up again. Instead, I grab my half-finished beer from the coffee table and make my way into the bedroom, where the printer is sitting in the dark with its faint blue standby light looking all innocent and harmless.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, before taking a swig of beer, “I'm onto you. You don't fool me with that innocent look.”

  I pause, staring the machine down.

  “Is that all you've got to say for yourself?”
I ask. “Call yourself a -”

  Suddenly the goddamn thing lights up and starts whirring, almost as if it actually knew that I was talking. I stare in stunned surprise as another piece of paper is fed into the mechanism, and a moment later the machine starts printing. Peering under the desk, I see that the plug is back in the socket, and I tell myself that Mary must have done that for some reason before she left, even if I'm not quite sure why she'd bother. Or maybe Josh was fooling around in here.

  “Okay,” I say with a smile, wandering over to take a closer look at the printer, “let's see what you've got for me this time.”

  Stopping next to the desk, I wait as the latest image is slowly revealed. After a few seconds, however, the smile fades from my face as I see that although the printer is once again spitting out a photo that seems to show our bedroom, this time something's different.

  This time there's a figure standing in the picture.

  Chapter Nine

  “Creepy asshole,” I whisper, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the latest photo. I feel a shiver pass through my chest, and I take another swig of beer in an attempt to make myself a little less rattled.

  This is a joke.

  It has to be.

  It's somebody's idea of a sick prank.

  The photo shows a figure standing next to the bed, but this is no ordinary figure. It's pretty obviously a guy, judging by the broad shoulders and bald head, but he's got his back to the camera and he's butt naked. There doesn't seem to be a single hair anywhere on his plump, saggy body, but there is a kind of dark smear running across his pale flesh in several places, almost like dried blood. There are particularly large smears on his hands, running all the way up to his elbows. His skin is noticeably pale, too, with a few blotchy, irritated-looking patches.