"Are you sure we've got enough candles?" Nightingale asked, studying the set up of Applade's classroom. It was long after home time, and the clock face at the top of the tower that jutted out from between the library and the hall had long since struck 7 and 12 at once.
"I've witnessed a lot of seances," Professor Vivien replied, "and if there's one thing I know, candles help."
Applade lit the last of the forty candles and blew her remaining match out. The wall of windows was hidden behind musty curtains, and once the lights were switched off, merely the orange glow of the flickering candles illuminated the room. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Vivien and Nightingale. The typewriter was positioned in the centre of her desk, a fresh roll of paper inserted, alongside a fresh ribbon. "Are we ready?" Vivian asked.
Applade nodded. "As we'll ever be."
They all joined their cold hands and Vivien looked at the typewriter. "Oh Soul of the Ancient Text! Heed my call!"
Nightingale had to stifle a laugh. "Angus, are you sure about this?"
"Be quite, Jim." Vivien replied. "I can almost hear the spirits."
Applade rolled her eyes. This stood against everything she had once believed in, but she had to give it a chance. Last terms events had proven nothing if not that she should stop being so sceptical so much.
"Spirits of the typewriter! Can you hear me?"
Silence.
"Spirits of the typewriter!"
Silence once more.
"Can you hear me, spirits?"
Silence. No! There was a noise. Like fingers tapping coins. And then, the typewriter keys began to drop and heighten, again and again. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Ding!
"We can hear you." Read the roll of white paper.
Apple's eyes opened wider and wider.
"We?" Replied Vivien.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Ding!
"We are the Lords of the Written Word."
"There is no Lord of the Written Word." Vivien replied. "The written word is the product of man kind."
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Ding!
"There is no mankind, but the mankind that the written word has bred."
"What does it mean?" Applade asked.
"John 1:1." Nightingale realised. He broke the circle of hands and raced towards the bookcase at the back of the classroom. From the top shelf, he pulled a small book wrapped in a leather sleeve. It was, of course, the Bible. He flicked to the fourth book of the new testament and began to read. "In the beginning there was the Word. The Word was with God, and the Word was God."
"Rubbish!" Applade cried. "That 'Word' most certainly isn't the same one the typewriter is referring to. And in any case, 'Word' in this instance comes from Logos, the Greek word for communication, or message. And, as I'm sure Angus will agree, that's commonly accepted to mean Christ himself, as it was through him that God communicated."
Angus shook his head.
"Oh please don't tell me you agree with this?"
"You said it yourself, Susan. 'It's commonly accepted to mean Christ.' That doesn't at all mean it's right."
Applade turned back to the typewriter. "Ok, Lords of the Written Word. If you are real, prove it."
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Ding!
"Go to Professor Jenkins Room." It read.
Applade shot a head towards Nightingale and Vivien. "Is it worth going to look?'
"We may as well." Nightingale replied.
Nightingale pushed Vivien and helped to lift the chair up the steps to Jenkins room. The door wasn't locked, surprising as the old goat surely couldn't still be on premises. Applade pushed it open and walked in, over to the desk. He wasn't in the room, it was empty- no! The chair behind the desk was missing. Applade rushed forwards and stared behind. The chair had fallen, Jenkins lying strewn across the carpet, his face lagging unconscious.
Then his hand lifted and a pen scrawled across his face, writing, "Do you believe me now, Professor Applade?"
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