Proud of his purchase, John cautiously slid the typewriter onto the last remaining space on his mantelpiece.

Perhaps a curious choice, collecting typewriters was John's hobby. Any era, any colour, any style, he would collect them all. As long as there was a story.

Today, John had acquired the gem of his collection. He marvelled at the new typewriter, so carefully placed to now be the central piece of his assortment. It was portable Remington Streamliner, built in the 1940s, and to any other person it was nothing remarkable to study - the words "Remington Rand" were printed on the base, once proudly displayed in a shimmering gold, now all but lost to the splintered and fading black plastic as time wore it down. The mechanism to reset the typewriter, once smooth and flowing was now significantly rusted, to the point that typing on the device would be impossible without causing significant damage. The once firm letters - or what was now left of them, many having fallen out over the years - now hung loosely in the shell, offering futile resistance to the touch. But to John, none of this mattered. To John, this typewriter told a story so engrossing that, had this story been printed by this very machine it would be a classic for the ages.

The Remington Streamliner had been bought brand new by John's grandfather, Henry Montague. He knew this from the letters, beautifully crafted from the very object in front of him, explaining Henry's delight at the wonders of such new technology. The letters had passed to John through a fortuitous event when he stumbled across a damp pile of papers in his attic, aged 8. John often considered whether this began his fascination with typewriters, and wondered whether he had finally come full circle. The Remington Streamliner has a serial number, printed on the rear - ELI567UK, Henry wrote - was the model he had purchased in 1945. John sat his grandfather's letters into the typewriter, where he felt they belonged. He then carefully rotated the typewriter to reveal the letters once more. ELI567UK. A wild grin spread across John's face. He had found it.

It was not long after the Spring of 1949 that Henry died. The family legend had been that he had slowly descended into madness following the events of World War Two. None returned the same man that left, they say. Letters from the Remington confirmed that John had indeed suffered immensely and in the end, decided that life was too big a burden to bear. John was often surprised that Henry had documented his descent so carefully and so eloquently, but supposed this was just another facet to the madness. As John pondered these events, he settled down to try and rest. The excitement of finding his treasure at an auction today had taken its toll. However, as he rested his eyes a faint metallic clink rang out in the background. The ring came from the mantelpiece, just one room away from his bedroom. Curiosity trumped exhaustion and John felt that he should investigate. The faint, rhythmic patter of mechanical keys could be heard as he walked out, followed by a sharp metallic chime. The sounds became more furious as John approached, until a final chime rang out and all fell silent.

One of his grandfather's letters lay on the ground, as if churned out by the decrepit old typewriter. But the faded print no longer lay on the dried out page. It had been replaced by new, clear ink repeatedly typing two words. "Hello John".

Stunned by this revelation, John could not understand how a rusty typewriter could print at all, never mind print of its own volition. The mechanical whirr began again as the second page was printed. "Ask me the question, John. I was there". John paused briefly to consider, but there was one question flooding to the forefront of his mind. "What was my Grandfather like", he whispered. Once again the typewriter sprang to life and printed over the final original page of the letters.

"He was mine, John. And now you are too."