The old type writer.

Jeet's fingers danced across the keys of her old typewriter, the clacking sound echoing through the dimly lit room. The night lamp cast a warm glow on the scattered papers, old books, and the steaming cup of tea that sat on the edge of the table. A candle flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Outside, the thunder rumbled and the rain lashed against the windowpane, creating a haunting melody that seemed to seep into Jeet's bones. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she typed, the words flowing onto the page like blood from a wound.

Jeet was writing a horror story, one that had been brewing in her mind for weeks. She had always been fascinated by the supernatural, the unexplained, and the terrifying. And now, as the storm raged outside, she felt the perfect atmosphere to bring her darkest imagination to life.

As she typed, the room seemed to grow darker, the shadows deepening and twisting into grotesque forms. Jeet felt a presence in the room, a presence that seemed to be watching her, waiting for her to unleash the horrors that lurked within her mind.

The candle in the corner flickered wildly, casting eerie silhouettes on the walls. Jeet's heart pounded in her chest as she wrote, the words pouring out of her like a dark, malevolent force.

Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder boomed outside, making Jeet jump. The typewriter keys jammed, and the candle in the corner went out, plunging the room into darkness. Jeet was left sitting in the darkness, her heart pounding, her imagination running wild.

And then, she heard it. A faint scratching sound, coming from the walls. It was a sound that sent shivers down her spine, a sound that seemed to be calling to her, drawing her into the heart of the horror she had created.

Jeet's fingers trembled as she reached for the matches to relight the candle. As the flame flickered back to life, she saw that the scratching sound had stopped. But she knew that she had unleashed something, something that would haunt her forever.

With a sense of foreboding, Jeet continued typing, the words flowing onto the page like a dark, unstoppable tide. The storm raged on outside, but Jeet knew that the real horror was not the thunder or the rain, but the darkness that lurked within her own mind.