The Magic Pen of Maple Hollow

This is probably the strangest thing to have happened to our little town since I found it. You wouldn’t normally think an old stick in the wetlands can cause such a ruckus. But this one has. Looks like any other twig or branch you’d see on any of these old trees. At first, I didn’t think nothing particularly special about the dumb thing. Except the inner bark looks different. Slightly golden may be actual bronze inside it.
That’s until a friend of mine took it turning into an old-looking pen with an inkwell and everything. Anyway, I let him keep it since he works so hard to make it into such a beautiful piece. It’s about six and a half inches long, two inches wide at the base where the fountain pen point set in. Shined up beautifully with a reddish color to suit it. He even took the other half of it to make an ink holder for an old glass bottle. In a shape of a genie-like lamp.
He discovered after he uses it strange things happen around him. I mean, really strange! He’s a storyteller of sorts. When he’s not working as a mechanic. But anyway, things happen in this old town. Strange things! Seems that everything he writes comes to life. So far, just minor stupid stuff is happening. We want to keep it that way! At least we tried to can’t really help it if we say a troll, or hey there’s also gnomes suddenly come to life out of the blue. Soo far, that’s actually happened. We’re trying to get him to stop using the pen, but that is not working out so well. Calling us all jealous. After which things escalate to the incredibly stupid.
Now we have got the loch ness monster, a pixie, something that looks like it’s from the dinosaur era and some giant bird I don’t know what in the heck it is.
And it is then and only then he finally snaps out of it. Realizing we gotta problem here. So he goes to grab more paper only to realize he’d run out… hangs head in disbelief.
Unbelievable, I thought, so I help him scramble to find some paper. Once we got a hold of enough paper to undo all sixteen problems that popped in right about the time he wrote these stories. He went to work one by one. Each thing he wrote disappears as he changes their trajectory of what happens in the last stories. After eight hours of constant writing, it all disappeared. Making everything normal again. Soon as that’s all done, I snatch the pen and ink holder from him, throwing it into the fire pit I’d made while he was busy with writing. We never picked up anything again after that and never will. I’ll never get over this one!

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