The Echoes of Ink and Death: A Corpse in the Copy Room

The hum of the copier filled the narrow room, a sound as ubiquitous in offices as the scent of coffee. In the heart of the city, where steel and glass reigned supreme, the copy room of the publishing company stood as a quiet enigma—a place where papers fluttered, and whispers seemed to linger.

Amelia, a young copywriter with a penchant for the written word, had recently taken up residence in the company's office. Her job was to translate the thoughts of authors into readable prose, a task that required both creativity and precision. The copy room, with its rows of paper and the ever-present scent of ink, had always felt a bit eerie to her, but she attributed it to the age of the building.

One afternoon, as she worked late on a manuscript, the hum of the copier was suddenly cut short by a faint whisper. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice echoing off the walls.

The whisper returned, fainter this time, almost like a breeze through the pages of a book. "Help me," it whispered.

Curiosity piqued, Amelia got up to investigate. She moved cautiously around the room, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting. The whisper grew louder, more insistent. She found the source: a stack of papers, the top sheet slightly askew, with a faint, ghostly handprint on the corner.

As she reached out to touch the print, a sudden chill swept over her. She yelped and pulled her hand back, but the handprint remained. It was real, and it was there, right in front of her eyes.

"Help me," the whisper called out again.

Amelia's heart raced as she stepped closer, her mind racing with possibilities. Could it be a prank? Or something more sinister? She glanced around the room, searching for any sign of a person, but there was none.

The whisper grew louder, more desperate. "I'm trapped. Please, help me."

She took a deep breath, mustering all her courage. She knelt down, reaching for the papers. The moment her fingers brushed against the sheet, the room seemed to shift. The walls seemed to close in, the air grew thick with a suffocating presence.

A shadowy figure materialized in the corner of her eye. Amelia gasped, but before she could react, the figure lunged towards her.

Panic surged through her as she tried to escape, but the room seemed to contract around her. The whisper grew louder, more frantic. "Please, help me!"

Amelia's mind raced. She had to find a way to help, but she was trapped in a world she didn't understand. She reached out with all her might, and as her fingers brushed against the papers once more, the room began to expand, the shadows receding.

The whisper grew fainter, then silence. Amelia looked around, her heart pounding. The handprint was still there, but the room seemed... different. The presence had lifted, the chill gone.

She got up, her legs weak from the encounter. She looked at the papers, the whisper now gone, but the handprint remained. She took a deep breath and began to read the papers. They were filled with strange symbols and cryptic messages, none of which made any sense.

As she continued to read, the symbols began to form words, and the words began to tell a story. A story of a man who had been trapped in the copy room for decades, his spirit bound to the paper and ink that he had used to write his final message.

Amelia realized then that the handprint was not just a print, but a sign, a plea for help from a soul trapped between worlds. She spent the rest of the day trying to decipher the messages, hoping to find a way to free the man's spirit.

The next morning, as she presented her findings to her boss, she felt a strange sense of relief. The man's story was tragic, and she felt a deep empathy for his plight. But she also knew that the company would need to take action to honor his memory and release his spirit.

The company, initially skeptical, soon became invested in the story. They held a small ceremony in the copy room, where they read the man's final message aloud and offered a silent prayer for his peace. As the ceremony concluded, Amelia felt a wave of warmth wash over her, and she knew that the spirit had been freed.

The copy room returned to its usual hum, and Amelia's days of eerie encounters seemed to fade away. But she knew that the man's story would always be with her, a reminder of the thin veil that separates the living from the dead.

In the years that followed, Amelia continued to work at the publishing company, her heart heavy with the memory of the man she had helped. She often found herself returning to the copy room, not to fear the spirits that might dwell there, but to honor the memory of the man who had once been trapped within its walls.