The Cursed Type: A Gothic Printing Horror

In the heart of an old, abandoned printing press, nestled between the decaying remnants of a bygone era, there was a machine that had seen better days. The Printing Press of the Damned, as it was ominously known, had been silent for decades, its once-throbbing heart now a relic of a world that had long forgotten the art of printing. Yet, in the dead of night, when the moon cast its pale light upon the dilapidated building, the press stirred to life, as if beckoned by an unseen force.

The assistant, a young man named Edward, had taken on the task of cleaning the press, a job that had fallen to him when the last of the printers had succumbed to the allure of modern technology. Edward was a curious soul, drawn to the press by its mysterious aura and the tales of the cursed typeface that had been rumored to reside within its ancient drawers.

The cursed typeface was said to be the creation of a printer who had dared to summon the spirits of the dead to aid in his work. The type was called "Infernal," and it was said to be imbued with the essence of the departed, capable of bringing forth the most heinous of creatures. The printer had been driven mad by his creation and had met a tragic end, leaving the typeface to be forgotten and buried beneath the dust of time.

Edward, driven by a mix of curiosity and a desire to uncover the secrets of the past, decided to delve into the press's depths. As he rummaged through the drawers, he stumbled upon a small, leather-bound book. Inside, nestled between the pages, was the typeface, its letters twisted and malformed, as if carved from the very flesh of the damned.

With trembling hands, Edward carefully extracted the typeface and placed it into the press. The machine groaned and whirred to life, and as the typeface was set, the room seemed to grow colder. The air was thick with a strange, acrid smell, and Edward could feel a presence watching him, a presence that seemed to emanate from the very typeface itself.

The next morning, as Edward arrived at the press, he found the typeface gone, replaced by a single, ominous letter, "A," set in the cursed typeface. The letter seemed to hover in the air, as if it were alive. Panic set in as Edward realized what he had unleashed. The letter began to move, shifting and changing, forming words that seemed to be spoken aloud, though there was no one else in the room.

"The Printing Press of the Damned is alive," the words echoed in his mind. "It calls to the damned, and they will answer."

Edward's life quickly spiraled out of control. The cursed typeface began to manifest in the most terrifying ways. Shadows would appear, shifting and taking on the forms of the departed, their eyes hollow and filled with malevolence. The press would sometimes hum with a life of its own, and the typeface would be set without Edward's touch, letters appearing on the page as if by some malevolent force.

One night, as Edward worked late, the press began to shake violently. The typeface "Infernal" was set in a single word, "Damned," and the room was filled with a chilling wind. Edward felt a presence behind him, and as he turned, he saw a figure standing in the doorway, its face obscured by a hood. The figure raised a hand, and the word "Damned" on the page began to glow, casting an eerie light upon the figure.

"Leave this place," the figure hissed, its voice echoing through the room. "The Printing Press of the Damned is not for the living."

Edward tried to flee, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground. The figure reached out, and the word "Damned" on the page flared with a blinding light. Edward's eyes were seared, and he fell to the floor, the world spinning around him.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in the press, but the room was different. The walls were covered in the cursed typeface, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. Edward looked down and saw that his hands were no longer his own. They were the hands of the printer who had created the typeface, twisted and gnarled, filled with the essence of the damned.

Edward realized that he was trapped, forever bound to the Printing Press of the Damned, a prisoner of the cursed typeface. The press would continue to call to the damned, and they would answer, their spirits trapped within the typeface, forever bound to the machine.

As Edward struggled to come to terms with his fate, he knew that the true horror of the Printing Press of the Damned was not in the physical form, but in the power of the written word. The typeface was a gateway to the afterlife, a conduit for the damned, and now, Edward was one of them. The Printing Press of the Damned was alive, and it would never rest until every soul that had ever touched it was accounted for.