The Typewriter

The seller had warned him about this typewriter. Said everyone who used it died the moment their story was written, from the first owner on record to the widows husband. He didn't believe in such superstition, and as he sat down to type on the crisp white paper a wonderful story danced in his head.

It was 1954, and the young husband's hands hovered over the keys. He promised his wife this was the last typewriter, his last attempt, the greatest story he'd ever told would come from these keys. He had to, or they would never make ends meet. Journalism wasn't enough, and he couldn't stand writing for anyone but himself.
Horror was his genre, and staring at the keys conjured the idea for the story of a curse.
Whosoever wishes to write their greatest work shall become infamous, but will die by their tales end.
He wrote the greatest story, one where the writer dies in the end at the hands of his wife, unknowingly cursing the keys forever. As the happy husband was stacking together his pages, contemplating which company to mail in the horror to, the sound of a shot rang out.
The next days headline read as follows:
Young Author murdered by jaded wife, final story missing.

He looked over his work, enjoying every nightmare inducing moment that he'd written. It was terrifying, it was wonderful, but he wasn't sure how to pass along the cursed keys to make the horror last for eternity. He stood, started making a mug of coffee, then noticed the small plaque on the back of the second hand typewriter.
He died by his tales end.
1954
His stomach knotted, and he suddenly felt compelled to finish the story. The typewriter moved from author to author, each meeting the same fate, until it reached the current author.
Himself.
He took a sip of his coffee, pondering if it was safe to write himself in. The story was nothing but that, a story. Right?
As he finished typing the final page, the sound of a gun cocking behind his head gave him his answer.
"Just like the rest of them. Just like him. Should have heeded the warning, your story will never be told."

Boom.

The next day, the author was found slumped over the typewriter, a single page gripped tightly in his handsand his story missing. On the page, typed in haste, he'd written

Tell my story, destroy the keys.