Tapes Try

Originally published April 2023

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Click.

The reels rewinded and it opened at the bottom to produce a small cassette. Another one got pushed in. Click.

Recording started.

"I don't know when you will hear this, but I hope it won't be too late." Robert started speaking, rocking back on forth on his floor.

"The sole reason why I'm recording this is because I've lost a lot of sleep thinking about this. I don't want the same thing to happen to anyone else." he began calmly, whispering into the tape.

"My habit of recording things off the radio landed me in a lot of trouble. I only recorded stuff I thought was interesting or I thought my friends would like." Robert's eyes widen, anxiously looking around him before he confesses.

"One night I was randomly turning the dials, hoping to record something again. I stumbled upon something. I don't even know how to begin to describe it." His rocking increased in rhythm.

"I don't believe in the supernatural...most of the time. There are real things out there, and they're scary enough already." Bare toes clenching, dragging themselves over cold, hard concrete. "I heard a list of names. Dates. I didn't know what it meant at first. There was the sound of what I thought was wind blowing. The weird stuff starts about 16 seconds in. Unfortunately, it never, ever stops. You know what I'm talking about. I know you listened to it, that's why you're here now." His breathing became heavy and laboured.

Robert paused, staring at the tape recorder, picking up every inch of sound he made. He wasn't sure how long it would take. A few weeks or months from now maybe? "You're all alone and suddenly you hear that keening, quavering sound rise up again. Crawling out of your spine, into your skull. Then you'll understand. Feeling the convulsions from inside your midriff clawing to get out." It looked as if he was going to throw up.

Thinking someone was nearby, he stopped. Taking a gander at the darkness surrounding him, engulfing him in its flames.

Listen closely.

To that horrible sound.

The footsteps were inching closer and closer. Two pairs of them.

Tears started rolling down Roberts face, his voice quavering, one arm curled around his legs, still rocking back and forth.

"They're here," he whispered, his voice filled with terror. "They've come for me."

Robert had to rush.

As soon as the voices started, he felt a deep empty feeling inside, his soul drifting away from his body. "You'll realise that the woman is reading new names. Your name. Friends. Relatives. Again and again. Over and over."

Robert's voice turned softer and softer, yet each word was spoken with more haste.

"You have to play it to them. To everyone you know. Closer towards the end I swear I heard it say your name, a date and then followed by a cause of death. None of the other names had her saying how they died or were going to die..."

His voice was trembling.

"I hope, desperately, that if you can make the list long enough, add enough names, then they'll take yours off, and leave you alone."

Quiet

"To leave me alone. Leave me alone." he cried out.

Click.

Quiet.

"How many of these tape recordings does he make in a day?"

She asked her superior who'd instructed her to remain silent, not to mess up the tapes Robert was making, though she couldn't help her curiosity. It was only when Robert was finished when the man spoke up.

"About 10." was the answer. "It's...oddly therapeutic for him."

"Wailing and screaming about a radio broadcast into a tape recorder is considered calming?" She questioned, wondering why no nurse or doctor had interfered with the habit. The warden saw the look on her face.

"We've tried, you know, to get him to do something else."

Whenever his tape recorder was taken away in an attempt to indulge him in other activities, Robert's demeanour only worsened.

"It's like he's an addict. This impulse. This urge to record himself over and over or else he'll die."

The nurse listened carefully to the warden's words.

"He believes it then? In the broadcast? That a woman will come from him?"

The warden nodded.

"It's better to keep him playing with his recordings. Even if it isn't real."

The two remained near Robert's cell. They couldn't see him, but they knew he was there, on the floor, in the corner, hiding in the darkness.

"One thing you'll learn in this line of work is that humans are a whole lot more complicated then you think they are." The warden seemed unfazed bo Robert's antics, though he was the most fascinating patient he'd ever seen. The repetition, over and over, day in day out.

"Let's go." The warden ushered the nurse away.

"It'll make you go mad if you observe him too long." He laughed. She didn't, and felt relieved it was time for their lunch break.

Trauma makes people do odd things. Robert found an odd comfort in the darkness and reliving his experience, over and over, and to have control over his narrative. Robert saw a whole word different from the rest. The light is what terrified him, and after the accident some three decades ago, he never dared to venture into it again.