The tape sat in my car for several days before I remembered that it was there. When I bought it, I’d forgotten about it.
I sat in my car, the windows rolled up, and pressed PLAY. For a long moment, there was nothing but static; a good sign. I needed these blank tapes for a project.
Then I heard the voice. It was quiet at first, but I could hear the panic that seemed to drip through the speakers.
It was a man.
“My name is not important. What is important, however, is the reason I made this tape. It is my confession. I’m not a religious man by any means; I don’t believe God or the Devil, but I suppose now I need to.
Because the devil is coming for me.
He haunts me everywhere I go, red pitch fork in hand. He is in the mirrors at home, in the reflection of every window I pass on the street.
He thinks I did it.”
I was both fascinated and terrified, but I couldn’t stop listening, even with my heart pounding in my ears.
The man—whoever he is—makes a low, moaning sound. and it takes me a moment to realize he’s crying.
“I found my wife dead. I called the cops and they checked the security camera in our house. What they found is something I can never explain. And it’s why I’m creating this.
The detective in charge of the investigation instructed me to come down to the precinct, where he had me watch the footage. Footage of me, strangling my wife in a jealous rage.
The footage had audio, and as the cop turned up the volume, he gave me a disgusted look.
The video was grainy, and all I could focus on were the hands—my hands—around her throat, squeezing until she stopped breathing. I felt sick.
He told me to listen closely.
I leaned close to my dying wife, and told her that I would end her suffering.
Except it wasn’t my voice.”
The tape ended, and my blood ran cold. This couldn’t be real, could it? There was no way—it was some sick prank.
I breathed, relieved it was over.
Then I heard his voice again, this time urgent.
“Please, whoever ends up in possession of this tape, I need you to help me find out what happened.”
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