Some things won't stay lost...

this cursed tape was lost for over a decade. now you're about to hear it.

back in 2013, a record label made me an offer: all I had to do was record in their studio. I was young, hungry, and running on enough caffeine to wake the dead. so I drove to Ohio.

what they didn't tell me was... the studio was haunted.

lights flickered. doors slammed. more than once, I heard whispers while I was alone in the hallway.

okay, maybe I shouldn't have brought my Ouija board with me, but oh well.

I recorded like Ghostface was chasing me. the tracks were raw, fast, sinister. but music wasn't the only thing etched on that tape. there was something else.

a presence. like someone... or something... was watching.

the label loved the album. I went home. then, poof. they vanished overnight. ghosted me harder than that alt baddie you're crushing on. but they still had the tape. and I wanted it.

so I drove back to the studio... but it was gone. burned to nothing. the masters were lost.

but I swear I heard the tape whispering... so I started hunting.

but the trail was cursed.

the label owner dropped dead of a heart attack. natural causes, they said. yeah, then why was his face frozen in a look of pure terror?

a private collector got his hands on the tape, only to be sliced in half by a falling glass door. I googled it... really wish I hadn't.

every time I got close, someone else vanished, and the tape slipped away.

10 years later...

after chasing countless dead ends, I found it. buried in an abandoned library under a heap of water-damaged books and VHS tape. the pipes had burst and it stank like the inside of Jason Voorhees' mask.

I should have left it there to rot.

but whatever's on that cassette wouldn't let me.

so now... we're here.

the tape doesn't stay with one person for long. I think you already know that. and I think that's why you're still reading.

the only warning I can give you is the same one written on the cartridge:

"Do. Not. Play."