Building 8 “The Radio Broadcast”

I was cleaning in the attic when I came upon this tape among the owner’s previous possessions. It was is a box labeled “medical supplies.” What purpose there was in that I don't know. There was a red stain on the label.

“We will continue to report for as long as we can, though the weather here has become quite intense. As we look at the concrete here, it is clear something has been dragged across the pavement and into the building. The marks on the ground look like blood, but at this point that is purely speculation.

Alright folks, we are going into the building now. Must be about seventy, maybe a hundred years old. This report is being recorded with great personal risk. Whatever happens to me or my crew, we all believe that the truth must be found out. I hope you all agree.

Here we go. Into the house. The door does not appear to be unlocked, though it is clear that the lights are off, at least as far as we can see. I am opening the door now. So far nothing. The main hall is very dark. It is hard to make out anything. The air is heavy too. It is a little bit harder to breathe.

We are passing through the threshold now.

The inside looks untouched, though we have learned to not trust these signs before. The entire place is coated in a layer of dust, the coverings on the furniture haven't been shifted...wait a minute. There is definitely some movement in here...seems like there is a man in one of the chairs. Very hard to make out. The only light we are getting is coming in through the windows. We don't want to provoke a reaction yet, so personal lighting is a no go.

We are approaching him now folks...air is heavier now....what...good Lord. What did they do to his face? This is by far the worst specimen we have seen so far...sir...sir? We are here to help. We aren't armed. Please. We have a vehicle. We can get you...oh...Oh God Mike! What they hell is that in his hand?

Get back!...please...please...

Plea...”

That is the end of the recording, or at least in terms of content. The words loop again, but with small changes in the details. Sometimes they come upon a female. Sometimes the cameraman's name is Danny. But nothing that significantly affects the story.

Far as I can tell, this must have been a recording for some show or radio broadcast. I don't know what it is about, and I really don't care to look into it.

I have better things to do with my time.

The kids came by the other day. Helped me pass out candy. It was a court ordered visit...they didn't want to be here. I could tell. Their aunt and uncle do a good job raising them. Probably better than I could, but despite that I can't help but hate them...for my kids hating me. For them being good for my kids. I know how that sounds, but I just can't seem to get them to forgive me.

At least they get along well with Margaret. She might not be their real mother, but they like her. At least, better than they get on with me. Which is something, I guess.

One kid came up to the door. He was terrified. Truly terrified. His dad had to extend his sons hands to accept the candy from me. That made me sad. His dad said he had heard some stories from some kids at school about the house. It seems to have one hell of a reputation. I gave him twice the candy. Didn't have many kids come by anyway.

It was cold that night.

I tried to get the kids to let me take them trick or treating, but after a couple minutes going back and forth about it, they just went up to their room and didn't come out for the rest of the night. It seems to be normal for them. They seem to prefer just being by themselves, or maybe they just don't want to be around me. Margaret gave me one of those looks, trying to tell me not to take it too hard.

I try to, but I really don't get to see them much.

Sometimes I think maybe their aunt and uncle were making things worse. Telling them things they rightfully shouldn't know, at least not at their age.

The trees outside the house really darken things outside. Even with the lights of the city, there are nights when I can't see anything, even in my backyard. That worries me a little, and I have taken to keeping the back light on. The air smells musty. The wet leaves are...pun-gent.

Noah woke up in the middle of the night. He is still having trouble sleeping, though the sleepwalking has stopped, at least as far as I know. I placed a call to the pediatrician. They said that it was likely a reaction to the medication. His sister, Mandy, well she was already tending to him by the time I got in there. When I went into the room to check on them, she just ignored me. It was like I didn't belong there.

They left the next day.

I have listened a little to some other tapes found in the box. Sounds like it was notes from the previous resident of the house. He sounds so young when you hear his voice. It wasn't really at all what I thought he would sound like. In one of the recordings, I heard something strange though, like someone was breathing into the mike. It couldn't have been him, because he was talking over it. If there was someone else in the room, he didn't seem to mind. He acted as if the other person wasn't even there.

It was a little colder today. The tree in the back yard has lost all its leaves.

It looks like it is truly dead.