Whispers & Cassettes

The last time anyone had been in Aunt Lorna’s attic, disco was still king, and her brother, Sebastian’s uncle Gerald, was still alive. If Gerald were still around, he’d be sporting mismatched socks and rambling about conspiracies. But now Lorna was getting ready to sell the house, and she needed help. So she bribed her nephew with a combination of dinner, guilt, and the promise of her legendary peach cobbler.

Sebastian ultimately relented since family mattered. But Jimmy only agreed because he’d misheard his friend, thinking there’d be poker. As Jimmy carried a box toward the attic door, he paused and glared at Sebastian. “It smells like a sweater died in here. A very old and musty sweater.”

“You’re wearing a sweater,” Sebastian said, digging through a box, “and it looks old.”

Dust motes floated like ghosts in the beams of light from the dangling bulbs. While the attic was cluttered, it wasn’t chaotic. There were carefully stacked boxes, faded furniture under white sheets, and a worn recliner that once hosted many of Gerald’s late-night rants.

“That’s not the point.” Jimmy stepped around an ancient stack of National Geographics and pointed at a shoebox sitting precariously in the middle of the floor. “That looks cursed.”

“Everything looks cursed to you,” Sebastian said as he wandered over to it and removed its lid. Inside the cardboard container, he found a bundle of cassette tapes wrapped in a child’s drawing. The sketch was nothing more than crayon lines forming a crooked train tunnel, with a bright red sun in one corner and two stick figures standing near the entrance. While one sported a grin, the other had Xs instead of eyes.

“Creepy on its own, but the fact a kid made it? Makes it extra unnerving.” Jimmy deposited the box beside the door and sauntered back to Sebastian. “We agreed not to mess with creepy children’s artwork, remember?”

“We never agreed to such a thing.” Sebastian pulled out a tape, finding a handwritten label, ‘Tunnel: Final Recording.’

“Nope,” Jimmy said, backing toward the exit. “No ‘final recordings.’ That’s like opening a video labeled Don’t Watch Me.”

But Sebastian had already retrieved a dusty tape player. He blew out the speakers and slammed the tape inside before clicking the play button. A soft hiss filled the attic, then a voice, warbled with age but unmistakably childlike, replaced it. “I went in again. The tunnel’s deeper now. Mom says I’m dreaming, but she doesn’t hear it.”

Jimmy pressed his back against the wall, eyes darting around the attic. “We’re listening to the eerie tape. This is how we die. Headline’s gonna read, ‘Two idiots done in by EVP.’”

“Shh,” Sebastian said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m trying to listen to our doom in stereo.”

“I left a drawing, so people could follow me,” the voice continued, “in case I don’t return.”

A low rumble crackled through the speaker. Not static. It sounded like distant wheels on a track.

“Who records a train?” Jimmy rubbed his lips and shook his head. “Was this a travel vlog?”

“Someone who didn’t make it out.” Sebastian glanced at the drawing again. “These stick figures… this one appears to be waving goodbye.”

“One’s got Xs instead of eyes! What kind of kid draws that?!”

They sat in silence as the tape wound on...