I’ve always loved music. I had a band of my own back when I was in high school. Now, I’m an engineer at a local recording studio. It’s a lot of fun working with bands that are just starting out, and helping them put their first CD together. Music is a way for people to express themselves, a way to show the world who they are and how they view the world around them. But this statement took on a whole new meaning when I met a man named Harold Dukan.

He was a great songwriter, and his music was actually pretty sad. A lot of his music was about love and heartbreak. He’d spill metaphor after metaphor into that microphone as he strummed an acoustic guitar. Soon, his first session was over.

"Good job, Harold." I said. "That should be it for now. I’ll get back to you later."

"Thanks, man. See you later," he replied. As wordy as he was in his music, he didn’t say much in person. He walked out, carrying the guitar in its case. I went back to the mixing board to take a listen to what we got so far. Great quality, I thought to myself proudly. Years of practice and thousands of dollars for new equipment obviously paid off. When it got to a song called "Lost and alone," I noticed something strange on the tape. It was one little popping sound, barely audible but very distinct. Maybe it’s a flaw in the tape, I thought. I rewound the tape, and it was still there. I turned the volume down on the other elements, and played it again. This time I heard what might’ve been other sounds before the pop. I took the tape downstairs, to the sound-analyzing studio.

"Hey Bob," I said to the guy working there.

"Yeah Jake?" He replied.

"I’ve got something here I want you to take a look at." We set up the tape in the machine, and played it again. "See, there it is," I said after the pop. He slid a few switches and pressed some buttons to isolate and enhance the sound, and played it again.

"What is that?" he asked.

"I don’t know," I replied. "It sounded more like a bang that time. I thought I heard some other noise before it. Could you back it up a bit?"

"Sure." Other very faint sounds came through the speakers, followed by a bang.

"It almost sounds like voices, like people talking."

"You think you could’ve picked up a radio transmission or something?"

"No, we have safeguards against that. Play it back again, only this time see if you could clean it up a bit." This time, the words came through much clearer, and I could make out what was being said, and even who was saying them. By now, sweat was running down our foreheads. I asked Bob to record it for me. No doubt Harold would want to hear this.

I rushed to his house as fast as I could. I pulled up to his front door and grabbed the tape recorder. As I approached the front door, I heard him yelling, and a woman sobbing.

"Shut up, Bitch! You’ve caused me enough misery, you all have!" His voice became direct and grim, and he pointed the gun at her. "But that’s gonna end, right now."

"Harold, NO!" I yelled, as I burst through the door. The tape recorder fell from my hands, and landed on its Play Button.

"Shut up, Bitch!" Said Harold’s voice through the tape recorder to his sobbing girlfriend. "You’ve caused me enough misery, you all have! But that’s gonna end, right now."

"Harold, NO!" Said my voice, accompanied by the sounds of the door slamming open and the tape recorder falling to the floor. Then, there was a pause.

"Oh my God," Harold’s recorded voice finally said.

"Oh my God," he repeated in real life. He pointed the gun to his head.

"NOOOO!!!" His girlfriend yelled on the recorder.

"NOOOO!!!" She yelled in the flesh. Then, there was a bang, first on the recorder, then in real life.