#This is genuinely the worst thing I think I've ever had to transcribe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plu-mes16 · 1 year

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"Creative living is any life that you live, where your decisions are based more strongly on your curiosity than your fear. And if you consistently, habitually, routinely, at every sort of intersection and decision in your life, make decisions that are based on curiosity rather than fear, then you will be engaging with creativity. Your life itself will sort of become a work of art, if you could consistently live that way."

I heard this sound on tiktok today. It's really interesting how tiktok is something we quote nowadays, though I guess that it does make sense, seen as it is-though questionable-a source of genuine media. In a way, some tiktok creators have managed to recreate the feel of a tumblr post, with image and sound. Perhaps not quite though, tumblr was indeed a unique platform, I miss it (it's not the same anymore). So I heard this sound on tiktok-and yes I did transcribe it word for word-and at first I didn't think much of it. In fact, I scrolled down a few more videos before I paused. The words whispered in my mind and something felt off. My curiosity was piqued. I went back.

It's interesting, truly, how sometimes we do things so unconsciously and routinely, that we lose-or perhaps forget-why we do them in the first place. And this got me thinking.

And I realised, a little to my dismay, that the reason I have not felt fulfilled in a while is because I forgot. I forgot not to be afraid. I think that somewhere along the road, I fell. And I called myself stupid, and weak, and told myself that I wasn't enough. And maybe someone else backed me up on it. Actually I know someone did. But that's beyond the point. Because I let them. And somewhere along the way I believed it. And I got scared. So I played it safe. I think on the timeline of things, this would have been around two years ago. A long time to be lost when the passing of it keeps you awake at night.

I've wondered what I did wrong, or perhaps differently. I concluded, begrudgingly, that perhaps I just wasn't good enough. That I was scared because I had reason to be.

But I forgot what had driven me up until that point, what had made me who I am.

Some people live for hope, others out of spite perhaps. I had feared failure my whole life until one day I didn't. Because I convinced myself that I wouldn't fail, and that if I did, I would just go onto the next thing. The world doesn't end with one failure.

But lately I've been scared again. Not of failing, but of losing this routine. This monotonous, safe and boring life I've built. It's safe, it's quiet. I've been shielding myself from reasons to be scared, because life has been throwing them at me lately, like hot cakes. And I've had no choice but to gobble them up. Why would I create more reasons for myself to be anxious, afraid?

So I didn't.

But this sound made sense to me. This is what I should be doing. This is a little piece that the old me-yes I sound dramatic bear with me-would never relinquish.

The girl who always gave herself her best chance, the girl who switched schools left and right and fed herself books and science and all the knowledge she could gather. The girl who looked up at the sky because she was too afraid to miss something. I now notice that I look down a lot. I do.

She travelled across the ocean, away from everything she'd ever known, at 17. Had the worst year of her life and yet she didn't go back, though she would have been safer. She kept going, she pushed and pushed and pushed. I've stopped moving at some point. And now I'm stagnating.

And it hurts.

I want to live creatively. I want to reach out to the sky again and leap. I want to leap and not worry about whether I will fall.

(appreciate the dramatic gif pls)

I need to go on.

#thoughts #scribbles #reflection #creative writing #essay

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hillbillyhippiemusicreview · 3 years

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ALAN "CORDUROY" BROWN "LET ME KNOW" ALL ABOUT HIS MIRACULOUS 2021 AND THE ALBUM IT INSPIRED

The COVID-19 pandemic put undue stress on the music industry that we are just now starting to recover from. It's been a long, dark, and uncertain road for many--but unfortunately for some like musician Alan "Corduroy" Brown, lead singer and guitar player for the Huntington, West Virginia-based band Corduroy Brown, it was a true matter of life or death. In fact, Alan did succumb to the nightmare of COVID-19, just to be reborn with a new spark and outlook on life. Below is a transcribed interview between Hillbilly Hippie Music Review and Alan concerning his band’s upcoming album releasing on August 14th, "Let Me Know," and the personal experiences that influenced its conception.

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L: Hi, Alan! We’re so glad to have you join us at HHMR today for a chat to get to know ya a little better. How are you doing?

C: Honestly....pretty great! Live music is BACK and it’s so cool to see all my friends creating and showing off their talents again.

L: That’s great to hear—and I think we can all agree with you on that notion! So, a little birdie told me that there is new music on the horizon—but, before we discuss that, I want to touch on the life-altering experience you underwent in 2021 and how that altered your overall outlook on life after your literal rebirth.

C: Someone asked if I was now afraid of dying, but I’m afraid of not living. There are a lot of things you learn in a hospital bed. In February, I thought that I’d be in and out of an urgent care, but ended up on a ventilator, in a helicopter, then put on ECMO life support. Apparently I died some time in that period, so when I got to Morganton, I was actually dead. You know the whole “white light” thing people talk about? It’s completely real. I could write a novel on all of that, but really, I learned that we’ve got a lot to figure out still. Regret hits you heavily. I thought about all the time that I wasted being upset about something/someone , or anytime I’ve been mad about anything. Like, there is a time and a place to be upset, but we have ONE time on this earth to violently pursue our passions and to love each other, while experiencing everything we can.

L: Wow. I can't even fathom what you felt as you rode on that proverbial rollercoaster, but I am SO very happy that you are still with us and sharing your gifts with the world. Speaking of those passions, with your band’s eclectic brand of folk-pop infused indie rock tunes, you’re one of our favorites here at HHMR. We’ve dug the little teaser of your upcoming single with your longtime friend Arlo McKinley and it’s got us stoked for the record release in August! Can you tell us how “Secret War” came about and what that experience was like?

C: This album has a beginning, middle, and end. It fits right in the middle of the whole book. Secret War started as a song of just appreciating everything I have. The first verse says: “I’ve been chillin’ with my head held high, nothing wrong but these untied shoes.” Later on, it turns a bit saying “ lost the battle, war still going.” Arlo comes in on the second verse and layers in the ideas of the battle we are fighting with ourselves all the time. I think we both ended up singing about people who we’ve met in our life that couldn’t handle us at our worst times. It’s a dream to work with Arlo. He’s a genuine human and a loyal friend who was super stoked to be part of this whole thing.

L: Awesome!! As far as the record as a whole, the debut album for Corduroy Brown, is it a concept piece like a story from start to finish, or is it just a collection of some of your favorite songs written from your journey in life? Describe it for us.

C: It’s a story front to back. I included a lot of interludes in between the songs that contain voicemails that people have left me. There’s an interlude where you hear me walking while going to therapy, and the familiar sound of the elevator at the St. James building in Huntington. This album is my life captured from 2017 to now. I finally feel like I got it all off my chest. I honestly feel like I haven’t written my best stuff yet, but this album was necessary to let out everything I’ve let build up for a long time.

L: I love how you've incorporated those moments to create the interludes. Writing is quite cathartic and I imagine releasing your story out into the world like this can be a form of music therapy itself, not only for yourself but for others! In addition to the single with Arlo, are there any other collaborations on the record we can expect to hear?

C: Oh gosh. So many people made this happen. It’s as much mine as it is everyone else's. The album is called Let Me Know because so many people have always said “let me know” if you need anything, or “let me know” what I can do for it. -- Massing, The Dead Frets, from Huntington. A lot of my closest friends like my life mentor and his son are on the album. Jacob from Jewel City Barbershop. The list goes on for awhile, haha.

L: As I always say, "teamwork makes the dreamwork!" That is such a cool concept that you've seamlessly woven into the title and throughout the record, since at times "Let Me Know" seems to just be a cliché that people say. But you and the band have demonstrated how actions *can* match the words! Now, tell me. I've got to know—how did you come up with the name, “Corduroy Brown?” What does it mean to you?

C: Gosh, I can never answer this question. I need someone to figure out a cool story for this. I have no idea.

L: Haha—that's fair! It's a rad name, cool story or not! So for something you can describe, tell me about the music. Since your music is so eclectic and defies the bounds of any one genre, how would YOU describe it?

C: I think technically it’s Rock/Pop/Indie? I don’t know. I grew up listening to Michael Jackson, I love Paramore, and I listen to Miranda Lambert everyday. The sound is all over the place because some of these songs are as old as 2017. You grow up and you change. I think the music captured different parts of my life when these songs were born.

L: "You grow up and you change" is such a true statement. In terms of growing up, I want to backtrack for a moment for readers unfamiliar with you, Alan. Can you tell us a bit about your history and background in music, from childhood to the evolution of your band? Has your heart always been set on being a musician?

C: No one in my family is musical, haha. But in 2008, my mom bought me a Fender CD60 guitar. I wanted to be like the kids who played at school. I stepped into the music scene with a band called The Dividends. Kind of like a RnB/Rock group. We had a really good run, but hung it up in 2019. I think I’ve always wanted this, but now I KNOW that this is what I’m supposed to be doing. Corduroy is composed of some of the A Team of Huntington musicians. We’re good friends first, musicians second. That’s a great combination to make good tunes.

L: I certainly think you are where you're meant to be! Throughout your life, who were your biggest musical influences? Favorite band? Best show you’ve ever seen? Most influential music experience that stands out in your mind? How did all of these sounds and experiences shape you as an artist?

C: I’ve been a complete Paramore fan from their first album. Their “After Laughter” album in 2017 is on constant repeat in my car. I actually listen to a LOT of female artists. Paramore, Lights, Chrvches, Kasey Musgraves. The best show I’ve ever seen was Cage the Elephant. Some of the rowdier songs lean in that direction. The album is kind of all over the place sonically.....it’s not uncommon for a road trip playlist to go from Migos, [to] Chelsea Nolan, to Slipknot.

L: You know, an album always stands out in my mind if it is sonically diverse, giving listeners a true lyrical and musical portraiture of who the artist is. Being a songwriter myself and songwriting nerd, I’m always intrigued by the writer’s process. How did your songs for this project evolve—from conception of the idea to the finished product?

C: I think when I brought these songs to Jeffrey McClelland, I only had a couple finished ideas. They morphed a lot from the start to finish. It’s crazy listening to the original compositions now. Some songs just happen before you even know they’re happening. Some of them take a lot of love. It takes me forever to write songs because I want to make sure I mean every single word and every single note. I’m envious of people like Taylor Swift who can write so many songs from so many different perspectives. It just seems effortless for her.

L: Oh my goodness—same here! Taylor Swift is actually the reason I started writing over a decade ago, because at the time in country music it was so refreshing to have a young female coming into a male-dominated industry breaking down barriers, all the while writing her own stuff and controlling her musicality. Speaking of breaking down barriers, in your community, you’re a well-known activist for topics still clouded with societal stigmas today, such as mental health and LBGTQUIA rights. Why is it so important to you to incorporate these topics into your music and performances?

C: Therapy and medicine saved my life. Everyone should go to therapy whether they think so or not. Logic is so hard to come by when your headspace is burying you. Chemicals affect our thoughts, thoughts affect our actions, actions become habits. We have to get control of that chain of command [and] it’s 2021. It’s hard to imagine that there are still people opposed to LBGTQUIA anything. Life is so short. Love who you love. I can’t imagine being so upset with the way that someone else is happy [and] I will forever be an ally to everyone I can. Huntington’s Pride Fest is in October of this year and you best believe I will be there. Loud and proud.

L: You are such a good human, Alan, and the world is beyond blessed to exist at a time that you do! Love is power, no matter how you look at it. When you think about Let Me Know and the impact it can have on listeners and the music community as a whole, especially in reference to your journey earlier this year, what is the biggest takeaway you hope fans have after digesting the album? What legacy do you want to leave on the world?

C: We get in our own way so many times. Take every chance on yourself. The first person I could call when I got off of life support was my friend Chris (who plays bass in Corduroy) [and] I literally said “WE GET TO RELEASE THIS ALBUM.” I remember when I was doubting even playing music again after the Dividends.

Seriously, do everything. Hold back nothing. Pursue life with a violent passion. Don’t let your final days be filled with regret. Do it all. There’s a lot of fun in this album. Kind of like dancing, but maybe crying at the same time.

L: YES! I've got chills--that is so true, and what I try to make people realize. Our days are limited, so don't be afraid to live your truth out loud. Now for some more lighthearted questions—if you weren’t writing and playing music, what would you be doing with your life?

C: Shewwww. I have no idea! I would love to be a public speaker or a high school teacher maybe? I’ve really considered being a PTA. I love the chance to directly help people, face to face. Extroverted jobs suit me perfectly.

L: You definitely have a genuine smile and charismatic personality that draw folks to you like a moth to a flame, but HHMR is so glad you decided to pursue your passions in music. Are there hidden talents you have? If so what are the most useful, useless, or weird?

C: I’m literally not cool at all really. lol.

L: LIES! You're cooler than the flip side of our pillow, yo. Unfortunately, it's time to draw this lovely chat to a close with the final question. Last but not least, what is your spirit animal?

C: I took an online test real quick before answering this. I got a wolf. I can kind of see some of that with the leadership qualities I have, but I feel like a bear or elephant? Laid back, but also powerful.

L: Hmm....I can vibe with the the bear idea. Easy to love, gives great bear hugs, but will fight for what he cares about....perfect for you, Alan! Thank you so much for joining us today and letting us know all about you.

“Secret War,” the first single with Arlo McKinley will be available July 15th. The full debut album from Corduroy Brown is set to release August 14th. Pre-save the single at the link below:

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*This is an independent article. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this interview.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

*These images are not ours, nor do we claim them in any way. They are copyrighted by the artist and photographers.

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redditnosleep · 7 years

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My Student Submitted The Most Disturbing "Living History" Project I've Ever Seen

by gretelcat

One of my least favorite parts about being a middle school history teacher is the bullshit “Living History” assignments we give at the end of every school year. Kids are supposed to sit with their grandparents and video tape, voice record, or transcribe their oldest memories for posterity (and for an easy way to bring up their GPA).

I have been doing this for seventeen years, and when I collected the projects this time around, I assumed they would be as dull, if not duller than usual. This had not been a particularly bright class.

So I went home, poured myself a glass of wine, and prepared for a long night of “I only owned two pairs of pants when I was your age” and “My brother got beat with a newspaper for hitting a baseball into a neighbor’s yard.” And of course, these projects were peppered with innocent, old-person comments that were so horribly sexist and racist you just had to laugh.

Now, I had a girl in my class whom I will call Olivia. She was pudgy, quiet, and proved herself a consistent B student. I expected her project to be as unremarkable as her, and perhaps that’s why I was so profoundly disturbed by what I witnessed that night.

Olivia had submitted two discs for some reason, so I began with the one marked “interview.” My screen hiccupped twice before a grainy image of a living room came into view. The place was a hoarder’s hell. Olivia was curled up in an armchair clutching a notebook and looking like a scared animal. Across from her sat a man with a somber countenance, smoking a cigarette and staring at her expectantly.

“Go ahead,” a woman’s voice whispered from behind the camera. Olivia’s owlish eyes flashed towards the screen, then back to the man.

“I am here with my Great Uncle Stephen,” she began almost inaudibly. “He is going to tell us about his oldest memories from being in the army.”

Great Uncle Stephen looked like he’d rather be in a goddamn trench at the moment, but he waited patiently for the questions to begin.

Not surprisingly, Olivia read verbatim from the suggested questions sheet I had handed out to the students. He answered her curtly. Once or twice I heard her mother whisper “speak up, Olivia” from behind the camera. Typical, boring shit.

So I was intrigued when Olivia set down the notebook and asked, “Did you like being in the army?”

That was totally off-script. Great Uncle Stephen emitted a chain smoker’s wheeze. “Nope. Glad to get out of my town though.”

“Where did you go?”

“Balkans.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. I doubted she knew what the Balkans were, and my suspicion was confirmed when she asked, “Was Baukiss very different from here?”

“Yes.”

Mom cleared her throat from behind the camera, perhaps encouraging Great Uncle Stephen to be a little more forthcoming.

But Olivia seemed genuinely interested. “Uncle Stephen,” she asked, “what is your very worst memory from the army?”

The old man crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and then slowly lifted himself out of his chair. “I’ll be back,” he mumbled. The camera cut off.

When the screen flashed back on, everything was the same except Great Uncle Stephen had several pieces of paper in plastic sleeves laid atop all the crap sitting on his coffee table. One, he held in his hand.

“I was a kid when I enlisted,” he said, looking at Olivia. “Your brother’s age,” he told her. Olivia nodded. “I never saw combat. Both of my deployments were to cities in Eastern Europe that had been destroyed by civil wars. Everything was a mess. I felt like a janitor for fuck’s sa-”

“Ahem!” Mom coughed.

Great Uncle Stephen sighed and looked at his paper. “My unit was assigned to a school that had been obliterated by all the violence. Broken windows, caved in rooms – and for some reason, the part that got to me the most was that the school had been like this for years before we got there. No one had lifted a finger to fix it. I saw kids walk by it on their way to go beg for money or whatever shit they did-”

The camera dipped towards the floor as I heard Mom whisper harshly at Great Uncle Stephen. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it wasn’t hard to imagine.

“Do you want to hear this goddamn story or not?” I heard him bark in response. “Then you better let me tell it how I want.”

“Mom,” Olivia chimed. “Please stop interrupting.”

“Are you presenting this in front of the class?”

“No, Mom, we’re just handing it in to the teacher.”

“I’m sure he’s heard the word shit before,” Great Uncle Stephen contributed helpfully. I wasn’t a “he” as a matter of fact, but other than that the statement was accurate.

The camera was lifted and after a couple of blurry focus adjustments, the shot was the same as before.

“Ahh I’m talking too much anyway,” he grumbled. He lifted the piece of paper in his hand close to his face. “In the basement, I found this letter. I didn’t know what it said but I had a buddy of mine translate it. So I’m gonna read it now. And then I’ll tell you what I saw in that basement.”

A chill ran down my spine. Mom zoomed in to Great Uncle Stephen and his letter. His palsied hands trembled as he held up the paper. This is what he read:

Dear Sir,

I never loved my country. So many of these skirmishes are born from patriotism, a power struggle for the shards of a once-great empire, but I do not care what name my home has on a map. This fighting is senseless and I stay as far away from it as I can.

It was not these attacks and disorganized violence that took the lives of my wife and child. It was illness. Mercifully, it happened quickly for the baby. Nadja suffered for longer. I watched in horror knowing I could do nothing for them. My only solace is that I was there for them every step of the way. I stopped going to work one day, and no one came after me. I doubt they noticed I was gone. Since the school was simply across a field, visible from my window, it would have been easy to go for a few hours each day and come home quickly to care for them. But what was the point? All I did was clean floors. I was as useless to the world as I was to my family.

I tried to take Nadja to the hospital, but the journey was too long and taxing. I brought her home and she died that night.

After Nadja and the baby were gone… well, I don’t remember much. I didn’t leave my hovel, barely ate and slept, thought many times of taking my own life. Tempting though it was, I felt paralyzed by my own helplessness.

The one thing that kept me sane was my radio. I never turned it off once. Even though I didn’t listen to the words being said – in fact, the channel I got the clearest was in English (I think) which I don’t speak a lick of. But the voices, the music, and the true knowledge that life existed beyond this violent city sustained me.

I have no idea how long passed before I saw the light of day again. I was dizzy from hunger, so finding food was my priority. My radio came with me, of course. Since I first holed myself up, it has gone everywhere with me. It talks to me as I sleep and as I wake. I don’t know what it’s saying, but I know I would die without it.

Once I had some water and food, it occurred to me that the only thing left to do was go back to work. So I did. The following morning, I simply returned to the school where I was a janitor and got back to work.

Nobody made a big deal out of it. Like I said, Nadja had been sick for a long time, and those who worked at the school knew it. I appreciate that no one had pestered me to come back to work during the hardest days of my life. The teachers never said much to me, but we smiled at each other in the halls and that mutual respect was perhaps the reason I decided to come back at all.

The place had gone to the dogs without me, so I simply grabbed my broom and rags from my closet and set to cleaning. Everyone is grateful to have me back, I know. And the best part is that nobody minds my radio. I bring it with me everywhere and keep the volume low enough not to disrupt the students. No one has ever complained. In fact, I suspect they like it.

The schoolhouse is not very big, but does require a lot of maintenance. The floors are always sticky and stained, so I spend most of my time mopping. Kids make messes – I guess that’s why I’m still in business. Sometimes I have to move things around to make sure I get every spot on the floor beautiful and clean, but I take pride in that.

And the repairs! The school always needs tune-ups here and there, and I am happy to help. Some days I’m reconstructing a desk that broke as I whistle along with the radio, other times I handle more serious, structural issues. Days when I have work like this, I feel truly instrumental, like a cog in a larger machine. How could this school survive without me? It took me a long time, but I once again feel that I have purpose.

There is a larder behind the school that is full of preserved food. In lieu of payment, I am allowed to take as much food as I need. That arrangement is fine – what would I do with money anyway? I used to bring the food back to my home, just one field away from the school, but when I started sleeping in the basement no one seemed to notice. This school is special to me and I cannot leave it unguarded.

When I am besieged with memories of my wife and baby, I turn up the volume on the radio to drown out such thoughts. It works for me every time.

Except this morning.

Because this morning, I woke up to dead silence.

I frantically examined the radio to see what had happened. I honestly cannot tell you how many days in a row I have been using it. Did it simply live out its life and die naturally? I have spent the entire day trying to fix it. Most of this time, I have been crying. I am losing my mind without it.

I have given myself until sundown. If I cannot fix it by then, I am going to take my life. I am writing this because the sunlight is starting to die and I know what my fate shall be.

I have thought about taking one last walk through the halls of my school, saying goodbye to the students and teachers. I know I will be missed. But I cannot bring myself to leave this room. I cannot go anywhere knowing that my radio is dead in here.

There are no more tears in me. It feels now like I can’t catch my breath. I vomited what little food I had in my stomach and I am growing dizzy again, like I did after Nadja died. I am not long for this world.

But before I take my life, I have closed the door to this room and stuck a chair beneath the handle. It is the only room in the basement and has a small casement that lets in just enough light for me to see what I am doing. If anyone is kind enough to come looking for me, they should not be met with this gruesome sight. Perhaps they will see the door is blocked, smell my rotting body, and simply forget I ever existed.

But I have placed both my radio and this note outside the door. Kind sir, if you are reading this, I have one humble request: please fix it. Save my radio. It did not deserve to die in its sleep and I am ashamed that I cannot revive it.

Now I am ready to join Nadja and little Ludmilla in heaven. I hope this school can find another janitor who loves and cares for it the way I do.

The hour is now. Do not forget my radio.

Stanislav

When Mom zoomed back out, Olivia had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for sharing, Uncle Stephen,” Mom said, her voice choked. “I think we have enough.”

“Wait!” Olivia chirped. “He said there’s more. What did you find?”

Before Great Uncle Stephen could open his mouth, the image disappeared. My jaw dropped. Was that it? What did Great Uncle Stephen see?

I promptly remembered that there was a second disc. This one was unmarked, but I hoped it contained the rest of the interview.

There was no video, only audio. The voice that started up was Olivia’s.

“Hi Miss Gerrity. I’m sorry about my mom, but she refused to record the rest of what my uncle was saying. But I asked him to continue and secretly recorded the story as a voice memo on my phone. I remember you said earlier this year that history is written by the people who win wars.” She sucked in a breath and commenced crying. “But everyone’s history is important, even if they are sad, pathetic people and even if they never won a single thing in their life. I haven’t slept through the night since I finished this project, but you have to hear what my uncle has to say.”

There were tears in my eyes, too. The sincerity of her words was beautiful. I was also flattered that she had remembered some trite phrase I threw around because it was what my history teachers said to me.

Before I got too sappy over it, the audio began again.

“Fine,” came Mom’s frustrated voice. “If you want to hear the rest of the story, fine, but this is not appropriate for a school project.”

“Let me finish,” Great Uncle Stephen snapped. “If it’s too much for you, help yourself to a snack in the kitchen. But Olivia wants to know what happened.”

I heard her mother mumble something and walk away. Olivia and her uncle were alone. I imagined her looking at him expectantly.

“So did you find the radio? Or did it get ruined when the school got blown up?”

He rasped and I heard the distinct click of a lighter. “That letter,” he began slowly, “had a date on it.”

“What date?” she inquired hungrily.

“It was dated two weeks before we started rebuilding the school.”

“Didn’t you say the school had been destroyed like two years ago?”

“Yes,” replied Great Uncle Stephen. “It had been.”

There was silence as I felt goosebumps on my arms. The images that came to my mind were almost too overwhelming to express, but Great Uncle Stephen put them into words effortlessly. Clearly he had spent his whole life thinking about it.

“This man, this Stanislav, went to a vandalized, falling apart schoolhouse and cleaned up blood and rubble like it was spilled drinks and dust. He smiled at dead bodies in the hallway and believed they were smiling back at him because they liked his radio. He moved around corpses so he could sweep the ground under them. The roof was half collapsed, so when it rained, he must’ve gotten soaking wet but was so oblivious that he didn’t even feel a thing.” I could hear Olivia crying steadily. “I found the larder he was talking about. It was all pickled, preserved food that probably tasted like shit. Most of the stuff was moldy.”

“Did – did you see the dead body?”

“Yes. Hanging from the ceiling, but still amazingly… lifelike. He wasn’t rotting away. This hadn’t happened years ago.”

“Did he look peaceful?” she asked, a chord of desperation in her voice.

“Couldn’t tell you. The smell was rank, and his face was blue and his eyes were bulging. Like this.” I imagined him demonstrating.

“And the radio?” Olivia wept.

I heard Great Uncle Stephen take a long drag of his cigarette. “It was there, alright. And it was still on.”

#creepy #horror story #gretelcat

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