 The aged brass bell jingled softly as Sophie pushed open the door and the heavy musky air of antiques penetrated her nose. Looking around, she knew she was in the right place as she eyed cluttered narrow walkways between encumbered tables stacked with crate after crate of old records. Against the exposed brickwork cabinets, burst with more cardboard jackets amid posters of bands she'd never heard of. Their colors faded with age and their corners curling up. Besides her, there was nobody except the shop's owner, an aging hippie man whose long white hair sprang from beneath a scraggly cap that looked as if he'd owned it since he was a boy. With tired eyes, he glanced over to her and gave an acknowledging nod, but that was all. In the mishmash of browns and beiges, she didn't know where to begin and without any rhyme or reason to their layout, she had no idea what genre she was looking at in any particular area of the little shop. She eyed the owner cautiously, wanting to speak up and ask for help, but he seemed too busy flipping through and organizing records to want to give her a hand. Best not to bother him, she thought. Besides, there was plenty here to choose from and she wasn't looking for anything specific, just an odd rarity that her boyfriend didn't have. Formulating a plan, she decided to start from the back and work her way around until she got towards the little wooden desk at the front that housed the sun-yellowed till that sat atop it. She made her way through the stacks, nearly knocking a pile of them tumbling to the ground as her little leather bag tugged on the corner of a crate. A little eep made the man turn his head for just a moment before he went on about his business. She sat at the back wall and scanned the thin sides of dust jackets, anonymous from this angle, but they were packed so tightly she couldn't just flip through them. She decided she'd start at the top of one of those shelves and pulled down on a corner of a random record to expose the artwork on its front. A poofy-haired couple in ugly red, green and white sweaters holding a guitar with a shaggy dog sat before them. Tinsel and ornaments hung in the background, but she'd seen enough and quickly pushed it back into place before pulling down the next one. She made her way through 20 or so before realizing she'd made barely any progress at all through the thousands of records. She didn't want to be there all day. She turned around to see the back of the man in his peach-colored baggy top still fumbling around with the records before scanning the rest of the shop. The overwhelming number of records was too much to extrapolate, and she knew she needed another method to sort through this jumble. She noticed she could see the fronts of the album covers through the crates and made notes of what genres they appeared to be, and began picking through piles based on that until she saw a stack that stood out at her more than any other. Along the side wall was a pile that had yet to be put away, crateless and disorganized, pile upon pile of records. It jetted out with no semblance of order or reason to it. She gave another glance over to the man before she strode over to it and began to flick through cover after cover. A few of them she'd seen before, but there were a few interesting ones that stood out and she set them aside into their own little pile of maybes. Halfway down one of the piles, she stopped, casting her eyes down on the most interesting one she'd seen yet. A deep blue vignetted background surrounded the naked weathered upper torso of a man, sunken collarbones and saggy loose skin speckled with liver spots rose up into a saggy neck and pointed chin with the unkempt scraggly facial hair of somebody unable to care for themselves poking through his dermis. His lips curled into a half-smile, revealing yellowed cracked teeth hiding behind dry lips. It was the rest of him that truly caught her attention. His head ended at his jaw into a flat rounded mass at the top with no sign of a nose or eyes. The mount atop its head had wispy tufts of white hair that grew out like fruiting mold. Without a doubt, this was the record she wanted. Picking it out and putting the rest back in the pile, she inspected it closer looking at the reverse side. The track listing appeared to be people's names, unusual for song titles, but this wasn't a very usual record. Interestingly, there were no apparent markings of the band or person who had made it. Art for art's sake, she reasoned. With no indication of the type of music encoded under the grooves of the vinyl, she was eager to give it a listen. She made her way to the till and waited for the man to approach, not wanting to break his precious silence or distract him from his tasks. Without lifting his head, his eyes shot up at her proximity to the till and he glanced at the record tucked beneath her arm before long strides over to the counter. Without a word, he punched a few buttons on the till before meeting her gaze. Just the one. He mumbled in a voice of unenthused disinterest. Just the one. Do you know who it's by? She asked, handing it over to the man who studied it closely, squinting at the front cover before flipping it over to see the bag. He glanced back up at her for a second before rolling the record out to see if there were any markings on its center. It seemed the sticker with the track listing usually placed in the middle was entirely missing. He didn't look so enthused anymore. I don't even remember ordering this. He continued examining it, holding it up to the light in case there was some special marking to it, but found nothing of interest. For a second, he seemed reluctant to sell it, interested in what might be in there himself. Five bucks if you want it, but I have no idea what it is. I guess it's some music student that slipped it in here trying to be funny. Sophie dug into her purse and pulled out a crumpled note, pulling it flat and sliding it across the counter. He handed the record back over to her. She thanked him and went on her way. After her excursion shopping around town, she'd gotten something to eat and returned home before cleaning it in preparation for two of her friends to arrive. Thankfully, they brought an abundance of wine. There was Nira, a friend at the bank she worked at, and Jess, an old friend from school that she'd known since she was a girl. They'd gotten a few glasses in before the topic of boys inevitably came up and Sophie rolled around onto the LP she'd purchased for Chris's birthday. Oh, I have to show you guys. She said excitedly as she got up, shuffling into the kitchen where she'd left it along with her purse. Nira sat in an armchair with a glass of Pino with Jess at her feet lying back against the chair. Sophie came back with the album tucked behind her back and with all eyes on her, she raised it so they could see the album artwork. Tada! I found a rare one for his collection. Even the guy at the shop didn't know what it was. Both girls ooed at it. It looks kind of creepy. Nira started wouldn't want that thing above me in bed. She laughed looks like my uncle bill after his accident. Jess added Sophie handed it over to them so they could take a better look. Jess potted it with Nira staring over it. You sure you want to give him more LPs doesn't he have enough near a continued heat be able to have a lot more music if he had MP3s changing these things is a pain. You can't shuffle the playlist. He should just get Spotify already. Jess argued without looking up from the album. Sophie put on her best Chris voice knowing full well what he'd say to that already. It's about the fidelity of the music. The artist put a lot of thought into the order of the songs to tell a story you know everything is as it should be and it's way more palpable this way. The girls had heard it before and Nira saw fit to join in. And if Spotify is gone so is all your music vinyl is forever. She drawled in a sarcastic tone. Jess rolled it out of the sleeve and handed it over to Sophie her fingers directly on the grooves of the record. This was a big no no and she knew it but just did no better. Chris would never have to know. Sophie took it properly holding it around the edges with care. I swear if he already has this one I'm gonna break up with him. Girl you should have done that months ago. Jess added is Sophie rack the record onto a vintage player that he'd let her. She lifted the arm and placed it on the outside before setting the speed and walking back to her spot on the sofa picking her drink up off the table and staring at the player as she waited for the music to begin. Track one. Greg Ellis. She read aloud while crackled silence still whispered from the player slowly but surely there was sound almost inaudible at first footsteps approaching. There was a definite rhythm to it slow but it was definitely there approaching closer and closer until they stopped. There was a bar of silence that fit in time with the shoes on concrete. Then the clicking of a small metal object followed by another metal item grinding against another and finally heavy metal hinges opening. Every sound that began was perfectly in time with everything else all on beat. Nira looked over to Sophie with an eyebrow raised and took a swig of her wine. This is going to be one of those experimental progressive rock albums isn't it? From the intro here it definitely sounded like it. There were six more footsteps in time with the rhythm and two beats missed before the next bar started. A metronome. A two beat raspy inhale followed then an exhale. Another set of breaths sounded in time as metal objects scuffled on a plate and then there was a light clink as one was picked up. Now the breaths were replaced with talking still in beat with the rhythm of the song. Greg Ellis. It called out as a whisper the third beat being called out in a staccato manner. It repeated again and again louder with each call. As the volume increased it started to add a footstep on the silent note still growing louder until the man began to clatter a fist on the table with a plate filled with metal objects. Jess rolled her eyes and down the last of her drink. I can't believe you paid for this. Sophie put her head in her hands. I can't believe somebody made this. Abreply. The sound ceased. There was another voice now. A male voice like before but definitely from a different person muttered quiet confused. He made a groaning noise before speaking. Where am I? He muttered to himself before his tone quickly shifted. Oh shit. He cried and the sound of clanking metal restraints crashed through the speaker. Greg Ellis. The voice started again hissing through his screams and cries. There was a bar of tinny echoed screaming until his voice reached a horrifying scream on all four notes of the next bar amid flesh thudding. The voice still chanted his name and tapped its foot with each strike it made against the man, his visceral cries calling out in time to make a horrifyingly twisted track. Sophie stood and rushed over to the record player to stop it. The short time she'd listened was plenty to make her feel sick to her stomach. That's enough of that, she said, horrified. Did, did we just listen to someone getting killed? Sarah asked her face pale and swamped with disgust. She tried to shrug it off, but this wasn't the sort of thing she wanted to give Chris for his birthday. It wasn't the sort of thing anybody would want to receive as a gift. It felt more like a threat than anything. The next day she returned downtown to the little alley between buildings where she'd found the shop, the record nestled under her arm once more. She wanted answers more than a refund, it was only five bucks, but perhaps she could pick out something more appropriate while she was there. Better yet, the hippie guy might be able to find some answers. Walking down the alley, there was nobody around, but at its terminus she could still make out cars whizzing past and people walking in the distance. There weren't many shops along it, just a few dive bars and small bric-a-brac shops with low rent and low income. The blackboard sign that sat outside advertising the shop wasn't there though, and she felt uneasy as she approached. To her dismay, she saw the windows painted white from inside with a sign advertising the spot available for rental. She moved closer to the window and peered through the splotchy paint to see if anyone was inside, but the whole place was empty. No records, no counter, no posters, nothing. Just a dark cubic space devoid of anything. How did it empty out overnight? She'd seen no signs of the place closing down and the guy shouldn't have been organizing if he knew he wouldn't be there the next day. It all seemed so odd and gave her a sick feeling in her stomach. No refund, no answers. Just more questions. Unsure of what to do with the record, she fiddled around in her bag and took out a scrap of paper leaning against the window to write, what is this on it, followed by her phone number just in case the man would happen to come by again. She dropped it into the dust jacket with a corner poking out so it could be seen and slid it beneath a gap in the door before returning to the sanctity of her home. Chris's birthday finally rolled around and she managed to grab some other gifts instead sticking to online shopping this time. She lay on her bed fresh out of the shower, a pastel pink towel wrapped around her hair as she texted plans for that evening with her and Chris's friends. She'd sent a message to Jess earlier asking what she should wear but received no reply. She was always late to wake up on the weekends but it was starting to be long enough to be uncharacteristic of her. She was scrolling through nonsensical BuzzFeed articles to kill time when she received a WhatsApp message from a number that hadn't been saved in her phone. She felt the hairs on her body rise as she wondered who it could be immediately thinking it could be that guy from the record shop. Instead, the message simply contained a Spotify link. Chris wasn't the type to usually use Spotify although on the go he sometimes would. He hadn't told her that he was getting a new number though she couldn't really think who else it could have been. She thumbed the link and waited for Spotify to load up. The black and green screen finally showed up and the playlist loaded but it contained only two items. Track 1. Nira Davy. Track 2. Jess Giles. This wasn't right. She took a quick glance at the album artwork to confirm her fears. It was the same cover art as the LP she discarded. Horrified, she threw her phone down onto the bed and backed away, unsure of what to do. She froze, horrified, staring at her phone. For a second, she thought it might ring but thankfully it remained silent. She wanted to call Chris, Jess, Nira, the police, hell, anyone at this point but she couldn't bring herself to go closer to the phone. The doorbell rang. Chris was here. She rushed through the house, nearly slipping on the tiled floor of the kitchen as she made her way to open the door. Her hands trembled as she flung it open, relief washing over her. Over her stood an unfamiliar figure, naked, weathered, and missing the top of his head save for that moldy mound. Her heart dropped to the floor and her stomach churned at the sight of the creature before her. Adrenaline coursed through her and made her slam the door but it pushed its corpse-like hand against the wood to stop her, a gift to a fan of mine. Its voice was monotonous but rhythmic, hissing through its teeth as it grinned at her. This one's a single. It forced a fresh album into her hands. It felt warm and smelled of ink as though it had just been freshly printed. She glanced down at it for a moment, just enough to see the creature in her sights, but she couldn't help but begin staring down at what she saw. The cover was the same background as before, the same headshot of a naked body rising up to a jaw, but something was different. There weren't the liver spots or the wrinkles from the creature now stood before her. It was a lot more familiar than that, a lot more youthful. Missing his head from the jaw up, nose entirely vanished, displaying cartilage and tissue beneath. She could still recognize the face that was there before. Chris. Horrified, she looked back up to find an empty doorway and clutch the cardboard in her hands. Trembling.