Elliot Travers adjusted his glasses as he peered through the window of McCarthy’s Auction House, a weathered building on the edge of their sleepy Kansas town.

The overcast sky outside threatened rain, a gray canvas that seemed to muffle sound and amplify the creak of skeletal tree branches in the brisk October wind. To Elliot, the gloom was perfect. It felt cinematic, like a scene from one of the 1980s horror films he so adored.

At 34, Elliot had built a quiet life around his passions. A clerk by day at the local hardware store, he spent his weekends indulging in his obsession with old movies. Thrift shops, flea markets, and estate sales were his treasure maps, guiding him to forgotten VHS tapes to add to his growing collection. He loved the hunt—the thrill of unearthing a dusty gem lost to time.

Today’s estate sale had already yielded little interest—some knickknacks, a box of outdated cookbooks—but just as he was ready to leave, something caught his eye: a battered cardboard box shoved under a folding table. Scrawled on its side in black marker were the words “Blank Tapes.”

Elliot crouched down, heart fluttering with curiosity. “Blank” didn’t necessarily mean unused; sometimes, it meant home-recorded. And home-recorded could mean anything—forgotten horror movies taped off late-night TV, bizarre local commercials, or even amateur films. These tapes were wild cards, each a potential gateway to a unique story.

The box was heavy with promise. He picked it up, blowing off a layer of dust that sent motes swirling in the dim light. The woman running the sale, an older lady with sharp eyes and a permanent frown, raised a brow as he brought it to her.

“That old thing?” she said, her tone skeptical. “Five bucks.”

Elliot paid without hesitation. A box of ten tapes was a steal, even if most turned out to be duds.

The chill wind tugged at his jacket as he carried his find outside. He paused for a moment to take in the scene. The once grand estate was now a shadow of its former self, with peeling paint and overgrown hedges. 

The creak of a rusted weather vane broke the stillness, sending a shiver down his spine. He glanced at the box in his arms, a flicker of unease curling in his chest. It was silly—he’d found tapes like these dozens of times. Yet, something about the gray skies and how the trees swayed in an ominous rhythm gave the moment a haunting weight.

He shook it off. The thrill of discovery always carried a charge of the unknown, after all.

When he reached his car and stashed the box safely in the trunk, Elliot’s unease had faded, replaced with anticipation. Tonight, he would dive into his new treasures. Who knew what stories the tapes might hold? 

Hidden masterpieces, rare films, or maybe just hours of static. Either way, the night promised adventure.

But as Elliot drove away, he didn’t notice the figure watching from an upstairs window of the estate. The old woman, her sharp eyes still tracking him, lingered just long enough to see him disappear down the road before drawing the curtain closed.

To Be Continued …