Chapter 4

Leo leaves Room 7, the "evidence" carefully bagged.

"The family also mentioned disturbances in the old diner section," he tells his audience. "Let's check it out."

The diner is at the end of the motel, boarded up tighter than the rooms.

He struggles with the warped plywood covering the door, finally prying it loose with a crowbar.

The air that hits him is even older, staler.

Cobwebs hang like macabre decorations.

Flipped stools, cracked countertops.

And in the corner, a hulking shape under a dusty tarp.

Leo pulls it off.

A Wurlitzer jukebox.

The kind with the bubbling lights and chrome.

"Wow, a classic," Leo says, running a hand over its curved top. "Wonder if this old girl still has any songs in her."

It's unplugged, of course. Thick cord lying like a dead snake.

He circles it, then notices a small, loose panel on the side.

"Service access, maybe?"

Curiosity gets the better of him.

He jiggles it, then uses the tip of his crowbar to gently pry it open.

It creaks.

Inside, nestled amongst wires and dust, isn't a collection of 45s.

It's small.

Black plastic.

A cassette recorder.

The cheap kind, popular in the 90s. Battery-operated.

He reaches in, pulls it out.

"Well, this is unexpected," Leo says, turning it over in his hand. "Doesn't look like it belongs to the jukebox."

He fumbles with the cassette door.

It clicks open.

There's a tape inside.

He presses the eject button.

A generic cassette, label blank.

"Let's see if there's any juice left in this thing," he mutters, flipping it over, checking the battery compartment.

Two AA batteries.

He presses play.

Nothing.

Then, a faint whir.

And a voice.

My voice.