Black Tape S02E05 - Cheryl

Nic Silver: Hi Alex! So I have a couple of concerns. Your insomnia is only getting worse, you’re apparently trying to summon the Fell King of the Goats in your sleep, and this afternoon Paul Bae found you in the breakroom, clutching a butcher knife and slathered in thick, red liquid, the words “RED RUM” scrawled on the wall behind you. Now, my friend at the coroner’s office tells me that the liquid was just tomato soup, but this still raises a few important questions.

Alex Reagan: Please, like you didn’t disappear into the Seattle forests for a week, only to emerge from a cabin that’s masquerading as a TARDIS, covered in very real blood, none of which was your own, and missing all of your companions, except for the crazy lady you went looking for, who had chopped off her own arm and offered it to you as an evening repast?

Nic Silver: Alex, we talked about this. What happened inside the Breach stays inside the Breach. Because if it doesn’t, SuperGlobalEvilCorp LLC will send a goon to my house and cut off my foot.

Nic Silver: Okay, we have several terabytes of voicemails, all from people claiming to be Coralie. I’ve filtered out the obvious fakes, like that trucker from Saskatchewan who keeps calling and asking what I’m wearing, this woman who claims Coralie has wandered into a small desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and strange lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep, and Amalia’s very-Russian-sounding prank calls, but there’s still a few I’d like to listen to.

Alex Reagan: Let’s get to it!

Voicemail One: Richard, this is Coralie. I’m with the bees now. Don’t worry, the bees have me, safe and sound.

Strand: Hah! What a pale imitation of my wife’s true voice! What a sad mockery of her intellect! Anyone who had known my wife for more than ten minutes would realize that she would never refer to Anthophila Andrenidae with so vague a term as “bee.”

Nic Silver: Okay …

Voicemail Two: Hi Richard! It’s Caroline! Coraline? Katie? Whatever, it’s your wife, and I really need you to send a thousand dollars to beeeeeeep.

Strand: She doesn’t even know my wife’s name.

Nic Silver: All right, one more:

Voicemail Three: 84, 97, 108, 108, 32, 80, 97, 117, 108

Strand: That’s her! That’s my wife! She was born in 1984! And moved to California in 1997! And there were 108 stairs in our first home! And our second! And this is the 32nd year after she was born! It took her 80 months to complete her dissertation! The first car we owned was a 97 Ford Escort Wagon! And there are 108 distinct threads I’ve been following while trying to solve her disappearance! There’s only one question … what does “117” mean?

Alex Reagan: …that’s your question?

[ding dong]

Alex Reagan: That’s the sound of a doorbell. The sound of old friends coming to visit. The sound of no longer being alone. But it’s also the sound of a crazy cult of apocalyptic musicians come to steal the child left in your care by their negligent mother. Did you know that more than 50% of the nannies I’ve interviewed have ended up murdered in their own home, surrounded by mystical sigils and liberally splashed blood? That’s why there’s Ring.com. Ring.com won’t stop this deadly cabal of end-times audiophiles from smashing down your door and strangling the life from you, but at least the police will have a video of their upside-down faces. Ring.com … let the people who survive you know why your were indiscriminately murdered.

Nic Silver: Hey Alex! I just got this email from Keith!

Alex Reagan: Okay, it says, “RE: the end of the world and the imminent death of your once immortal soul. Dear Alex, please play the attached recording immediately. Hugs from Glushka Portland, Keith.” And there’s a file called “ununsound.mp3”.

Nic Silver: Do you want to play it?

Alex Reagan: It … sounds like cats being murdered?

Nic Silver: Or maybe a water buffalo in heat?

Alex Reagan: I know, let’s ask Structural Acoustician Dr. Michael Pullman!

Structural Acoustician Dr. Michael Pullman: Okay, I’ve analyzed the recording, and it is clearly either man-made or natural, either sonic, subsonic, or ultrasonic, audible or silent, nausea inducing, and quite possibly the reason I now see a tall, shadowy figure wherever I go.

Alex Reagan: Thanks Mike!

Alex Reagan: Dr. Strand has inherited his father’s home, a large, crumbling Tudor-style mansion, located at 1313 Mockingbird Lane, which is a fact I probably should not have told you. Strand invited me to his home, to investigate the mystery of the computer-generated voicemail. Strand was still in the process of unpacking, and his house was filled with boxes, all labeled “books.” Thats’ when I knew it. That’s when I knew Strand was possessed by the shadowy demon figures we had been hunting since the very first episode. A man like Strand would never be so disorganized. He wouldn’t simply label the boxes “books.” He would have them sorted by category, author, and publication date, and the Dewy Decimal number written in Sharpie on the top. I had to face it: Strand was gone, and in his place … a monster. A disorganized, book-hoarding monster.

Alex Reagan: Hey Dr. Strand! This is totally random and has nothing to do with any conversation I may or may not have had with a certain psychic who shares a name with a certain magical forest hellscape, but can we watch this Black Tape called Cheryl?

Strand: Well, it’ll take roughly an hour to set up my computer, because apparently I’m using hardware form the 80s, but sure!

[click-clack]

Cheryl: Hey Richard, do you see that tall, shadowy, demonic figure standing in the corner?

Baby Strand: I sure do! Let’s give him a name! I know, we’ll call him Tall Paul! Hey, Tall Paul looks lonely! Do you want to invite him to dwell inside our souls until such a time as he sees fit to manifest himself and bring about the end of the world?

Cheryl: Yay!

Baby Strand: Tall Paul! Tall Paul! Tall Paul!

Cheryl: I love evil and hate everything good!

[click-clack]

Alex Reagan: …

Strand: What?