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Fiction |
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Last Updated: 18/11/2005 13:56:16
Welcome To Hellville - Part 13
By Rich Mills
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Part 1,
2,
3,
4,
5,
6,
7,
8,
9,
10,
11,
12.
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From: "audioally"
To: "Black Star"
Subject: BASF C90 tape transcribed and identified
Date: 28 Nov 2040 12:09:06
Hello there,
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Thanks for the opportunity to investigate the origins of the BASF C90 tape that you forwarded onto me. As I understand you found this in an open box with other items, it hasn't been too badly damaged by the elements and general aging. After running it through some filters I have managed to digitise the content and have included these as attachments. From listening to the tape I would personally conclude that it was once used in an old answer-phone machine, as the 3 sound files it contains are spoken messages.
I hope they help you in your investigations.
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Best wishes.
Ally
Attachment(s): audio1.mp4
audio2.mp4
audio3.mp4
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28th November 2040
I listened to the audio files that Ally sent me, and for the sake of record keeping I have transcribed them. As Ally said these are most definitely answer-phone messages. The first is the outgoing message from Alan, the second is from a friend of his calling himself 3-D. He sounds like he is panicked, deeply troubled for some reason. The last message is even more interesting, as the voice is scarily calm, almost ethereal in natural. Not that easy to make out however, as there is a lot of interference in the message which sounds like computer chatter.
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File: audio1
Hello, this is Alan. Unfortunately you've reached my machine as I'm not in at the moment. Talk to it, as it's probably more interesting than I am to talk to anyway.
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File: audio2
Alan mate, if you're in pick up... Fuck... Look mate it's 3-D...
I think that I've fucked up, big-time...
The fireworks were really flying last night, and I don't just mean in the sky...
Give us a ring on me moby when you get this... [garbled noise]...
Whatever you hear about me... Remember... Remember... [Message ends].
File: audio3
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Hello Mister Miro... [High pitched whistle]... My name is Michael.
[More whistles and some intermittent squeaks]...
We need to talk... We will be in touch... [Short burst of white noise and then message ends].
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I managed to isolate the chatter, it is computer language, in fact it decoded
as a series of ASCII characters.
It decoded as, The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started.
A little digging around on the net and I have come across something that could
relate to this, and all I can say is... The plot thickens!
Blogging first became popular in early years of the 21st Century.
There is still the famous blog site www.blogger.com, that people use to this day.
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I found the above quote in the archives of Blogger whilst doing a net search.
It is dated the 5th of November 2004, the following is the entry as it appears on the site.
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Finding Inner Peace
Hey Folks, this worked for me, thought I'd pass it on to you.
The article I just read stated that The way to achieve inner peace is to
finish all the things you've started.
So I looked around the house to see all the things that I had started but
had not finished, and before leaving the house this morning I finished
off a bottle of red wine, bottle of white wine, the Baileys, the Kahlua,
the Jack Daniels, the Prozac, some valium, some cheesecake and a box of chocolates.
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You have no idea how freakin' good I feel.
posted by Michael_the_Archangel @ 9:12 AM
At first I tried to find the article that is referred to. I soon realised that the article doesn't exist, probably never did. This post is a joke, one that was doing the rounds at the time. Leaving me even more confused as to the meaning of all this than I was before I started.
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Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 14 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
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Daylight broke through the darkness like the show's arc lamps.
I was back in my orphanage bed but where were George's cold feet?
What were those mounds on the floor wrapped in blankets?
A sniff of dank air reminded me where I was.
I pulled the warm blanket around my shoulders and scrambled up on my bunk to look through the porthole.
Beyond a narrow stretch of water were
Read more...
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Fiction - Zero and the Neighbours Part 1 - Demo version 0.1 By Joe Hakim
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Frank was one of the regulars. From the first day I started dealing poker on the tables, Frank was there. To look at, he was your typical moody old man - old in the Father Christmas sense - white hair, a huge white beard and a round gut that hung out of his shirt and over his belt. You could imagine him sat in a grotto in the bottom of Princes Quay with some mewling
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Fiction - The Wall by Darren Sant
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Sometimes your best is just not enough.
Panic stricken and panting I arrive.
There it is, a fucking huge wall. An obstacle blocking my progress.
A visible representation of all that I can't achieve.
Nervously I look behind me. I lash out at it, kicking and punching but to no avail.
It is rock solid. I jump but find it too high. I take a running jump
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Fiction - Just like Eddie by Bob Spence
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I don't know exactly when I got into it but there you are.
Like most lads, I suppose it was the thought of being Bristol's answer to
Elvis that was some kind of inspiration.
Yes that was always there in the back of my mind, but the accent never sounded
quite right to be fair.
Anyway. The South Deans Village Youth Club was a right place back then and we used
Read more...
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Fiction - Scissors, Paper, Stone! By Bob Spence
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The Lord Nelson was your typical run-down seventies pub. The decor was in disarray, with half a mind to venerate the Royal Navy's biggest hero or to catch the eye of the potential clientele with the latest fashion. In this manner it achieved neither.
Mickey was the prototype glass collector for every
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Fiction - Divine by Blair Ashworth
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"Mein Führer? Mein Führer?" The old man in the long grey coat was bent over the body slumped in the chair.
"Give it a few more seconds, Henry," said the doctor. "Do you speak any German? It might lessen the shock." No, Henry didn't speak any German and he didn't much care about any shocks he might deliver.
Behind the heavy oak chair,
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Fiction - Drowning, Swimming By Joe Hakim
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Keith sat and stared at his wife, who was holding his daughter and staring at the
28" Philips Widescreen TV situated in the corner of his house, on his laminate floor,
flanked at either side by his Sony sound system and his X-Box.
He was sweating and his head was throbbing - the general effects of the weekend
Read more...
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Fiction - The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend By Bob Spence
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Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton.
Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well.
It was orderly and everything clearly had its place.
Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it
Read more...
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Fiction - Feller's in Cut By Maurice Fairfield
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Well that's her gone. You don't remember me do you?
I'll have a pint while you're thinking about it.
It's me Jack, Harry Fergus's son. Here for the funeral.
Thought I'd see her get put under. Not sure why.
It's always a laugh though, watching a parson doing a
Read more...
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Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Ten By Steve Rudd
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As the sun rose, so did my spirits. The men before me were all aged and seemingly wise.
You could just tell that all three of them had been born in this valley, and had all lived and
worked there ever since.
If any, or all, of them genuinely believed in a heaven, then it wouldn't be an,
other-worldly place delighted by harp-twanging angels.
Read more...
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Fiction - Fishheads By Michelle Dee
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Monstrous silver and blue -green severed fish heads emerged at the forefront of her mind.
Open, close, open, close the gaping mouths. She fancied there were others behind it.
Each time the razor sharp teeth were bared she looked into the blacker than
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Fiction - Firm but Fair By Mark Pollard
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Cry-Baby Jim Breaks. He pioneered it, they say.
And the hushed, almost ecclesiastical tones of Ken Walton had heralded it's
entry into Saturday afternoon folklore: the bright lights of
Blackpool and Great Yarmouth, down to the lesser reputes of Ilfracombe and
Skegness had all borne witness
Read more...
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Fiction - Puzzles By Denis Price
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I've got a really nice room, when the door's closed I feel ever so safe and warm. It's quiet as well,
just the swish of the wind in the trees outside. I like the trees; they hide the big tall fence.
My watchers say the fence is there to keep me safe, and that's their job too, they're always there
Read more...
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