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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Contrantier on 2026-08-04 02:01:04+00:00.

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My dad was one of those types who really loved the old stuff. He was into records, vintage cars, CRTs and game consoles from the 80s and 90s. He'd even built an entire shop in our backyard where he could fiddle around with some of his little projects and fix old scrap he'd bought from a junkyard or a thrift store.

Mom used to not like it, but she got used to it. Then she started to think it was wonderful. Of course, me and my big brother Tyler found out it was because Dad had made her an anniversary gift by programming and physically putting together his own NES game about their marriage.

Dad's such a dork, but in the best way. And he learned some pretty cool things while tinkering with old tech.

That's why I regret it all. He started as an excited amateur, became a tinkerer, turned into a fanatic, and finally became a genius. But while he was fine with us boys wandering the shop (just don't touch anything he put notes on), he was adamant we stay out of the little mini lounge he'd built into the back corner. It looked like a sort of tiny living room, with a couch, an old TV and VCR (a shelf full of old VHS tapes sat next to it), an old computer running Windows Oldasfuck, a mini fridge, and... well, I think that was it.

It was all he needed to make his dream come true. I wish we had gotten into that room. I wish we had broken the rule.

You usually expect bad things to happen BECAUSE kids break rules. But no, I was ten and had learned to be well behaved, and even though Tyler was a cynical sixteen year old with freckles, curly hair and an attitude, he'd learned to not screw around with important stuff too. We never did get to see if Dad would have a meltdown if we accidentally broke anything, because we never did.

I didn't realize just how into cassette tapes he was. Audio cassettes; a format that nearly bottomed out for years, but never quite died. Seriously, even some major musical artists are still releasing tapes, and some films in recent times have unloaded their musical scores on the old beast format too. I think it's cool.

But then Mom came back from the doctor one day after weeks complaining of her head. And she'd had a CAT scan. And a bunch of other things done that I didn't understand.

When the word "cancer" came out of her mouth, my dad's faced turned ghost-white.

He spent the next week looking after her, and he didn't so much as step a foot into his shop. But then more test results came back, and the doctors said this was a malignant, fast-moving cancer and she had little chance of being saved. They estimated she had about a year to live.

Dad became determined.

I didn't know what he was doing back there. But he stayed shut up in his shop most of the time. I could hear him talking to himself, I could hear tools clinking, I could hear whizzing sounds running, plastic clicking and clacking, metallic clips snapping shut and all sorts of other things.

Every few days, he would spend an entire day with Mom.

It wasn't long before she started to look the part. She was pale and tired all the time. Dad began to do most of the cooking and cleaning. Yet still he had the energy for whatever he was doing in the shop.

Months of this passed. I was getting sick of crying all the time for Mom, of Tyler brooding more than usual and staying shut in his room, and Dad not being here enough to see her.

I would hear her cry sometimes too, saying his name, and that was the worst part. I was a kid, but I understood at least this much. She needed him, and he wasn't there often enough. She had her ups and downs, of course, stretches of a few days where she seemed completely fine and felt almost normal, and then there were her downs, where she was so lethargic she couldn't even get out of bed.

Before we knew it, Dad suddenly stopped coming in from the shop.

It had taken us a few days to notice. He always came out at least two or three times a week to spend hours or a day with Mom, not wanting to neglect her, but he spent way more time huddled in that damned private room of his, buzzing and clanking away.

It took four days before I realized he should have been in by now. I told Mom, and she became even more worried than ever, but despite being in one of her good spells for the past couple days now, she seemed too nervous to go out there. She instead tried to call him.

I stared at her. Why was she acting so weird? What did she know that I didn't?

"Stay out of that shop, baby," she said faintly, turning to go out into the front yard, as though to search for him there. "You know if he's in there, he needs his privacy."

I ran out to the shop myself to get Dad. But everything inside had gone eerily silent.

"Dad!" I called.

There was no sound behind the door leading to his private room. And when I wiggled the knob, the door was locked. I knew he kept a spare key around somewhere, but I couldn't find it. I wiggled and fought the knob some more, and then finally I was boiling with rage.

I went and got Dad's sledgehammer from the garage. I went back to the shop.

I beat the door down. Ten year old me, stumbling awkwardly swinging a sledgehammer, but after several minutes I did manage to crush the knob and the wood surrounding it, and in a weird roundabout way I was sort of able to Here's Johnny my way into the room.

Dad was gone.

The floor was littered with plastic shavings. The faint smell of burning chemicals hung in the air, but in seconds it began to sweep out the door.

On Dad's table, the huge, heavy computer monitor no longer dominated the space. It sat off in the corner nearby. Instead, there was a large device that I took a minute to recognize as a tape recorder, from all the piano key buttons on it and the two circle thingies inside the tray. It looked brand new, but it was designed like a vintage recorder. Was this what Dad had been making?

There was an odd symbol imprinted on the play button. It looked like an infinity symbol, surrounded by two u-turning arrows pointing at each other.

I opened the tray. It was empty.

But there was a tape sitting behind the recorder.

Then, when I lifted it up, I found a note underneath.

Beth, Donny, Tyler.

I'm sorry to go out like this. I can't take losing Beth. I've tried to have the strength to get through it, but I gave in to my temptations. I could burn this entire building and all my prize possessions to the ground to have her live to a ripe old age with me if some angel or even demon could come along and make it happen.

But I think I've found the next best thing. Beth, honey, I know you didn't believe me before, but when I do finally show you, it will be the answer to everything.

I know what I'm leaving. I know what this looks like. But I will never give up, my dears. Before you know it, we'll all be together again, and it will never have to end.

Beth will live forever. You boys will live forever. Nothing and nobody will ever have to die.

Donny, I've left you a tape and this recorder. It looks like I've ensured it'll stay behind after I'm gone. I hope to God it does. And I waited for Beth to have one of her good days so that she'll feel bliss in immortality.

I would explain more, but she didn't believe me, and I doubt you boys will either.

You can use only Type IV metal cassettes on this thing. They're the only kind that are stable. I've found the secret to capacity, the ability to move the reels super slowly and compress high fidelity data on them, to fill a whole day.

Whenever you have a good day coming up, everyone, just tape it. You can tape your memories. You can have them forever. The good times can stay forever. God. Beth. I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't such a coward. I wish I had medicine as a crazy hobby instead of old technology.

But maybe it's better. Because now we have forever. Now it will never go. You will never go. My darling, you're a gift from heaven, the best choice I ever made, and my boys, you're the best thing she has ever done.

That was all.

So, basically, it sounded like he'd gone loony tunes and run off into the woods or something.

I screamed for Mom and Tyler. Mom became hysterical. Tyler called the cops. But let's be real. Could they do anything? I half expected them to come back to us, reporting that they'd found his body out in the woods or something, but they just did some investigating and examined the tape recorder and the tape (empty) for a few days. Then gave it back.

I hated Dad through all this. He had abandoned Mom when she'd needed him most. He was right; he WAS a coward. I had never been so mad at anyone before.

Tyler was with me on that. He became temperamental, slamming doors around the house, exploding at the littlest things. But he also became Mom's rock. He stayed with her practically all the time, even taking days off school occasionally. He did all the cooking and cleaning when she couldn't do it herself.

Mom finally succumbed to the cancer and died.

I hated the funeral.

I hated to leave our house.

But we'd been sent to live with our grandparents. We were both minors in school; we had no choice.

Grandma Patty was kind of thin and frail, but Grandpa Reed was a heavy, powerful man for sixty. He looked like a grizzly bear with salt-and-pepper hair, and he was a very robust, outgoing man. He wasn't a biker, but throw a leather jacket and sunglasses on him and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. And he wasn't afraid to throw hands with anyone who insulted ...

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