HSA-612: A VHS Tape

Carly dropped the empty platter on the bar. In the corner, the shots she’d just delivered clunked against the table. She silently hoped the Gentry brothers wouldn’t get too carried away. It was only Tuesday, and she wasn’t in the mood to help Petey drag their drunk, fat asses to the side of the road to wait for one of their wives to get them.

Otherwise, the bar was quiet. A late season baseball game played silently on the raised flatscreen in the corner. A low thrum of music kept the air from an otherwise oppressive stillness. Dave Matthews and other late nineties hits haunted Carly in her sleep. Six other habitual patrons dotted the room, most at the bar chatting with each other as they kept one eye on the baseball game. Petey, the owner, paced anxiously behind the bar, cleaning or sorting or organizing with no particular rhyme or reason. He would snap to attention whenever someone wanted another drink or another beer. His eyes flicked over to Carly and then his head jerked toward a table she hadn’t noticed.

A young man in a suit sat with both arms stretched out on the table, a notepad resting between them. Carly put on an air of flustered speed for Petey’s sake and made her way over to the newcomer. People rarely sat in the corner the new guy chose. It was dark and around a corner from the door, making it hard for anyone to notice. Might be a popular spot in a busier town, but the only reason people came to Petey’s Place was for company. Sitting in a dark corner and drinking alone was a hobby meant for the home. Carly slapped on her waitress’s smile and bounced on her heels as she reached the table. “Evening, what can I get you?”

The man glanced up. Certain things become so ubiquitously the same that even the slightest variation can cause a jolt of fear. Such a thing happened to Carly when the man’s eyes focused on her. For a moment, it seemed as though a pair of amber, predatory orbs had looked at her. And then it passed, Carly was looking into a pair of sky-shattered blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. “Bourbon, neat,” he grumbled.

She started to walk away, but paused. “ID”

The man seemed to have expected it. He didn’t know it was the first time Carly had ever IDed someone at all. Everyone who came to Petey’s Place was someone she knew, and few of them were ever close to her age. The local community college guys didn’t bother with the bar. They got drunk in the back of pickup trucks at house parties. And even when they did come in, it was silly to expect any of them to be cops policing the one bar in town for proper ID checks. This new guy was a stranger, and a strange one at that. He didn’t look more than twenty-five, except for the eyes. He dropped the plastic card on the tabletop and slid it over.

Special Agent Markus Wilson born February 2, 1985, she thought as she read. A symbol she didn’t recognize filled most of the card along with holograms and flourishes that made it seem like a quite official identification. “Special Agent of what?” she asked.

Wilson was no longer looking at her. “I believe the birth date is the relevant bit of information.”

She held out the card and matched the picture to the man’s face. He didn’t look nearly forty. For that matter, he didn’t look thirty. He wore an identical, possibly the same, suit in the ID photo, a poorly tailored, narrow suit that made him look gaunt. Carly could tell that was a trick of the outfit, though. She could see the muscled body underneath. So he keeps in shape and has more money than anyone in town. That’s why he doesn’t look like used charcoal. “Be right back with your drink,” she said, dropping the card back on the table.

Carly returned to the small area at the end of the bar where Petey met her with conspiratorial whispers, “Who’s that fella?”

“Some guy. Didn’t get his life story. Bourbon, neat.”

“What kind?” Petey grumbled, keeping one eye on Wilson.

“House, I guess. Might charge him extra, though.” It earned a grunt of laughter from Petey who poured the drink and sat it on Carly’s tray. He waved her off. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to return to the table. She’d kept an eye on the man. He’d not once looked up since his first words to her. She pulled her shirt down a little, letting it hug her breasts closer. As her hands went to adjust her pants, she stopped. The hell am I doing. She shook away the feeling by actually shaking her hands before picking up the tray. Yet, as she crossed the room, she couldn’t ignore the feeling of something deep inside her wanting Agent Wilson to notice her.

The heavy glass clacked on the table. Wilson spoke, “Can you sit?”

“My knees bend, if that’s what you’re asking,” Carly answered. The retort slipped out before she could stop herself, and his eyes turning up to look at her caused her cheeks to flush.

“I’m asking if sitting with me will get you into trouble,” Wilson said. He nodded his head toward the bar. Petey tried to nonchalantly look away, but only made his watchful eye more obvious. “Seems like the kind of boss who would take objection to his employee sitting down on the job.”

“Maybe worry less about what Petey thinks about me sitting with a stranger and worry more about what I think?”

“I haven’t asked you to sit yet. I’ve asked whether or not you’d get into trouble.”

Carly considered the man’s demeanor. He was gruff and irritatingly not paying attention to her despite talking to her. And still, something about him drew her in. “Normally, I’d say yes. But he’s itching considerably to know who you are.”

“Then sit,” Wilson said. She did, a flush of heat spreading out through her body as she obeyed the man’s order. Her cheeks reddened, and she tried to look away, unsure of why the man was having such an effect. Seemingly reading her thoughts, he said, “Don’t worry. I have a way with some people. Occupational perk.” He shuffled through the legal pad in front of him. The notes on the top page looked erratic with lines drawn from one clump of scribbles to another. “How long have you lived in Birchdale?”

Carly took a deep breath to calm herself, “My whole life.”

“Have you noticed anyone acting strange? Any out-of-towners?”

“Only you.”

“Sure. What about some kind of festival or anything? Local homecoming? I see there’s a community college, do you go?”

She furrowed her brow. “Halloween is coming up. The high school puts on a carnival most years. And no, even if it’s not your business. I didn’t opt for thirteenth grade.”

He looked up from his notes. Wilson’s face was lean and covered in stubble. A mop of black hair threatened to spill down over his eyes at any moment, for which Carly might have been thankful. The blue pools drew her in and gave her the distinct impression of looking right at leering gaze of a wild dog. “Is there an old video tape rental store in town?”

“Like a Blockbuster? There hasn’t been a place like that here since I was a kid. Used to be on the corner at the red light. My mom would tell me about going and picking out movies for her friends to watch.”

“When did it close?”

“Before I was born?” Carly guessed. “They tore it down and turned it into a gazebo. Why?”

He shrugged and pulled a pen from his coat pocket. He wrote as he answered, “I’m looking for something. An old video tape. Its the sort of thing that seeks out a place where it might fit in.”

“What’s it like evidence or something?”

“No, it’s a dangerous —” he stopped and looked up at her. For the first time, he adjusted his posture as he straighten up and looked around the room. She could see his full body and the wiry muscle underneath his suit. His hands spread out on the tabletop, rough and calloused. “Small towns. It’s always a small town or some fucking backwater.” His attention returned to Carly. “You’re pretty. Do you have family outside of Birchdale? Maybe a vacation you’ve been putting off?”

She shook her head. Part of her mind pushed at her to get up and storm away. He had no right to ask her questions, let alone such personal ones. Another part of her wanted him to keep talking, wanted his eyes to keep looking over her body. “I don’t go anywhere,” she said, not intending it to sound as pathetic as it did.

“Seems to be on theme,” he grumbled, slumping back down. “Off the beaten path little town. Big enough to cause a stir, small enough to go unnoticed. Listen, I know you have a bunch of conflicting thoughts bouncing around your head. ‘Why should I listen to him?’ or ‘how the fuck is he doing this’. Don’t worry. Once you’re ten feet away from me, you’ll go back to being…wait, what’s your name?”

“Carly.”

“Carly,” he said with a smile. “You’ll go back to being you. But when that happens, you need to remember this: Something is going to happen in this town and you don’t want to be part of it. Pretty sure it’s gonna happen in the next day or so. Go home, pack a bag, and drive the hell somewhere else. Come back when all the black hats and caution tape have cleared away.” He paused, tapping his knuckles on the tabletop. Wilson picked up the glass and downed the drink in one gulp. He winced and blew out a slow stream of breath. “In case you don’t do that, which no one’s taken my warnings seriously so far, take this.” He drew out a card and slid it across the table. It had his name and a phone number on it. “Anything happens that you can’t explain. Anything weird or anything to do with a VHS tape, you call that number and tell me. Understand.”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“Alright, off you go.”

Carly numbly got to her feet, clutching the card in her free hand. Each step felt like walking into a heavy wind. She wanted to relent and fall backwards into Agent Wilson’s waiting arms. He would wrap her up in his burly physique and sooth the aching need throbbing through her. She could sense the virility just beneath the surface, the wildness of a stranger who wanted her body as much as she wanted his. And then she reached the bar. As she dropped the serving tray on the counter top, those feelings seeped away from her, leaving her looking back at the strange customer with uncertainty.

“Well, what’d he say?” Petey asked. “He want another?”

Carly looked at the card in her hand before slipping it into her apron pocket. “No, just some weirdo on a long drive. Looks like the Gentrys want another round though. If one of them grabs my ass, I’m shoving a shot glass in his eye.”

“Fair enough,” the barkeep answered.

Agent Wilson turned his attention back to the jumble of notes in front of him. On the right hand side was a list of numbers that filled him with pure dread. He picked up the sheets of paper and rifled through until a three by five index card popped out. He flipped it over and reread it for the hundredth time, #612, A VHS Tape. Birchdale, Iowa.

The card came to him two weeks earlier, left in his mailbox. The number sent him to the archive with a sick feeling in his gut. He’d never heard of #612 and had no history with it. What he did have a history with, though, was archived objects going missing. And sure enough, when the security techs opened the lead crate meant to contain #612, it was empty.

The techs promised to remain quiet on the subject. They didn’t want to wind up as volunteers for some other project because they somehow let a highly volatile artifact walk out under their nose. Besides, temporal displacements happened all the time. Well, often enough to weasel out of responsibility. Wilson no longer thought all those displaced artifacts were guaranteed accidents or randomness. Someone had sent him a card. Someone wanted him to see an artifact had been taken. And someone wanted him at ground zero for when it went off.

He glared around the room. He’d need to go look at the old rental store’s location. Part of him hoped to find #612 sitting in a small shrine under a cheap gazebo. Another part of him knew he wouldn’t find it until he moved the writhing, orgasming bodies of its victims. He put a $100 under the empty glass as he slid out of the table. He glanced back at the waitress. She’d moved on to the other table of douchebags in the corner. Her ass looked good in the tight pants. He could have her if he wanted, and he did, but a better part of him knew not to push his luck. It’s the moon, he reminded himself. You get stir crazy when it’s full.

Wilson nodded to the barkeeper and headed out to search Birchdale piece by piece.

A few hours later, with a pair of drunk idiots safely thrown into the car of one of their wives, Petey watched from the building’s back door as Carly headed to her car. She never asked him to do it, nor did she properly remember him telling her he would. Still, she didn’t mind. The more she thought about her interaction with Wilson, the less she felt good about it. The man had hypnotized her or something, making her answer questions like a schoolgirl called to the principal’s office. It left her uneasy as she walked to her car, meaning Petey’s glaring presence was welcome for the first time.

She gave a wave to her boss as she slid into the driver’s seat. The headlights flooded the back alley as she flicked the locks and started the engine. They’d closed a little early since the Gentry brothers began rapidly losing the good humor as the whiskey soured in their stomachs. The other patrons had drifted out after the game ended, and Petey declared he would close up himself, allowing Carly the rare early night. Checking her phone, she saw some messages from her friend, Sarah.

Sarah: Cozy night in with the girls…and a few guys…you should come!

Carly: got off work early. what’re you doing? booze?

Sarah: at Michelle’s. Logan brought beer. watching cheesy scary movies! I bet Yas that one of the guys tries to get their dick out.

Carly frowned. Her hand slid to the rolled up apron tucked between her knees. The stranger — Wilson, had said to call. He talked about an old VHS tape. Silly. Weirdo nonsense.

She text back: On my way. Be there in 15 or so.

Normally a gaggle of her high school friends fawning over boys while drinking shitty beers wouldn’t have appealed in the slightest. She didn’t feel like going home, though. She told herself Wilson was talking nonsense, but as she drove out of the alley and headed to the edge of town, doubt made a compelling argument to believe what the stranger had said.

The house belonged to Michelle’s parents, but they’d moved once their last daughter graduated high school. They left her with the responsibility of keeping the place until she finished junior college and moved on. It made for a quiet get away on a Tuesday night or a raucous house party on the weekends. Yasmin and Sarah liked to get out of their dorm, and the boys did, too. Logan and Brandon were about as high as Michelle thought she could aim. Either of them would wind up with a good job, and each had somewhat of a personality that she could tolerate, so long as they could get past twenty-five without becoming an alcoholic. Yasmin was too pretty for them, and Sarah had a brighter future ahead of her than Birchdale could offer. Either girl might toy with the two studs, but not do anything other than make them blueballed for someone more their speed.

Which is why the announcement of Carly’s soon arrival put Michelle in a foul mood. She liked Carly as much as anyone, but didn’t like the competition. Especially since Carly had better tits than she did. So, as soon as Sarah looked up from her phone and informed the others of the newcomer’s pending arrival. Michelle decided to up the ante in the room. “This one’s boring,” she said, jerking her hand at the old television set. It was a relic of her parent’s life and what had passed for a premier rec room for the mid 1990’s. At the moment, it played a mediocre sequel about chainsaw wielding cannibals. “It’s too dark and nothing’s happened for like ten minutes.”

“Maybe,” Logan muttered, sipping his beer. “We can start another when Carly gets here.”

Michelle’s nose crinkled. “Oh, fuck that. She won’t be here for another twenty minutes. We’ll all fall asleep by then. C’mon, I’ve got some better ones in the bag.” The two guys on the couch shrugged and neither of the other girls looked up from their phones. Delighted with herself, she dug into the sack she’d brought down from the attic. She couldn’t believe how well things had worked out so far, and Carly wasn’t going to ruin things for her. So long as the guys kept drinking and watching titties bouncing around on screen while slashers chased after them, they’d get the right idea. Her hand drifted over the video tapes of old horror movies until she landed on one she didn’t recognize. The title made her blush, “How about ‘Attack of the Bimbo Brain Melters?’”

She didn’t wait for a response as she moved over to the old VHS set. One tape popped out, and the other went in. The gears whirred. The screen flickered. After a few seconds of rolling static, a title card appeared. Heavy font on a grainy, dark scene. Smiling, Michelle jumped over the coffee table and snuggled in between the two guys. They barely registered her presence, instead muttering to each other as Logan asked for another beer. The title card faded, and the camera slowly pushed in on a young guy in a lab coat peering into a microscope. Michelle knew the line between these old horror films and porn was narrow, but suddenly found herself wondering if she’d gotten one of her dad’s old jerk-off tapes. It was the last coherent thought she would have.

The image on the television was one of a benign scene with a scientist speaking babble about viruses turning people into zombies, but Michelle and the two guys with their eyes fixed on the screen saw something else. A flickering, scattered image that was almost any of a thousand different things. Throbbing cocks or slick pussies or writhing bodies or leaking tits. They saw bodies crawling over one another in orgasmic bliss. They heard voices moaning instructions with no end — to lick, to suck, to fuck. A dumb smile spread across Michelle’s face as heat throbbed through her body.

The other girls didn’t look at the television right away. Too busy in their phones, the first thing they noticed was the sound of pants unzipping. Sarah had a brief moment of elation as she though she’d won her bet, even though it seemed too early and too sober for one of the guys to waggle their prick around. Instead, the guys remained slack jawed, staring at the television as Michelle worked furiously to unfasten Brandon’s pants. “Michelle, what the fuck are —” Her friend didn’t look around, but Sarah’s words cut off as she noticed the shirt on Michelle’s chest begin to rip up the back. Yasmin squeaked softly as she noticed the spectacle unfolding, yet her eyes looked past Michelle and into the flickering images of the television.

Brandon vaguely knew that a woman was near. He was never quick of thought in the first place, but he knew enough to feel her softness pressing against him. His hand groped blindly until it found a tight ass beside him. He grinned as his focus stayed on the tv. If he looked hard enough, he thought he saw himself in the movie. He had a huge cock, and he was fucking a girl raw — a girl who looked a lot like Michelle. The hot hand wrapping around his dick drew him to the moment only for a few seconds. He nodded and pushed the girl’s head down onto his dick.

The ripping noise brought quick relief. Michelle’s breasts spilled out as she hunched over Brandon’s dick. Fat breasts flopped out on his jeans. Her hand moved to squeeze them, delighting in the feeling as the flesh multiplied under her fingertips. From the television the moaning voice droned on about bimbos having big, fuckable tits and big, round butts for guys to shove their dicks in. Michelle wrapped her lips around the pink head of Brandon’s dick and gave up squeezing her breasts long enough to pull down her shorts and panties. It was just in time as Logan’s wandering hand sunk a finger into her dripping pussy. She moaned around the cock in her mouth as the heat in her body surged to a new level. Her butt wiggled in the air, growing rounder and softer as one of her long time crushes fingered her and the other gently pushed her head back down on his dick.

Yasmin vaguely came back to herself as the drool dripped off her chin. In front of her, Michelle was getting worked over from both ends by the guys. Yasmin frowned as she pulled off her shirt. She looked down at her olive skinned A-cups and wondered if they’d grow big enough to win one of the studs. The voice in the television seemed to think so. Yasmin heard it promise an eternity of fucking, so long as she abandoned all pretense and submitted to her carnal urges. Yasmin did, happily. Standing up, she pulled off her clothes in a quick flourish, stretching her naked body in a long pose as the strange heat spread over her skin. Her gaze fell on Sarah for a moment. The other girl had her hand over her eyes. This made Yasmin unhappy.

She suppressed her desire to take care of Logan’s cock long enough to walk over to Sarah and squat down in front of her friend. “What’s wrong?” Yasmin asked in a sweet, soft voice. Her hands slid up her friend’s thighs as she spoke.

“Yasmin? What the fuck? What’s happening? There was this voice and…I covered my eyes because.” She opened her fingers long enough to see Michelle’s pussy gaping as Logan brought his finger out to lick it clean. The fingers snapped closed. “We need to get out. Where are your clothes!”

“No. None of that. You just need to watch the movie.” Yasmin’s hands moved to her friend’s face. One turned Sarah’s cheek gently while the other pulled away her hand. The soft protests faded as Sarah’s vision focused on the television screen. Happy to see her friend’s mind burning away into nothingness. Yasmin moved over to Logan. She pulled his hand away from Michelle’s rear, replacing it with her own. “She’s being greedy,” Yasmin chided. “How about you try might tight cunt?”

Logan merely groaned and let his head rock forward. His hands slid up her naked hips and over her abdomen until he reached her breasts. Fingers danced across her skin as it bubbled and grew underneath his touch. Looking up he saw her jet black hair begin to grow. As it passed her shoulders, the color in it faded to a bright white, almost silver. As she sheathed him inside her, a fat brown nipple pressed into his mouth, with a D-cup sized breast behind it. Yasmin reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding around her nipple as his cock throbbed inside of her. She didn’t expect him to last long, but when Brandon groaned beside them, shooting his load all over the underside of Michelle’s tits, Logan followed quickly. His arms wrapped about Yasmin’s newly juicy ass as he fired his first wad into the depths of her pussy. It sent a shiver of pleasure up her body, but he stayed hard, groaning underneath her as she kept fucking him.

Time seemed to lurch for Sarah. She could hear her friends fucking wildly nearby, but her whole reality remained focused on the voice in the television. When it stopped, it gave one final command. Go and fuck, you dumb slut. She snapped back into herself, surprised to find herself naked, legs spread and Yasmin greedily licking at her pussy. Though she enjoyed the feeling of her friend’s tongue in her slit, she had her orders. Her attention went to the couch. Michelle had moved over to Logan, riding him in reverse while his hands squeezed her ass. Brandon, meanwhile was jerking himself off furiously in an attempt to stop a seemingly endless orgasm. Cum gushed out from the tip of his cock, coating his hand and pants as his eyes wrenched shut in a mingled pain and ecstasy. It was the only free cock in the room, and Sarah needed to be filled up.

Crossing quickly, she left Yasmin mewling on the floor as she fucked herself with a tv remote. Brandon looked at Sarah with relief as he pulled her on top of him. She could feel his cock still jerking with orgasm as it slid inside her, coating her insides with cum as it entered. He groaned with satisfaction and moved his hands to her breasts. Inside her, his cock’s orgasm abated as her pussy squeezed the throbbing rod. She spent a few seconds adjusting, and then pushed him back hard as she took control. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brown curls beginning to turn blonde. Her boobs were already big, but now they swelled to impractical size, like watermelons weighing down on Brandon’s small frame. Her butt slid back and forth on the creamed jeans as she tried to get his cock deeper. When it finally spurted inside of her, she barely noticed.

What she did notice was that the two guys had begun to flicker. They gasped and moaned, but with each little spurt from their balls, they grew less substantial. As Michelle’s body rocked with orgasm, another flood of cum gushed out of her pussy, and Logan completely disappeared. Michelle didn’t notice, moving her hand to replace his cock, but finding Yasmin wriggling between her legs to lick away the vanished young man’s cum. Sarah somewhat understood and grabbed Brandon by the shoulders, trying to hold him in place. “No. Need more fucking. MORE!” She bellowed the protest as his balls surged and his final orgasm flooded her insides as he flickered out of existence. It wasn’t enough. Her hand moved to her clit to rub furiously in vain as she chased her fading orgasm.

“Holy fucking shit,” came a voice from the stairs.

The three blonde bimbos, all drenched with cum, looked up at the newcomer and frowned. “No cock for you,” Michelle said. “We need to find more cock!”

Carly, acting on some base fear that had been brewing in her all night, ran back up the stairs and slammed the door shut. She grabbed a nearby chair and tried to wedge it under the door. She ran for her car and kept her eyes on the front door, fully expecting those transformed women to come out after her. Her hands shook as she got out the card. The phone rang twice before Wilson answered, “Where are you?”

Field Report
Agent Markus Wilson
October 6, 2021
Birchdale, Iowa

To Sub-Director Carlan:

I was too late. #612 went off not three hours after I arrived in Birchdale. If I were a paranoid man, I’d believe it knew I was coming.

A clean up crew is wrapping up already. Things could have been much worse, but I feel like we say that too much. Could have been a public screening, I suppose. Instead, it was a movie night with five victims. #612 behaved as expected based on notes associated with its original discovery. It’s activity period claimed the victims, whose names and information I’ve attached. And a dormancy period followed, during which our clean team documented some of the images on the tape. An onsite survivor was able to confirm our guess.

Unlike its original incarnation where the tape was called ‘Dr. Sleeze and the Hypno Serum’, it had retitled itself as ‘Attack of the Bimbo Brain Melters’. Though no one watched the film directly, photo stills of the screen images portray a movie that seemed to mimic something like Body Snatchers. Our on site witness confirms that the actresses were her friends. She also observed a few of the background bodies as young men she knew. Apparently the initial investigation couldn’t confirm the missing persons were trapped in the tape, but I don’t see any other explanation after this incident.

As to how it wound up in the house, who fucking knows. As we’ve discussed, I believe these objects have a sort of will they can exert on the reality around them. Once it was in the girl’s house, it was a matter of time before it found a way to exhibit itself. We’re still working on the house, but some fiber analysis indicates that the — well, the tape came out of this sack that had other movies in it. One of the white hats thinks that the sack was in the attic until very recently based on disturbed dust or something. Point being that the tape somehow managed to get into a place that no one had touched for twenty years. The finnicky choices of arcane objects aside, it clearly was meant to wind up in Birchdale by a purely human hand.

#612 is on a truck back to its containment facility. I’d also request, informally, for some assistance for our surviving witness. She’s been debriefed and was almost entirely outside of paranormal events, simply discovering her friends right before the tape absorbed them. A nice relocation to a comfortable life would be appreciated. I should mention that today was a full moon and the witness responded to my influence. Do with that what you will.

I found another card. Sitting on top of my notes when I got back to my car. We searched the area, but found nothing. I’m going to need all the files on #112.