In the 80's, my dad collected cassette tapes like he needed

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After a rather large haul (what he described as a box full), he would a strange tape at the bottom after he was done sorting the others into a tape rack. It was a mix-tape. Yet, it had a cut-out picture pasted to where you would write the name. The picture showed two masked faces standing in the middle of a forest. Something stuck out of the bottom of the picture, as if someone else should be there but scissors took them off. My dad told me he tried to figure out what it was by looking at it but there were no marks or pen to tell what it was. Simply the picture. My dad explained that he thought it was a comedy cassette, something similar to Allan Sherman. I remember him trying to explain why he thought that and, as of what I can remember, it was because he had gotten a lot of dark humor tapes. All these darker comedy tapes had strange covers to them. For example, he once described a tape that's title was literally just "våldtäkt" or "rape" in Swedish. The entire tape was a recorded stand-up comedy with a Swedish man speaking. Apparently? The tape was hilarious.

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So, my dad thought nothing of it and slotted it into his walkman. The tape started up and there was nothing, the crackle a microphone as it tries to record silence. My dad waited and waited, he told me he felt "like a retard sitting in the dark" as he waited for the tape to start. Slowly, he listened harder, trying to listen to voices. Slowly, the whisperings of a woman could be heard. My dad described it as noticeable as a mouse squeaking when you're in a bombing raid. She was whispering gibberish, something that didn't make any sense. It wasn't English, yet it wasn't any language that my dad had heard before. Soon, he heard numbers in the gibberish. He grabbed a notebook and wrote them down. As he told me the story, he recalled the numbers with a terrifying accuracy; nine, eight, one, twenty-two, five, two, five, five, fourteen, eighteen, one, sixteen, five, four. He recalled them like an answering machine and it was oddly terrifying to hear him list the numbers. She repeated the whispered numbers a few times until the whispers broke down into tears and sobbing. A quiet, yet piercing crying. it was described like how a dying person would cry to their mother. There was the sound of a door being thrown open and the woman screamed, piercing the headphones with the banshee screech. My dad sat in his dark room in fear as she screamed for a second as a heavy glove covered the microphone and the recording stopped.

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My dad sat in the dark for a moment, feeling the silence grow on him with a strange heaviness. Slowly, he pulled the tape out of his walkman and placed it down on the table. The next day, he buried it and he won't tell me where.

What do you think, /x/?

>>18478106
Y bury it when u can simply burn it?

>>18478111
I asked him. Even he doesn't know why he didn't just burn it.

>>18478105
>as a heavy glove covered the microphone
How the hell do you know that from the sound?

>>18478143
You don't. You just found an error in OP's fanfiction. Way to go, maybe he'll credit you on his creepypasta page.

>>18478143
Muffling of the microphone, I guess.

>>18478165
okay

if it's a fanfic, not bad but i have a weird feeling I've read this before.

if it's true there isn't anything we can really say or do about it until you get the tape and even then it'll most likely being a spoopy mystery.

>Possibly crucial evidence of a crime?
Just destroy it because its too scary.

I'm really hoping this isn't real and that OP wasn't raised by a complete fucking moron.

CIA hit on a numbers station operator.

Or more shitty roleplaying.