Welcome to hell fidelity.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. I'm The The

The The

The We're going to be. We're going to be. And Well, hello, my satanic citizen.

What brings you into the peccarist humble hellhole today? I can tell your mind

seems eager to gobble up any entertainment. You can get your grubby little hands on. And here

at hell fidelity, we aim to please. As you can see, the walls of my star are filled with artifacts from a bygone error.

I like to think of myself as a hectorian.

Contained within each of these cassettes are stories not meant for the ears of mere mortals.

The good news is,

You're dead.

Well, let me fire up the old Hackintosh

and see what we have in stop for you today.

Hmm. Encyclopedia satanica.

Exorcisms and alchemy.

Demonology and incantations. Mesopotamian serial killers, night terrors and necromancy,

Alantian and Eldritch, ooh, here's a teeth chattering treasure that would said HP Lovecraft, six feet below sea level.

Everyone knows that curiosity killed the cat. So today, I have a terrifying cassette tape pulled straight from the Stygian abyss.

It's about a boy who explored the beaten path and lets his inquisitiveness eat him alive.

A little tale I like to call between trees.

The city sat on the cusp of spring, gray monoliths against a grayer sky, but the boy was beyond it.

He could ride his bike after all.

...