Because of the dark nature of this story and mentions of suicide, listener discretion is strongly advised.

The year was 1932 and in the heart of Budapest, a struggling songwriter named Riju Seres sat at his small piano,

his fingers tracing sorrowful notes across the keys.

The world around him was unraveling. Hungary, back then, like much of Europe, was still recovering

from the Great Depression. Jobs were rare and hope was even rarer. The air was thick with

the sense of inevitable despair.

Regius H.R.S., once a circus performer, had turned to composing music, hoping to find

success in a field that, so far, had mostly ignored him.

His melodies, though beautiful, had failed to capture the attention of music publishers,

and yet on this particular Sunday

afternoon, as rain tapped against the window pane, he felt something different in the air.

The tune he played was unlike anything he had composed before. It was haunting, slow, dripping

with melancholy. It wasn't a song meant to be danced to or even sung with joy. It was a song meant to be danced to or even sung with joy.

It was a kind of melody that clung to the soul, weaving itself into the dark corners of the mind.

He called it Vizhabilaknak. The world is ending.

And thus began one of the most haunting tales of music I have ever heard. The world is ending.

And thus began one of the most haunting tales of music I have ever heard, a song that was

considered too dark because it would lead to people ending their own lives.

And in this episode I will cover the history behind the song, as well as the urban legends

involved.

For those curious to know what it sounds like,

still until the end. My name is Edwin, and here's a horror story.

...