MINISERIES: "PEOPLE ARE STRANGE" EPISODE 5: "THE FINAL RECORDING"

DISCLAIMER:

"THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL EVENTS OR PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL."

(The sterile flicker of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold, clinical glow over the small interrogation room. The air was oppressive, sharp with the tang of bleach, but underneath it was a smell Sarah couldn't ignore: the faint, metallic scent of blood. Her breath hitched every time she caught a whiff. The smell brought the nightmares back in full force.

Sarah Townsend sat slumped in a metal chair, her bloodied wedding dress hanging from her body like a shroud. The once pristine white fabric was a grotesque canvas of dirt, grime, and dark, dried blood. Her shaking hands twitched as they rested on the cold, metal table before her. She couldn't control the tremors anymore, no matter how hard she tried to focus or how much she squeezed her fists, knuckles turning white under the pressure.

Across from her sat Detective Vinston Marshall, his back rigid, his face a mask of professional detachment. But there was something in his eyes, something dark and suspicious as he flipped through a thick manila folder, scanning reports, photographs, and crime scene details. His fingers traced the edges of the papers, but his attention kept drifting back to Sarah, to the way her hands trembled, to the way she stared ahead, hollow-eyed, as if she were still trapped in the nightmare that had unfolded at her wedding.)

The question had been gnawing at him for hours, festering inside his mind, pushing him to ask even though he wasn't sure he was ready to hear the answer. His voice was calm but laced with an undercurrent of tension when he spoke. "Sarah, you need to tell us what happened. What made you turn violent at your own wedding?"

His words cut through the silence like a knife, but Sarah didn't react immediately. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each a struggle as if drawing air into her lungs was too much effort. Her eyes remained vacant, staring into the middle distance, lost somewhere between the present and the horrific memories that plagued her.

"It wasn't me," she finally whispered. Her voice was raw, hoarse. Like it had been scraped out of her throat against her will. "I didn't do it."

Marshall leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "If it wasn't you, then who?"

Her fingers tightened on the table's edge, nails digging into the cold metal as if trying to anchor herself to something real, something solid. "They weren't people anymore," she muttered, her voice trembling. "Not even Tom... my husband. Everything changed when the music started... when ‘People Are Strange’ began to play. The faces... their faces twisted. They weren't human anymore."

Marshall's pen hovered over the notepad in front of him. He had heard strange defenses in his career, but this was different. Sarah's words were intense, a genuine fear that made his skin prickle. "What do you mean they weren't human?"

She looked up at him for the first time since the questioning began, her wide eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red from lack of sleep. "I mean exactly that," she said, her voice barely more than a breath. "Their eyes... their faces. They changed. They were monsters. And the song wasn't just playing, Detective. It was whispering to me. It told me to protect myself."

As soon as she said "whispering," Marshall felt a chill crawl up his spine. He wasn't one to believe in the supernatural; his career had been built on facts and evidence, but the way she spoke and the raw terror in her voice made him pause. His grip on the pen tightened, and he glanced down at the folder, skimming over the details again: the blood-soaked wedding, the bodies, the chaos.

"Sarah," he said quietly, carefully choosing his next words, "do you know someone named Emily?"

The change in Sarah was immediate. Her entire body stiffened, her breath caught in her throat, and she froze as though the name was a physical blow. Slowly, she blinked, her gaze shifting toward Marshall, but the look in her eyes was far away, lost somewhere deep in her mind. "Emily," she repeated, her voice barely audible. "She was my best friend."

Marshall flipped another photograph across the table. It was an old picture of Emily, smiling, alive, her eyes bright with life. The sight of it seemed to unravel Sarah even more. She recoiled slightly, her breath quickening as the memories flooded back. Memories she had spent years trying to forget, to bury deep where they couldn't reach her.

"She didn't make it, did she?" Marshall pressed. "What happened to her?"

Sarah swallowed hard, her throat constricting painfully as she tried to speak. "I ran," she whispered. "The night Emily died... I ran. I should have saved her, but I couldn't. I didn't."

Her voice cracked, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like a heavy stone. Emily's death had haunted her ever since, and now it had come back, dragging everything with it. The music. The faces. The whispers.

"You believe Emily's death is connected to what happened at your wedding, don't you?" Marshall asked, his voice more insistent now.

Sarah nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with tears. "It's the song," she said, her voice trembling. "It's always been the song."

Marshall leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face as he absorbed her words. This was beyond any case he'd ever handled. He felt the unease growing in his chest, the creeping sensation that something far darker was at play here. And if what Sarah said was true, they were just scratching the surface.

"Jared's been looking into this," he said after a long pause. "He's Emily's brother. He believes the song is more than just music. He thinks there's a connection between the outbreaks of violence, Emily's death, and what happened at your wedding."

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. "Jared?" she whispered, her voice barely a thread. "He's still looking for answers?"

Marshall nodded. "He's on his way here now."

The room felt colder, the air heavier as Sarah slumped further in her chair. She had spent years running from the memories, from the terror that had followed her since that night with Emily. And now it was all catching up with her. The song was everywhere, and no matter how far she ran or how hard she tried to escape, it found her. It always found her.

****

The psychiatric facility where Jared was heading had a way of amplifying silence. Every footstep echoed unnervingly, bouncing off the too-clean walls, reverberating back with a mocking resonance. Jared's heart was beating faster than it should have been, and the pulse in his temples constantly reminded him how long he had been awake and how many nights he had spent up late listening to the song. The cursed melody of "People Are Strange" played in his mind like a record stuck on repeat, never letting him escape or rest.

He wiped a hand over his face, his fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw, his eyes bloodshot and stinging from exhaustion. Jared's whole life had changed the night Emily died. Her death hadn't been an accident. He knew that now. It had taken years of research, digging through obscure records, strange occurrences, and urban legends that never quite made it to the surface. But the pieces had finally come together. It was too late, but they were there.

And now Sarah Townsend was caught in the same nightmare.

She was sitting in a small, dark room at the end of the corridor, her frail body hunched over a sizable window with rain streaks. Outside, the storm raged, lightning flashing through the sky in jagged bursts, but Sarah didn't notice. Her fingers twitched nervously against the windowsill, and Jared saw how her breath came in quick, shallow gasps and how her body trembled as though she were holding on to her sanity by a thread.

"Sarah," Jared said quietly, his voice barely cutting through the thick, stifling air.

She didn't respond at first, lost in her own world, but after a long moment, she turned slightly, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide with fear. This haunted figure stood in for Sarah, whom he had known, at least through Emily's stories.

"I think you knew my sister," Jared said, his throat tightening. "Emily."

At the mention of Emily's name, Sarah's body tensed visibly, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed her hands to her face, a sob escaping her lips, her whole body shaking with the weight of her guilt. "I was there," she whispered. "I was there when she died. I ran. I didn't stop running for years."

Jared's chest ached, the pain of Emily's death still fresh, even after all this time. He had spent so long searching for answers, and now, here he was, face to face with someone who might finally help him put the pieces together.

"The curse that killed Emily," Jared said softly, "is spreading. It's not just the music anymore. It's everywhere online, in the air. It's growing. I need your help to stop it."

Sarah's breath hitched again, and her hands shook violently in her lap. "It can't be stopped," she muttered, her voice cracking. "It gets inside you... makes you see things that aren't real. People change. Faces change. They're not humans anymore. I thought I was losing my mind."

Jared's heart sank. He had seen it too, the faces shifting, the paranoia creeping in. It wasn't just Sarah. He had felt the same thing, heard the whispers, and seen the way reality bent and twisted around the cursed song. But he couldn't let it win, not after everything. "You're not alone," he said quietly, leaning closer to her. "We can fight this. But I need you to trust me. For Emily. We have to end this."

Sarah's gaze flickered, her eyes meeting his briefly before they darted away again. She wanted to believe him; he could see it, but the fear had wrapped itself around her too tightly. She was suffocating under its weight.

The lights overhead flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Jared's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the room seemed to shift, the walls closing in, the air growing colder and more oppressive.

Suddenly, a dark shape began to form in the far corner of the room. At first, it was just a smudge, barely visible, but then it started to take shape, flickering like a broken image on a screen. Jared blinked, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the shadow grow, its form becoming more defined with each passing second.

And then he saw her.

Emily.

Her ghostly figure hovered in the corner, her eyes wide, filled with sorrow and fear. She looked fragile. She was caught between two worlds, her body translucent, flickering in and out of existence. Her eyes locked on Jared, then shifted to Sarah, and for a moment, the air was suffocating, thick with a presence neither of them could understand.

"Emily," Jared whispered, his voice breaking as he stepped toward her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I couldn't stop it."

Emily's eyes were filled with regret, and though she didn't speak, her expression told him everything. The curse wasn't just infecting the living; it had also claimed the souls of the dead.

Sarah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Emily," she choked out, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry… I ran… I didn't save you."

Emily's ghost flickered once more, her sorrow palpable, before her form faded, dissolving into the air like she had never been there. But the weight of her presence lingered, suffocating, pressing down on them both with a terrible finality.

Outside, the storm raged as Jared and Sarah stood before the old recording studio, their clothes soaked, their breath coming in ragged gasps. The building loomed before them like a tomb, its broken windows glistening under the rain, staring down at them with the hollow eyes of something long dead.

"We have to destroy the tape," Jared said, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at him. "This is where it all began."

They entered the studio, the air inside thick with decay and the stench of something long forgotten. The cursed demo tape sat on the soundboard, pulsing with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. The cursed melody of "People Are Strange" hummed in the air, growing louder as they approached, warping the space around them.

Jared pulled out a lighter, his hand trembling as he held the flame to the tape. The moment the plastic began to melt, the air around them warped violently, the walls twisting and bending as reality seemed to fracture. The cursed melody grew louder, warping into something grotesque, a high-pitched wail that clawed at their minds.

Suddenly, Jim Morrison's ghost appeared, his form flickering in and out of existence, his face contorted in pain. "I didn't mean for any of this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to find something real."

Jared's heart raced as the tape crumbled to ash in his hands, but even as the cursed object disintegrated, the song lingered in the air, the curse still alive. Jared's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Dread filled him as he saw the notifications flooding. All the tweets, shares, and likes, each one spreading the cursed song further.

The digital version of "People Are Strange" had gone viral. The curse had escaped, infecting the digital world, where it could spread infinitely beyond their reach. Sarah's voice trembled as she looked at him, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. "What do we do now?" she whispered, her voice small and fragile.

Jared stared at his phone, his heart sinking as the cursed melody drifted through the air. His voice was hollow as he responded, the weight of their failure crushing him. "We can't stop it."

(As the camera pulled back, revealing the city below, the faint glow of countless screens lit up the night, the cursed song spreading further with every click and every listen. The curse had taken root, and there was no turning back.)

End of Episode 5.