Jennifer Giardini -

The woman on the tape—the other Jennifer Giardini—explained that she’d been a junior researcher too, at this very station, fifty years ago. She’d been investigating a strange series of events in a small Oregon coastal town called Nighthollow: fishermen reporting compasses spinning backward, children humming melodies no one had taught them, and a single oak tree that seemed to grow in reverse, shedding leaves in spring and blooming in autumn.

“I never finished the story,” the tape confessed. “I got scared. And I left the tape here, hoping someone braver would find it. Someone with my name, so I’d know it was meant for them.” jennifer giardini

“Testing. One, two. This is Jennifer Giardini. No relation to the person finding this, I hope. If I’ve done my math right, you’re about thirty years younger than me. And you have my name.” “I got scared

Jen sat down in the dark, the tide beginning to whisper behind her, and pressed play. One, two