You should press play. 

You really should. 

---

About a year ago today, walking into my small expensive London apartment, I walked over a couple of letters that had come through the letter hole on my door. If you’ve ever lived in London, you know that after work and after a long day of it, it is usually followed by a stint in the pub for a quick pint with colleagues. After that, you stumble home either with some kebab or with a broad to avoid spending the night alone. 

I had the former with me. I passed the mail, stopping only to pick them off the floor and deposit them on the growing pile already visible on my living room table. Sitting down, I went through the mails briefly, sorting them out into the important ones, which is usually some bill or some shit, and the ‘non-important’. 

One of the latter caught my eye simply because of the phrase written on the brown, square-shaped envelope. 

You Should Press Play.

A small giggle escaped me as I shook the letter. I could feel a CD, or something of the sort, in the envelope before dropping it down with the non-important stuff. I figured I could watch it over the weekend when I’m in one of my drunken stints. 

I finished the kebab and dragged myself to bed at 1 AM, in an attempt to get in some much-needed sleep before I repeated the work cycle. 

It was two days after the first mail when I got another staring back at me as I held it in my hand. I was soberer now, though distracted by the blonde lady in the room. I had been trying to get Katie to go out with me for a date for weeks and I had finally gotten lucky. We worked in the same insurance company by Bishopsgate and hung out in the same circle. 

I had a mad crush on her so when she decided to have dinner with me, it more or less made my day. We ate in a nice place by London Bridge, after which I offered to walk her home and she offered to walk me home. I took the hint and let her do the honours. Nonetheless, as we spoke and as she danced in the absence of music, the letter’s new phrase made me frown for a brief moment. 

You Really Should Press Play

My fingers were about to tear open the letter when I glanced up to see Katie staring back at me quizzically in her undies. I quickly discarded the letter and the thought of it after. Katie was in front of me, willingly and I wasn’t going to waste the chance, you know. 

The sex we had is something I’m never going to forget, especially as it led to a relationship. Started the day single and ended it in something I had been dreaming of since I laid my eyes on her. For career reasons, we kept the relationship on the low, both of us not wanting to cause an uproar in the office. Plus, I was generally the quiet, no-drama guy. I didn’t want it getting out yet. 

If possible, never.

That weekend, as I made what I took to be the first of many date plans, I heard a knock on my door and I went to see who it was. The postman stared at me with a smooth face before shoving a box at me and a form to sign my name on. 

“I didn’t order anything…” I said. 

“Maybe someone wanted to surprise you. Please sign here, sir,” the postman said and I obliged with a nod and an awkward smile. 

I closed the door and took the box back to my living room, picking up a box cutter on my way. Placing the box on the pile of forgotten letters, I carefully cut through the ribbons and tape securing the box. 

As I lifted the cardboard flaps of the box, I was greeted by white-coloured styrofoam with another phrase, written in black bold marker pens, in the manner of the letters I had received the days before. 

Dearest Will, 

As you have not pressed play, I have sent you an incentive to do so. You should really press play. 

As my eyes linger on the last word, I could feel a heaviness in my room. Something I have never felt before in my apartment. With shaky hands, I slowly lifted the layer of styrofoam out of the way to see what was underneath it. 

It took a moment for my mind to register what I was looking at. And when it did, I recoiled so violently that I hit the box and spilled both the contents and the numerous letters to the floor. Bile filled my throat and I felt like retching. Actually, I did retch and eventually threw up in my bathroom sink as I tried to unsee the contents of the box. 

Whoever sent me the box had sent me the following;

Three CDs with a coloured engraving of the youtube play button and 3 transparent glass cases.

Two of the three glass cases held a pair of pale, ears. There were signs of blood along the cut and around the ears itself. I took them to be human because, you know… it looked human. In the last case, was a tongue. A human tongue. The colours of the parts were deathly pale with a tinge of blue on the tongue. And like the ears, the tongue had some blood over it too. 

I remained rooted in my spot, looking at the box on the floor and the glass cases around my living room. 

Having watched my share of horror movies, I did the first rational thing to come into my mind. I called the cops and told them there was an emergency. 

Apparently, unaware of the rules of the game I was now playing, that was a bad move. 

--- 

The interrogation room at the police station was cold. Colder than how the office got whenever a cleaner decided to keep the rooms cool as they worked through the night and early mornings. The room felt colder still because I couldn’t quite shake what I had seen in the box. 

The man in front of me, a detective by the name of Richard Wells, kept asking me the same questions over and over again. Who was I? Where did I work? What did I do in my free time? They took my DNA, took all my details. 

“We only want to know the truth,” he said a few times as he stood before me, leaning across the table. 

“I am telling you the truth. A postman said that maybe someone was trying to surprise me,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

“You have to give us something more… Did you know the postman?” he asked. 

“Why would I know the postman?” 

“You said he had a smile when he gave you the package. Perhaps, it was a prank gone wrong.”

“I said he had a smooth face. Neutral. Bloody postman didn’t have any fucking expression. He just looked average. Like… Like, he was just doing his job!” I replied, frustrated.

Detective ‘Dick’ looked at me before sighing and walking towards the door, apparently frustrated with my lack of cooperation. I wasn’t holding anything back. And yet, I was the prime suspect in the situation. I mean, I understand. But, I don’t understand. Why would I commit or be knowledgeable about something like this, to then call the police?

I remained in the chair, thinking of why. Or, who. Maybe I hurt someone. Maybe… maybe it was all fake and someone really was pranking me. The ears would have to be prosthetics. Or, fucking movie props. Or, something. I had just about convinced myself when the door opened and a TV was wheeled into the interrogation room by the detective. 

Atop the TV was a CD player and the three CDs from the box. He had a grim look on his face and there was a folder of sorts in his hand. Probably more information on me. I wondered if they went through my history because of this issue. I mean, apart from a few driving issues in the past, I was largely clean. 

Largely. 

The detective set the TV in front of me, moving the other chair to my side. Static came on the TV as he plugged it into a power outlet. He opened one of the CDs and popped it into the player before taking the seat next to me. The TV flickered as it flipped to the channel the CD player was set up on. A blue screen appeared. 

“Have you watched the CDs?” he asked. 

“Not yet. I called as soon as I saw the ears and tongue. Christ, why the fuck would I watch anything after that?”

“It’s alright. I think you need to see this in any case,” he said solemnly and pressed play on the remote. 

The screen flickered again and the blue screen was replaced with a black one. Silence stretched out for a while. As I turned to face the detective, the screen seemed to lighten and I could see what was in the scene a lot better. 

It looked like an empty room with a single steel chair placed in the middle of the room. The room was small but bare. Concrete walls marked the back of the room, with small windows placed to the top, just before the wall met the ceiling. There was a single light in the middle of the room, shining solely on the chair underneath it. 

The scene remained like that for a few minutes before I could hear some scuffling in the background. It sounded like something was happening out of shot of the camera but soon enough, someone moved across the camera blocking the view of the chair. 

The person seemed to be carrying or dragging someone else towards the chair. The main person looked big, like… not fat, but built. From their back, I could see that they had a white shirt on, with blue faded jeans. They glanced back towards the camera and I could see that they were wearing a face mask, in the design of a Japanese oni. I only recognise it from my early years of watching anime.

Just in front of them, on the chair, was a noticeably female figure. She too was wearing a mask in the design of a cat. She had blonde hair sticking out from behind her and she seemed to sag against the chair. The oni-masked figure tied her legs and hands to the chair before moving to stand behind her. 

It was then the camera zoomed in. 

The oni-masked figure spoke first and I heard a deep male voice, though it was muffled by the mask. 

“Say it,” he said. 

The woman’s shoulders shook and I could tell she was crying. She faced the camera intently though and spoke, her voice much clearer than the man behind her. 

“Thank you for pressing play, Will.”

Before she was done talking, I was already on my feet, retreating away from the TV. I knew that voice. I knew that voice far too well. It was a voice that I hadn’t heard in years. 

It was my mother’s voice.