The elevator slowly ascended, its faint hum blending with the tension hanging in the air, as Andrew, an experienced cameraman for one of the country's top news stations, adjusted the camera on his shoulder, preparing for the task ahead. His mind was filled with millions of doubts, and he couldn't avoid but feel the weight of that situation. He looked through the viewfinder of his camera, trying to find the focus point, but something caught his eye. The frown on his face was reflected in the polished steel doors that still retained an eighties design.

"Hey, are you okay? You look stressed," the voice of Diana, his fellow reporter, brought him out of his trance. She was gesturing with her hands, trying to capture his attention.

Andrew blinked, trying to clear his mind. "Huh? ... yeah, I'm fine..." he replied, but his voice betrayed his unease. "It's just... I don't know if we're doing the right thing, Diana." He paused, his fingers gripping the edge of the camera tightly. "Is it appropriate to bother a widow who just lost her son? It's only been a week. Maybe we should just... leave her be. She's already been through hell."

Diana watched him for a moment, weighing his words and gave a small, reassuring smile, attempting to steer the conversation to safer ground. "I know, Andrew. It's tough. But sometimes talking can be the best way to heal. Maybe we'll help her more than we think." But even she knew her response was hollow, a justification that didn't fully convince her own conscience.

The conversation faded into an uncomfortable silence as the elevator continued its ascent, each illuminated number bringing them closer to the inevitable...

When they reached the seventh floor, the elevator doors opened with a soft 'ding'. Diana leaped out quickly, as if trying to shake off the unease that clung to her. "Let's get a shot of the deceased's apartment door before Mrs. Collins answers," she instructed, her voice firmer now that she had a clear task.

Andrew brought the camera into focus and began to film: a white door, aged and yellowed with time, with a small, rusted plaque bearing the number '7B'. There was something menacing in that, the years seemed to have worked their magic on the wood, instilling it with a sense of weight and sorrow. Diana pressed the doorbell and stepped back while she waited for an answer that never materialized. She knocked again, this time with her knuckles.

"Hello? Is anyone home? Mrs. Collins, we're from Channel 13. We'd like to ask you a few questions, please open the door!" The door creaked open slowly, revealing an elderly woman. Her eyes, tired and full of pain, met Diana's. "Please, go away... leave me alone" Mrs. Collins whispered, her voice cracking as she prepared to close the door again.

Diana, using the persuasive charm that had made her stand out in her career, softened her tone. "We understand this is difficult, Mrs. Collins. But perhaps talking about it will help you unburden yourself. Just a few questions, and then we'll leave you in peace, okay?" The old woman looked at them in silence, her gaze shifting between the two as if weighing their intentions. Finally, she let out a small sigh and opened the door fully. "Alright... come in but keep it quiet."

The inside of the apartment had told a whole different story from the outside of the building. Mrs. Collins's apartment was small and snug, but there seemed to be heaviness in the air inside; painful memories that it had endured seemed soaked right into the walls. Andrew took a deep breath; the smell of dampness and dust filling his lungs, evoking the atmosphere of an old house that had seen better days.

"Can I offer you something? Tea, coffee?" Mrs. Collins asked, her voice barely above a whisper in the stillness of the place. Andrew declined with a slight shake of his head, but Diana, ever the polite one, accepted. "A little coffee would be nice, thank you."

While the woman went to the kitchen, Diana promptly took advantage of her absence and began to curiously explore the apartment in search of something that could give context to the story. Framed diplomas were hanging on the wall, well-organized art books stood on a shelf, hand-painted landscapes. The coffee table was full of family photos, there was a great collection of CDs standing in a rack nearby, and the TV playing a nature documentary. The background noise contributing to the strange atmosphere.

Andrew noticed a newspaper on a side table, and its headline caught his eye: 'He jumped from a fourth floor in broad daylight'. Diana glanced over his shoulder, sighing in lament.

"Poor boy... Joshua didn't deserve to die like that. Why do you think he did it?"

Andrew frowned, whispering as he analyzed the headline. "No idea... and the police have not found any reason why he committed suicide, so-"

The soft footsteps of Mrs. Collins became audible as she approached with the cup of coffee. "Hurry, she's coming! Act natural..." Diana whispered, putting quickly the newspaper back in its place and sat down on the sofa, trying to act natural.

Mrs. Collins returned with a steaming cup of coffee, which she handed to Diana before settling into an old rocking chair that creaked under her weight. "So, what brings you here?" Mrs. Collins asked with her eyes fixed on Diana with a mix of distrust and resignation.

Diana took a sip of the coffee, pretending to be more at ease than she felt. "We'd like to do a brief interview, if that's alright with you. We want to know more about your son, Joshua Collins, and what he was doing before... well, you know..." she left the sentence hanging, not wanting to push too hard.

Mrs. Collins stared at the floor for a few moments, then looked up at Andrew and his camera. "I suppose if there's no other choice... there's nothing to lose by trying."

Andrew adjusted the camera and began recording, the lens focusing on the tired face of the elderly woman. Diana leaned in slightly, her tone gentler now. "Mrs. Collins, we know this is difficult, but we want to help tell Joshua's story. Could you tell us a little about him? Tell us a little about Joshua's life, his studies, how he was in the days leading up to his... passing?"

The old woman sighed deeply, her eyes filling with a sorrow too deep to measure. "Joshua... he was a good boy. Always was. He had such a talent for acting, you know? I was so proud when he got that role in the animated series. 'Captain Nova's Cosmic Adventures', they called it. He was very excited when he was chosen to replace Alexander Finch as the voice actor in the animated series. It was his big break."

Diana nodded, encouraging her to continue. "How did Joshua feel about being chosen? How was that experience for him?"

"At first, he was nervous," Mrs. Collins continued. "Alexander Finch's voice was iconic, and the change was difficult for fans. He received a lot of criticism initially, but Joshua worked hard, and over time, people began to accept his voice. They even started to like the character more. The series became very popular throughout the eastern part of the country."

"But was there any change in him in the last few days? Anything out of the ordinary?" Diana asked, trying to steer the conversation towards the mysterious last episode.

Mrs. Collins nodded slowly, her gaze distant, as if reliving the pain. "Joshua started acting strangely... like something was bothering him. He said he heard things, voices through the headphones when he recorded his voice for the show. At first, I thought it was just stress, but then... one night, he told me something was wrong with the episode they were working on."

"What kind of problem?" Diana asked, intrigued

Mrs. Collins hesitated, her hands trembling slightly over the cup of coffee. "Everything changed after that episode" she whispered, as if saying it aloud caused her pain. "Joshua wasn't well after that. That... thing that appeared on the screen, that emaciated figure... it wasn't part of the show. The people who saw the episode started hallucinating, some having insomnia, nightmares or sleep paralysis."

Intrigued, Andrew leaned in a little closer "And Joshua? How did it affect him?"

"He was terrified" Mrs. Collins said, her voice breaking with anguish. "He said that thing... that creature... was haunting his dreams, that he couldn't escape it. He tried to talk to his superiors, but they didn't take him seriously. They said it was sabotage in the animation, but he knew that something else was wrong. So, he took his camera and recorded as much of the episode as he could, but..."

Diana tried to hide the chill that ran down her spine. "I understand... Can we see the recording he made?"

Mrs. Collins looked at her intently, her eyes filled with deep pain. "No... I don't want you to see it. I don't want you to end up like him!" The old woman rose slowly, as if her body could no longer bear the weight of her memories. "I'm going out... I need some fresh air. You're... you're welcome to stay if you want."

Andrew and Diana remained in the living room, watching Mrs. Collins as she left the apartment. Diana let out a long sigh, her mind still processing everything they had just heard.

Andrew leaned forward, running a hand through his hair. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain. His mind was swimming with doubts, fear gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. "We can't do much more without that video... right?"

Diana turned to face him; her eyes sharp with resolve. "That's why we must get it, Andrew."

Andrew's brow furrowed in confusion. "W-What?! Why would we-"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down," Diana hissed, glancing nervously toward the door. "She'll hear us. Look, we can't show up at the news station with some clichéd ghost story and expect anyone to believe us. We need proof. And that video? That's our proof."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Andrew's mouth opened in protest, but the words got caught in his throat. "You... you want to steal it?" His voice trembled with disbelief. "Diana, we can't just go through her stuff..."

"Andrew, listen to me," she cut him off, her voice firm but not unkind. "I know it's risky. But do you really think anyone will take us seriously without evidence? If we don't find that video, we're just two more idiots chasing shadows. Trust me... I know what I'm doing."

He stared at her, torn between his principles and the adrenaline building in his chest. He had always been the cautious one, the moral compass in situations like these. But now, seeing the determination in Diana's eyes, his curiosity began to outweigh his sense of right and wrong.

After a moment of hesitation, Andrew sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright... but this is crazy..."

"Just distract her," Diana urged, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I won't be long."

With one last nervous glance toward the door, Andrew nodded and rose to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest as he headed toward the hallway, mentally rehearsing some kind of distraction to keep Mrs. Collins occupied.

The moment he was out of sight, Diana sprang into action, moving quickly, yet with great caution. Her footsteps light, she approached the bookshelf, her fingers brushing the spines of dusty novels as she looked for anything odd. She tugged several books halfway out, angling them to see if anything was obscured behind their covers. Nothing caught her eye. The pulse in her wrist quickened with every second that ticked by.

She hunched over to a small wooden cabinet on the far corner, her fingers quivering as she silently pulled open the first drawer. Papers, old receipts, letters, and stacks of notebooks were neatly done inside, but no camera. Diana flipped through them fast, biting her lip in frustration. She shut the drawer carefully and moved on to the next one.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Andrew's voice down the hallway, nervously trying to keep Mrs. Collins engaged in conversation. She had no idea how much time she had before the woman would return, but she knew it wasn't much.

The second drawer creaked as she opened it, revealing a jumble of miscellaneous items: keys, a sewing kit, a few loose photographs. Diana's heart sank. Still nothing. She could feel the anxiety creeping in, the cold sweat forming on her brow.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something: just a glimpse of metal behind the row of neatly stacked books on the bottom shelf. Diana's heart leapt. She quickly but carefully pulled out the books, her fingers brushing against the cold surface of what she hoped was the camera. It was a small, memory card, tucked away as if forgotten.

Meanwhile, Andrew found Mrs. Collins sitting on one of the steps of the stairs, smoking quietly.

"Is everything alright, Mrs. Collins?" Andrew asked, trying to sound compassionate.

The elderly woman looked at him, her eyes full of sadness. "It's hard... living alone, with all these memories. I miss them so much. And to top it off, I'll have to move in a few weeks to my brother's house. I don't have enough money to pay the rent. What little I had went to my son's burial."

Andrew felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm so sorry. It's a tough situation, but maybe... maybe things will get better with time... never lose hope."

"I hope so, because it hurts so... so much." the woman said as she ran her hands over her face trying to cover her tears.

Before he could continue, Diana appeared in the doorway. "Mrs. Collins, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we must leave shortly. Thank you for your cooperation!"

Andrew stood up along with the woman, nodding. "Yes... we're very grateful."

"You're welcome," Mrs. Collins responded as she said goodbye to the two of them.

As they descended in the elevator, Andrew couldn't help but ask. "Did you get it? Did you get what you wanted?"

Diana flashed a satisfied smile, pulling the memory card from her pocket. "What do you think?"

Andrew looked at her in amazement and let out a shaky breath of relief but still couldn't shake the gnawing guilt in his stomach. "Let's just hope it was worth it. Do you think everything the woman said is true? You know... about the show and all that..."

Diana sighed, slipping the card back into her pocket. "What do you mean? Evil spirits taking over a cartoon? It's hard to believe... but let's see what happens... I have seen in an internet article that in recent weeks psychologists' offices are full, and suicide rates have increased on this side of the country... maybe these cases are connected in some way."

As Diana spoke, Andrew's mind was racing with the suffering woman, and he felt sorry, guilty. This was because he had stolen from a poor old lady just to save his job, which left him with a bad taste in his mouth. However, he was brought out of his trance by the ringing of the elevator upon reaching the base floor as the doors opened to let the other residents in as they exited. Walking towards the van, both were lost in reflective silence.

"So, what now?" Andrew asked as they climbed into the van.

"All that's left is to see what's really on that tape," Diana replied, her thoughts already focused on what might be discovered when they reviewed the mysterious video.

The van pulled away, taking them back to the studio, where what they had experienced during that visit would become the centerpiece of a story they would never forget.

As he drove, Andrew glanced briefly at his companion, who was leaning on his arm as she looked out the window. His gaze was lost in the things that were coming and going.

Andrew trying to break the ice between the two said: "So... what do you plan to do with the video next?"

"Umm... well, I'm not sure... I guess I'll send it to be edited." Diana answered with an excited tone, but deep down, she was afraid that what Mrs. Collins said was true.

"I mean what do you think is going to happen when all this comes out when we get to the news station?"

"I don't know, Andrew... I guess we'll have to-"

"What if this video has some kind of effect on people? I'm not implying that Mrs. Collins's tale is true, but we can't take the risk..."

"Ugh! ... okay, I'll watch the recording first... alone, if that makes you feel better. If something happens, if something goes wrong, which it won't.... it's better to lose one than thousands. Happy?"

At that moment Andrew was left with the words on the tip of his tongue when Diana turned towards the window. Andrew wanted to continue the conversation, but between tiredness and the need to pay attention to the road, he decided to cut the conversation short. The silence was filled by the music of the radio, as the evening light streamed through the van's tinted windows. The pair of journalists headed towards an uncertain future, with a mystery in their hands that was about to be revealed if it was true or not.

Upon arrival, Andrew parked the van near the fountain that graced the entrance to the building. After removing all the equipment and materials from the van, the couple made their way to a large, well-appointed reception area, with little activity at the moment. However, the sparkling windows, well-polished floor, and the echo of voices that still lingered greeted them once again. Diana and Andrew quickly made their way to the press room, the place where they would organize the information they had gathered and work on writing their article.

After polishing and organizing all the data, Diana gathered her belongings and got up from her desk, walking between the rows of workstations until she reached Andrew's. "I'm leaving early to do what we agreed on. If Shawn asks, tell him not to worry about the video. I'll edit it and email it to him as soon as possible." Diana said as she walked away.

"Wait! Are you sure you're going to watch it alone?" Andrew asked before she left "We can watch it together if you want..."

Diana gave Andrew a mocking look before answering "I can do it alone, you know?... I'll be fine, you'll see that nothing will happen."

Diana left Andrew at his desk while the door closed behind Diana's back, he tried to convince himself that everything would be fine, but he couldn't stop thinking of the worst.

Diana reached what she called home with great reluctance and rested heavily against the door, closing her eyes for a second. She had survived another grueling day, an accomplishment in itself. Information from people, at times, seemed to be drawn out like their teeth; how was it so difficult to have someone open up? The truth was always buried beneath many layers of fear or guilt.

She took a deep breath as her eyes scanned the cluttered space of her small apartment. Papers lay everywhere, old takeout containers, half-finished notebooks-the floor seemed to be a mess. The mess didn't faze her; she dropped her keys, bag, and files on the cramped table by the entrance. Cleaning up was not something that bothered her. Tonight, there wasn't time for that, and truthfully, not even the will to do so.

She peeled off her work clothes, slipping into a soft, comfortable, faded hoodie and sweatpants, and walked into the kitchen. With a soft sigh, she let her laptop drop onto the counter, perching herself on one of the high stools, folding her legs underneath her. Her fingers moved almost mechanically to insert the memory card into the laptop as her mind prepared itself for another long night. She slipped on her headphones and dove into work.

Folders opened one by one: photos, videos, data... all mundane so far. Until her fingers paused. A particular video thumbnail caught her eye, and for a moment, she hesitated. Against her better judgment, she clicked on it. The screen flickered to life with the image of Joshua, his wide grin lighting up the room as his mother sang him "Happy Birthday!" He was just a kid, blowing out the candles on a homemade cake. The scene was almost too perfect, a snapshot of a life that seemed so normal, so... happy.

Joshua used to be happy. What changed? Why had he thrown it all away? Why had he destroyed everything?

Diana felt a lump in her throat, and before she could stop herself, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, smudging the tears that threatened to fall. She had ripped open old wounds for Joshua's mother, Mrs. Collins, had probably taken the last piece of solace the woman had left her memories of her son. And for what? For a case? For justice?

Her heart clenched in guilt, but she forced herself to keep going. She had a job to do. With trembling hands, Diana scrolled past the happy moment frozen in time and continued her search. Finally, she found the folder she had been looking for. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"At least you'll get the justice you deserve, Joshua," she whispered under her breath, as if speaking to him would somehow absolve her of the guilt.

Everything was going smoothly until it wasn't. Her eyes locked onto the screen, and her pulse quickened as she watched the footage unfold. There was something there, something Mrs. Collins had described, but it couldn't be real. She replayed the moment. Again. Then again. The video showed what should've been impossible. "W-What...the fuck?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "This can't be real. It must be faked."

She watched, her hands shaking, as the creature materialized in the video, just as Mrs. Collins had said. At first, it seemed like a glitch, a distortion, but then it moved. And it spoke. The voice that came through her headphones was overwhelming, an amalgamation of voices, layered and distorted, all speaking in unison. It rattled her skull, a deep, resonant noise that felt like it was drilling straight into her brain.

"Stop!" Diana cried, yanking the headphones off and shoving the laptop to the edge of the counter. Her heart pounded in her chest as the sound echoed in her mind, refusing to fade even after the headphones were discarded. She stood there, frozen, trying to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, her mind racing. What had she just witnessed? And how was it possible? How could something created by humans, just video footage, affect people like this? How could it feel so... real?

The rational part of her mind screamed that it was fake, a hoax, some sort of digital trickery. But deep down, she knew it wasn't. Her gut twisted with the certainty that this was something far worse. She had seen it. Felt it. And now, she couldn't unsee it.

But despite the fear that gnawed at her, the sheer terror that gripped her heart, Diana knew she had to keep going. There was something here, something that no one had seen, that no one knew about. And if she didn't bring it to light, it would remain in the shadows, festering, growing more dangerous.

She swallowed her fear and slowly, hesitantly, reached for the headphones again. Her fingers hovered over the keys, trembling as she prepared to confront the unspeakable once more.

She was about to face an evil that no one had seen, that no one knows...