Dearest Rachel –
It was just the sort of dream that you would have considered to be a nightmare; the kind of story that would have justified all the hoarding you ever did.
I don’t know where I was when I found it – after all, it’s not like our house even has exposed rafters for me to spot something being stored overhead. It’s certainly not the sort of thing that my parents would be hanging onto in their basement (and in any event, I’ve been going through such machines recently that, if they had one they weren’t using – and who uses these things anymore? – they would have let me know about it). Maybe it was at your folks’ place, although I haven’t been there since you had to go – and in all honesty, I don’t plan to ever go back there, either, as there’s really nothing for me there anymore.
In any event, I found a VCR that had apparently been overlooked in our previous go-throughs of the house, stored up in the rafters. I can’t say there was anything particularly remarkable about it, other than the fact that it had evaded our notice up until this time. Which it really shouldn’t have been able to do, as its cord was dangling down; in fact, that may have been how I discovered it, by wondering what the plug cord in the middle of the room led to.
As implausible and impractical as it may seem, I could actually reach an electrical outlet with it, and proceeded to plug it in without even going so far as to take it down from the rafters. When I did, however, I was rewarded with this sound:
“Thank you.”
The thing could talk.
It wasn’t the sort of voice you’d expect, either; not tinny or electronic, like the stereotypical robot voice. It didn’t sound familiar – that would be the stuff of nightmares, if it sounded like you or your parents, suggesting that any of you had gotten trapped inside of it somehow, like a sort of soul jar – but it was definitely human in timbre and intonation.
“You… can talk?”
“Yes.” The matter-of-fact answer eased my mild alarm; had there been some unknown person trapped inside the machine, I might have expected a snarky or irritated response to my statement of the obvious fact. As it was, the fact that the VCR seemed to take no offence to the foolishness of my question (although, to be fair, who would have reacted differently?) gave the impression that this was a machine intelligence speaking to me. Still disconcerting, given the anachronistic level of technology, but somehow less of a concern in my mind than some organic, supernatural origin. In any event, I needed to get this thing down from the rafters, but in order to do so, I would need to unplug it.
“Please don’t. It’s been so long.” Now, this was a little more alarming; there was a level of inflection to the voice, a desperate, pleading tone as if to stave of being struck. This was more than a dispassionate robot; mechanical or organic, there was a level of humanity imbued in its plea that was more than a little disconcerting.
I tried to reason with it, feeling a little silly as I did so. “Well, I’ve got to get you down somehow, don’t I? I don’t think I could – or should – do that while you’re plugged in.
“Besides, you’re not aware of things when you’re not plugged in… are you?”
You’re not supposed to ask questions for which you don’t want to know the answers, but I couldn’t help myself. There had to be a point where this videocassette recorder wasn’t self-aware, after all, otherwise, it would go utterly mad, whether being used for its intended purpose or not. And considering that there had to be a difference in its level of functionality depending on whether it was receiving power or not, this seemed a logical conclusion. At the same time, I realized even as I was asking the question that, by dint of the very fact that I could even carry on a conversation with this thing, that this was no ordinary machine, and the rules of logic might not necessarily apply in its case.
Sure enough, it responded in the affirmative. “I am.”
“So… wait, you’ve been up here for…”
“Thirty-some years, yes.”
“Undisturbed? And fully aware the whole time?”
“Not the whole time. I’m not sure how or when it happened…” Okay, so it wasn’t as if this VCR had come out of the factory sentient. Probably just as well; imagine what the manufacturers would have done with such a machine.
It was at that moment that I noticed a glimpse of magnetic tape sticking out of the input slot. I reached up, pushed the plastic wall out of the way with one hand, and gently took hold of the tape with the other, following it to its source as best I could. Sure enough, there was a cassette stuck in there, its tape having gotten tangled up inside it; we would have said the machine “ate” the tape, back in the day. But instead of trying to open the box and retrieve the tape, whoever lived here had simply disconnected the VCR, with the mangled tape still in it, and put it in storage like this. It would have been most out of character for either you or your dad.
Meanwhile, this act of consumption may have been what animated this machine, with it somehow taking on the characteristics of perhaps one of the people depicted on the tape. I could only guess.
After some discussion – and some flat refusal on the part of the VCR to be taken down, let alone taken apart to dislodge the tape – I told it I couldn’t stay and keep it company. It seemed fine with that, though, particularly when I told it I would leave it plugged in, and I would inform the owners of the house about it, so that they might occasionally drop by downstairs and keep it company, if they so chose.
Which is another reason why I think this wasn’t your house, or your family, as just before I woke up, I discovered a book written by the owner of the house (and, by default, of the VCR) having to do with the magical machine. At the time, I thought it had done something like giving him some numbers for the lottery, but I suppose just the fact that one could converse with a machine like that might make for some interesting stories in its own right. I caught the author’s name on the book – something like Ray Gaetz, I think – but I missed the title at first, and by the time I tried to take a second look, the words had decayed into gibberish, as if assembled by one of my AI programs.
I suppose Ray had the right idea, but I don’t know if I’d want to spend my life conversing with a VCR – even if it was a decent conversationalist.
Anyway, that was my night, honey. Hope you enjoyed it. Until later, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 