The Tape Man

The Tape Man

Copyright © 2014 Addison Hughes

It has been three weeks. No more, no less. The world, my world, has ended exactly three weeks ago. My wife, my job, even my home. They all left me on that day, in one way or another. That morning, I lost my job. I won’t go into the details of why. Nonetheless, I went home early, but Janet wasn’t home yet, not yet. I ate lunch, and left a note for my wife, saying these words, the last words I would ever write to her: Janet- Gone out. See you soon. Love you. In the worst decision of my life, I left the house.

I ran around town, doing this and that, going and leaving, having a good day with my pal, Jeremy. We walked home the long way, and listened to music. Jeremy had to go get something he forgot at the store, so I walked alone for a while. I was almost home, when I heard a shriek. I knew it well. The shriek, that one last shriek, was my Janet’s. I ran to the front of the house, and kicked down the door. The house was totally dark. It was never dark. I called Janet’s name, “Janet! Janet! Janet! What happened? I-oh...”

And then I saw her. She was lying on the floor, with a pained look. I ran to her. “Janet...no. Don’t be...don’t die...no.”

She smiled, slowly at me. Then, she took in a breath, and moved no more. I screamed. I yelled, shouted at all the people I knew, everything I’d ever seen, I hated them all, in that moment, I hated myself. I should have been there. I should have been there. Finally, I got up to look around, and my eye caught one large message, a few pieces of tape, with a poem written on them:

The one you love is gone
But, all is not lost.
There is still one,
One hope to accost
Her killer, in truth, leaves a clue
A clue, I think, that may give you
The name of he that ruined your life
And instilled in you a strife
To get revenge, to get me back,
Your clue is this: look at the stack
Of books in your bedroom.
Sincerely, The Tape Man

In a daze, I entered the bedroom, and looked at my books; there was one on top, with a little note: Page 133. I flipped to the page, and again, there was a note:

Congratulations, sir, at heeding my words
You flipped to here, this page of more words,
Within this message is another hint.
However, harder will be this stint.
Your message, true,
Is one of blue?
The light of pitch black,
Shall reveal my gang, my pack.
My name, a step closer to such you will be
And then, and then, my personage you will see.

Well, I certainly had my work cut out for me. “Light of pitch black”? I had no idea what that could mean. How could light be black? A black light? Wait... black light? Of course! I looked up and around, trying to think of where I could get my hands on a black light. Then, my eye caught something. My chandelier light bulbs were... black? I’d turned on my wall light, but I figured that the chandelier trick was worth a shot. I flipped on the ceiling light, and, sure enough, the book was covered in words, but no longer, no longer was it in poem. It said on it three things: Downtown. Café De Wolfgang. Say Tape Man sent you.

That message couldn’t be much clearer. I went, the next day, to that invite-only bar. The door’s peephole opened, and I heard a tough voice: “Who sent ya?” I replied that the Tape Man sent me. A few moments passed, and the door opened. “Step right in. Just, watch out for the ‘tender. He’ll skin ya, if ya don’t watch out...”
I entered the most infamous gang hangout in New York, the home of the Wolf Gang, and immediately saw what I was looking for. There was a message on the wall by the bar. It was addressed to me. It said simply two sentences: Greek Fire is the best; he’s the bartender. I sent you, if you recall.

Alright. I can take a hint. I walked up to the bar, asked for Greek Fire, and said Tape Man sent me. Greek smiled, and said, “You the Thompson guy Tapey told me about? He said ‘Give him this. It’ll help him.’ I don’t even know why he tells you anything.”

Greek handed me an envelope, saying don’t open here. So, I exited the murderous café and went somewhere more private. The library. I sat down at a table, and opened up the envelope. The paper inside said simply four things:

1. You know my gang’s the one of wolves.
2. You don’t know what my name, my true name is.
3. I shall meet you at the Motel by the docks.
4. Bring no one.

So, I walked cautiously down the street, towards the docks. It occurred to me that this man must be a genius. He’d used many tactics to get my attention. He’d used poetry, note form, and now a list. With each new location I went to, all my theories of his identity were dashed. And then it hit me: If Tape Man wrote with so many styles, perhaps he wasn’t just one man. Maybe the most infamous murderer in the history of the U.S. was actually Tape Men!

I dwelled on that thought for a while; so long, in fact, that I never considered that it was a trap. I figured, “Oh, well, he hasn’t killed me yet.”

I entered the motel. There didn’t seem to be anybody looking for me, no traps. Then, I heard a garbled voice, “Mr. Thompson? I think it may be beneficial to your case if you sit down”

I sat down, and looked into the face of my wife’s killer. Or at least his facemask. It was quite frightening, with a frustrating system of straps of tape. How ironic. The man had hidden his identity with Scotch tape. Scotch tape, and a voice amplifier. See, I know a thing or two about voice amplifiers, and I knew this one would deepen and garble the voice slightly. So that wasn’t the killer’s real voice.

“Mr. Thompson,” said Tape Man, “You are playing my game most wonderfully! I’ve never seen such a good player!”

“Play your game?!” I shouted in outrage. “That’s what this is to you? A game? I have half a mind to kill you now!”

“Mr. Thompson, you amuse me,” replied the Tape Man. “You don’t see, I fear, the full picture. I own this city. The motel? Everyone in here is a member of my gang. In fact, if you even look at someone wrong, you’ll be dead before you can blink. I suggest you play nice.”

Now I knew the extent of this man’s power. He could “convince” anyone to do anything. This ferocious killer was more powerful, in some aspects, than the President. I decided I hated him even more than before.

The Tape Man said, “Now, Mr. Thompson. I suggest you listen to your next clue to who I am. My home is not what you think. It cannot be lived in, but is quite secure. There is no door, but it holds the next clue. It contains no trap, but you will surely die if you get inside. It is hollow, but solid, as well. You have two weeks. I suggest you hurry along now.”

Tape Man motioned for me to leave. I did, and went to a hotel far away from there. I wrote down all of the facts. I had two weeks? Two weeks until what? Until he killed me? I had no idea what he meant, but I needed to expose him.

I spent the next two days walking around the town, finding nothing. I walked and walked, puzzling and puzzling. A house that is solid, and hollow, I would die if I walked in, but there was no door. It was like asking me to fly to the moon without leaving the Earth. This puzzle got me. I had no idea. So, I called up Jeremy.

“Jeremy here,” announced my best friend. “Hi, Jeremy! It’s me, Toby,” I replied.

“Whoa. You’re still alive? The story was you got murdered too.”

“Jeremy, I have a real lead on The Tape Man’s identity.”

“Oh... Toby, you’ll never figure it out. Twenty others have followed his clues, and failed.”

“Look, Jeremy,” I replied. “I figured the two of us together could figure him out. I have a riddle I think we could crack.”

“Alright, Toby. But remember, I was not helping. You don’t know me.”

So, I told him the riddle. We spent hours trying to crack the case. Not even the faintest. Nothing for a long time. Finally, Jeremy said something that gave me a great idea:

“I have no idea. The only thing I can think of is that golden house thing downtown, but that has no entryway.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait... That golden house downtown, how large is it?”

“The size of a kid toy house.”

“That house doesn’t happen to be...solid gold, does it?”

“Wha- yes, yes, I think it is solid gold. Oh, it has no working door...”

“And it is hollow, but solid gold...”

“It’s small enough that you’d die if you got inside...”

“It can’t be lived in...”

Yes, we had finally found our “home”. I made the journey to downtown the next day. I just had one problem...

“Uh, Jeremy, how do I get the house open?” I asked, after I called up my old friend.

“I haven’t the faintest... wait for me to get over there.”

I waited for about ten minute before he got over to the downtown home exhibit. We felt all around the house, everywhere around it. Then, I got an idea. Perhaps the secret wasn’t at the landmark. Perhaps, the secret was at the grave of its creator, P.L. Harrison. I told Jeremy my theory.

“It’s worth a shot, Toby,” replied my friend. So, we ran to P.L.’s grave. There was a small envelope attached to the headstone. I opened it, and it said these words:

Congratulations, you’re smarter than I thought. I see you know my ways. But, now I will try a new riddle, for usually, I kill my puzzle victims by now. To follow my directions is to be a step closer to my name:
My house, my real house, is white. It has no P.O. Box. It has no driveway. You must walk up to it, but the door requires a key. My key is hidden in the tree. You have 3 days.

I told Jeremy that this was my job; I wouldn’t ask him for help anymore. I didn’t want two friends to die on me. So, off I headed to the roads. It took many hours, but I finally found what I thought was the house. It had twenty-three trees. I tried pulling, pushing, everything on the trees, and finally, I pulled the right branch. The door opened.

The home, once I walked in, seemed just like mine used to be. I walked into the living room, and there was a sign that read, watch the television. I turned on the T.V. The program was a blank screen, reading what the Tape Man said on with them:

My home is quite quaint, yes?
I needs must have you guess,
Which of the rooms holds the entrance to my base?
If you guess right, you will see my face.
The walls will close on all rooms, save one.
The one you name, t’will needs a ton
Of deductive reasoning, now tell me,
‘Tis it in my bathroom, bedroom, or room of tea?

I thought for a moment. I knew nothing about where this maniac would place his base. Then, I thought, where would I put a hideout? I figured that a bath or bedroom would be to cliché. So, I went for the least expected.

“Uh, the tea room?”

The door out of the living room and into another quaint room. There was one small lever, ordering me to pull. I did, and this stairway opened, to the basement, I guess. I walked down, and a small room was at the bottom. The room was a box, with one figure, the Tape Man himself. He knelt in the center, with a table next to him. The Tape Man said, “Peel of my mask, and you will see my face. Then, you shall know who I am.”

With trembling fingers, I peeled back the Tape Man’s mask, revealing a face I knew. A face I had loved for years. The face of the Tape Man was... Janet’s.

I recoiled in fear and confusion. “J-Janet? But how?”

“Oh, you poor fool,” replied my wife. “I’ve been the Tape Man all along. Your friend, Jeremy, knew it, too. He tried to dissuade you, to hide you from the truth.”

“But I saw you die.”

“I’m an actress, remember? It’s been fun, honey, but now that you know who I am, you’ve got to die.”

She drew a knife out of a slit in her suit. She impaled me in the leg, and I fell over, crawling away. Janet laughed maniacally, as she advanced on me. I crawled, but she tackled me. Janet started throttling me, and I could feel myself dying. Suddenly, I felt a surge of anger, and fought back. I don’t know what happened. Suddenly, Janet screamed, the same scream I heard before. She fell on the floor, killed by her own knife.

I had disgusted myself, as I stood slowly up. I knew only that I didn’t want to be caught red-handed. So, I took the voice amplifier and the tape, and strapped them on my face. In that moment, I realized I had been right. The Tape Man is multiple people, in a cycle. The Tape Man is killed by his victims, who take on the title of the most heinous villain ever. So, the Tape Man lives on, in his victims. I had become the very thing I hated. As I fled, I decided I would tell my story to someone or other. So, I went to the Café De Wolfgang, and started writing. Thus ends the memoir of the new Tape Man.