Rec.1,5 - Family business.
...or so it would initially appear.
The reel however doesn't stop spinning, it takes you a second to realise you can still hear the person on the other side as they unsuccessfully try to stifle sobs, it would appear that something or someone merely cut them off rather abruptly.
In the background, joining the pathetic sobbing is the sound of heavy boots hitting the hardwood floor, boots and something else.
The sounds steadily grow louder with each passing second – as they draw closer the rhythm becomes easier to place, it’s rather unusual - a heavy, determined thud, followed shortly thereafter by a similar one though decidedly quieter, and a third sound, just as heavy as the first - that of wood hitting against wood.
You can now hear a low, melodic humming approaching along with the thuds, the thuds that are in hindsight so obviously a percussive element to the little impromptu performance.
The whole thing's masterfully effortless, each note screams “blues” while the melody itself practically oozes some kind of heartfelt sentiment, something verging on nostalgia or perhaps its light melancholy, even despite the unrestrained smile that can so obviously be heard in the singer’s voice.
The unmistakable sound of jingling keys joins the percussion, though the show is then interfered with by a high-pitched whining creek, curtesy of what must be old, neglected door-hinges crying out under years of strain and built-up rust.
The humming stops smoothly, replaced by a low and warm masculine tone, speaking in a voice that’s surprisingly raspy given the recent performance.
“Guess what!”
Not a question but rather a statement.
“This old sack of bones finds his way home yet again, Pumpk-”
The man’s jovial voice grows exponentially less so towards the end of the sentence until the sound of his voice disappears completely, the resulting near perfect silence save for the sobbing is accentuated by the sound of wood clattering against wood, the echo filling a by the sound of it rather small living space.
“-kin...?”
The voice finishes, quieter, slower, it’s no longer a statement, rather now a question - you can practically see confusion and concern spelled across the man’s face.
The steps come once more, hurried, one heavy, the other light – they sound rushed and awkward, unsure and unstable though seemingly no slower for it.
Within seconds the man sounds like he’s closed the gap between the front door and the recording device, though when he speaks it’s away from it, somewhere off to the side, towards the sobbing, his voice gentle as if comforting a child.
“Hey, hey now kid what’s the matter?”
The man pauses but no answer follows, not for a while so the man continues, a pitying smile hesitantly creeping into his voice.
“C'mon now, you know you can tell ol’Lucas here anything in the whole wide world, remember? Julia, come on look at me girl, it’s okay.”
The feminine voice from before – Julia by the sound of it lets out a breathy chuckle through sobs, some shifting can be heard, fabric against skin, then Julia’s muffled voice.
“It’s nothing Pa, just... got a little sa-”
Click
The recording cuts out (for real this time I promise) and the reels come to a smooth stop.
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