Archive Item 76 concerns the destruction of St. Cleer Police Station in 1983.

The official report claimed no survivors. That was inaccurate.

One woman, the station stenographer, Judith Hallowell walked out of Interview Room 1 moments before the entire building ignited from within. She gave a witness statement during medical observation, describing a heat event that began inside the bodies of those present and then leapt from person to person like a living force.

Three days later, Mrs Hallowell was found dead in her flat. Her body exhibited extensive burn trauma. The flat showed no signs of heat, flame, or ignition.

Her dictated statement, and a fifteen-second fragment salvaged from the fused remains of the interview tape, form the entirety of this Archive Item.

This archive item contains a single continuous field recording recovered from the crushed Zoom H6 I removed from Dr. Arlo Finch’s possession after he was found wandering the A30 in a catatonic state. What begins as a routine ambience survey at Castilly Henge quickly becomes a sequence of escalating pressure anomalies. Finch detects infrasonic pulses rising from the ditch, rhythmic fluctuations in air density, and soil movement that appears to respond as if to a buried heartbeat.

The disturbance intensifies into a layered resonance event involving RF contamination, sub-bass vibration, and a series of auditory phenomena Finch believed were the sounds of an ancient battle emerging through the mist. The recording captures distorted shouts, impacts, mass movement, and what he interpreted as the fall of a colossal figure standing up from the earth itself.

The event ends in a pressure wave powerful enough to crush the recorder’s aluminium chassis while leaving Finch physically unharmed but mentally broken. His fixation on returning giants, combined with the recurring pulse signature I have now identified in other archive items, forms the basis of my continuing analysis of this case.

The dictaphone in question was brought to me after being found on the coastal path, wrapped inside an old waterproof coat. Inside the coat were a few gardening tools and a pair of boots marked with dried mud and salt. The microcassette inside the recorder is labelled in a shaky hand: "Carter - Allotment Notes" and will become case #0003.

Only later did I trace the recording back to the eastern allotments, where one shed stood open and unattended. The conditions matched the tape’s contents, but there was no sign of Carter himself.

The entries on the tape suggest several mornings of routine gardening carried out in dense sea fog, gradually giving way to something more unsettling moving through the allotment rows.

This is Case File #0002. The recording you are about to hear is... well, it's something different. Not a bodycam, not a professional recording, but a standard microcassette I found in a box of old office supplies from a car boot sale. The label just says "Home."

It's an answering machine tape. A time capsule of domestic life from the late 1990s, full of the everyday messages we all used to leave. But... it also recorded something else.

You will hear the tape in its entirety. You will hear the mundane calls from family... and then... the other calls. The static. You will hear the homeowner, Sarah, as her terror escalates in real-time, captured live by the machine.

I'm presenting this recording exactly as I found it. Listen closely to the progression. Listen to what happens when the static stops... and the voice gets through.

This is Case File #0001. The recording you are about to hear is the first I've chosen to digitise for this collection. It's a corrupted digital audio file from the bodycam of a Police Constable Evans, recorded on the night of what the press officially dismissed as 'The Silent Tide Incident', a freak tide, a tragic statistical anomaly.

This tape... this tape is the truth.

You will hear PC Evans's final shift from the beginning, as routine calls about disoriented locals escalate into a desperate search for answers in the dark. You will hear what she found on that beach, and the only tangible clue she had: a persistent, hypnotic hum buried deep in the static of her police radio.

I'm presenting this recording as I found it. Listen closely... and decide for yourself what truly happened on that harbour wall.

Investigator's log, November 6th, 2025. Case File #ZERO.

Commencement of the Public Record.

The evidence, in this instance, is my own. The first reel of a new public log, created as I begin the monumental task of digitising my entire collection of recordings.

For years, the archive has existed in silence, a chaotic hoard of tapes detailing events that defy explanation. In this initial entry, I state the purpose of this podcast: to bring structure to my work, and to begin the search for a faint, unsettling pattern I believe connects these disparate cases.

What you are about to hear is not a story from a found tape. It is the foundation, a prologue for the investigation to come.

End of entry.

The Investigator