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
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The purpose of this podcast is to embark upon a meticulous journey of exploration and analysis, as I strive to unveil the intricate connections that may exist within my extensive archive of recordings. This inaugural entry, designated as Log Entry Zero, serves as a foundational prologue, setting the stage for the investigations that will follow. For years, I have been an archivist, cataloguing echoes of events that defy conventional understanding, yet remain indelibly etched within the confines of my collection. It is within the static between the signals that I seek to discern a faint and unsettling pattern, a common thread that may illuminate the enigmatic nature of these recordings. Thus, I invite you to join me as we delve into the mysteries encapsulated within the tapes, revealing the profound wrongness that permeates these auditory relics.
Takeaways:
The podcast, Tavenend, serves as a digital archive of perplexing recordings and events.
The speaker, acting as an archivist, endeavours to uncover patterns among disparate cases.
The recordings collected are not merely stories but echoes of unsettling occurrences.
Each case presented will serve as a puzzle box, inviting listeners to explore its mysteries.
Just boxes and shelves groaning under the weight of. Well, they're not stories, not really. More like echoes. Fragments of events that shouldn't exist yet stubbornly refuse to fade.
My name is an important. It's a detail that ceased to matter long ago, just lost to the work. So think of me as the archivist, the curator.
The sign on the door downstairs just reads Tavenend Investigations. It's a necessity, you see. A point of contact for those who find an anomaly on a tape, a recording, they can't explain.
They don't bring me crimes, they bring me echoes. I don't find missing persons. I catalog the sounds they left behind.
My business is to listen to the static between the signals and to make sure that when the voice calls out from the strange places, someone is recording. This is Tavenend. A place the main roads forgot.
A knot of narrow streets clinging to the Cornish coast, built on smugglers secrets and the flooded shafts of old tin mines. It's a town that holds its breath. I chose Tavenend. Or perhaps it chose me. I came here looking for it.
Originally I was a folklorist, chasing the stories that run through this place like tin in the granite. But the work, it change the recording started capturing more.
The background noise of an old fisherman's interview would hold a voice that wasn't in the room. The magnetic tape itself, it almost seemed curdle. My academic project became an obsession. And that obsession led me here, to this building.
Said many lives. If you look closely at the door frame, you can still read the peeling gold leaf. J.R. pike and Son, solicitors. They met their end in this place.
mal investigations. Case file:
And then a third voice. Not human, but it spoke with the cold, precise cadence of a barrister. It was the last thing they ever heard.
Long after they were gone, a new sign was hung. Fenton's radio and repair. The tagline was an irony the owner could never have intended. Your connection to the world. Downstairs.
He fixed radios to bring the world in clearer. Up here, I collect the recordings that prove how distorted it all really is. Okay, so why am I recording this?
For years I've just been collecting, hoarding these tapes in silence. Back when I was first collating it all. Reel to reels, cassettes, dictaphones. I started to notice something.
A faint pattern, a common thread running through some of the recordings. But with so many tapes, so many different formats, I never got any further with it. So I'm trying something different, a more structured approach.
I'm putting it all out there, case by case. A public record. A podcast, I suppose is the modern term for it. It's my way of re examining it all, of seeing if the pattern is really there.
And in doing so, well, maybe I find that I'm perhaps not the only one listening. So who is this for? Perhaps it's for you. For anyone who has ever heard something they can't explain in the static.
For anyone who thinks they might be the only one hearing the whispers. You're not well. Maybe I'm just doing this to keep myself sane. If I do say it out loud, broadcast makes it real, doesn't it?
So in the coming weeks and the coming months, I'll present the archives contents. Each tape is its own mystery. A puzzle box made of sound. A window looking in on a moment of profound wrongness. Where to begin?
I suppose one place is as good as any. Okay, let's start with this one. An old police evidence tape, tape number 23. I really should have put these in order, right?
cast. We'll call IT case file:
The full case files and transcripts can be found at tavenend.com and this. This is Tavenend. End of.
