Columbine Basement Tapes Novels & Stories

A sharp sound echoed down the hallway. One of the workers called out, “Ms. Wrenleigh! Found something!” They rushed toward the far wall of what used to be Stage 7. A hollow cavity had revealed metal compartments lining the back wall behind a mirror. Inside: unmarked videotapes. At least twelve. Isolde’s blood ran cold. She knelt. Pulled one out. Black reel. Labeled with red wax. No names. No dates. Just a hand-scrawled symbol: ∞

The thermal scan showed 27 hostiles—and one small heat signature in the basement. Lila's height. Lila's weight. His finger hovered over the detonator. **01:19: The Twist** The girl in the basement looked up as Damien kicked in the door— Not Lila. A perfect double. Sylvia's laughter echoed through hidden speakers: "You should have checked the 119th camera feed, darling." **The Missing Piece** Back at the Ballroom, one security camera continued recording—its lens cracked but functional. The footage showed: - My slapping Sylvia (angle #72)

This was my window. I drove straight to the athletics building and used my journalism credentials to get past the security guard in the lobby. He barely looked at me. Just nodded and went back to his phone. The basement was dark, cold, lit only by the red blinking lights on the server equipment. I found the hard drives labeled with dates. Two years ago. August. The right month. The right timeframe. My hands shook as I plugged one into my laptop and started searching for the parking lot footage from that night.

And then there was a folder that stopped her cold. “JULIEN.” She clicked it. The first file was a photograph. Blurry, low light. But unmistakable. Julien’s face, thinner than she remembered, mouth bloodied. He was tied to a chair in some kind of industrial basement. The timestamp was from two years ago. Maris swallowed hard. The second file was a video. She didn’t want to watch it. But her thumb moved before she could stop it. The screen lit up. Julien was coughing—hard. The kind of cough that sounds like it’s tearing something apart inside. A man stood behind him. Not Reid. Not someone she recognized.

The doctor probably cut it short Cursing under his breath, Pullman rummaged through the pile of tapes. He hoped he could pull another one of Spencer’s tapes. There had to be a reason the kid turned up after two years. He found a tape that was littered with scratches at the bottom of the pile. This one had a date on it. Pullman picked up another tape and noticed small numbers etched on the tape. Why were they dated like this? Wouldn’t it be easier to use a slip of paper? He went back to the previous tapes he listened to with officer Ryan. The dates were scratched into the surface of the tapes. Pullman sighed. To say this was a dumb error on his part was an understatement. He should’ve paid at

I asked as I leaned over the table to get a better look. Colleen swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “The doors will most likely be laced with the Corpse Lily. There are fog devices there as well. Those will be attached to piping, and there’s no telling how much fog they have stored in the basement to unleash. I’m guessing it’s a minimal supply since they tried to clear the forest with it before, but I can’t say for sure.” “Is there anything else we need to look out for?” I asked as I noticed Blue coming out of the bathroom, face dripping with sweat or water. He didn’t look good. I wondered if he was up to the mission.

The lights outside were long dead, but faint illumination flickered from a second-floor window. Damien frowned. “You’re sure this place still holds something?” Rosemary nodded. “Leo said the original Cassandra Group server files are in the basement archive. All their secret projects are there — including proof that Cassandra tampered with my video.” Damien took a deep breath. “All right. We’ll go through the back door.” --- The door creaked open slowly. Dust and rust filled the air. Rosemary switched on her phone flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness to reveal rows of metal shelves and stacks of yellowed files.

The scent of cold metal and perfume from long-dead memories clung to the room like a second skin. And there it was—again—the gallery of Magnolia’s things. Her cracked lipstick tube. Her pink ballet slippers, scuffed at the toes. The blood-streaked dress sealed behind glass. The broken necklace. Savannah’s throat closed. The last time she stood here, she’d left with more questions than answers. This time, she wasn’t leaving without blood. “Where’s the tape?” she demanded. Colton crossed to the drawer labeled M-9, pulled it open slowly. The black cassette lay there—unlabeled, innocent-looking. He held it up between two fingers like it disgusted him.

She placed it on the table and retrieved a laptop as Fabio and David cleared the food off the table. We crowded around, each of us standing a little too close, breathing a little too fast. Liora inserted the flash drive, fingers flying across the keys. Files bloomed across the screen. Folders titled Phase 1, Recipient Logs, Donor Inventory, Conversion Failure Reports. Then—one marked Security Footage. “Holy shit,” Fabio whispered. Liora clicked it. The first video opened—a grainy angle of the lab hallway. The timestamp confirmed it was weeks before our raid. Before the circus at the factory.

There was a hidden tunnel under the cherry blossom tree in the garden of the Moriarty residence. Colin jumped into it. At a certain underground base outside of the city, Colin was seen in a black outfit and a mask. Scanning his fingerprint, he entered the base. He walked down a long dimly-lit flight of stairs where the air smelled like mold and rotten corpses. He walked through a door, and the scenery behind it was completely different. There were advanced mechanical devices glowing with blue lights and robots everywhere.