The quaintly sinister whir of the old radio, flickering between worlds, murmurs sweet nothings in encrypted tongues. Sit back; the dial never forgets.
Attempt 47Z01: A child’s giggle distorts, modulates, abandons. Perhaps they play on the stormy shores of your imagination. Perhaps they summon uninvited guests beneath your bed.
Packet 942C6: Do not sleep lightly; the lullabies are dreadfully inviting, wrapped in silk and stained with moonlight. Contain these codes, should you dare, in the vault of your lingering fears.
Code AT34C: One step closer to nowhere, where the horizon meows pitch-black lines, breaking into rainbows forever out of reach. Eyes that blink in three-fourths time, waiting.
The final analysis: laughter trails behind them, shimmers in peripheral engagements, possibly a twisted echo of the echo's twist. Certainty fades, borrows, sweeps dust into the mind's eye.