Disclaimer: This story contains mentions of suicide, self harm, and many other harmful behaviors. If any of these serve as triggers for you, I would highly advise not reading this story. Also I own nothing.

When I first got it, the package seemed innocent enough. It was propped up against the front door, sealed tightly with tape and twine, my name scrawled hastily across the front.

Inside were seven cassette tapes, and a Walkman, each tape with a number on the upper right hand corner. Each side has its own number- one and two on the first, three and four on the next, five and six, and so on. The last tape has a thirteen on one side, but nothing on the back.

I put the first tape in the Walkman and hit play.

Helloooo, boys and girls. Jeffrey Sterling here. Live, for one night only.

My throat starts to constrict and my whole world keens around me, because I can't- I won't- believe it.

No return engagements. No encore. And this time, absolutely no requests.

This has to be someone's idea of a bad joke, because a little more than a week before, my best friend swallowed a bottle of pills and never woke up.

I remember lying on the bathroom floor, thinking about how easy it would be, but then I realized that there would be too many people who got off too easy. So I hope you're ready, because I'm about to tell you the story of my life, more specifically why my life ended. And to you, if you're listening to these tapes, well you're one of the reasons why.

I won't say which tape, but your story's on here too, I promise.

I mean, why would a dead kid lie? That sounds like some sort of joke. Why did the dead kid lie? Answer: because he couldn't stand up. Is this some sort of weird suicide note?

Go ahead. Laugh.

There's a pause, and I stare at the Walkman in shock.

Or not. I thought it was funny.

I know some of you don't believe me. Well, all of you probably won't. But that's not what's important, these tapes are.

Anyways, the rules are simple, and lucky for you, there's only two. Rule number one: you listen. Rule number two: you pass it on. Hopefully neither will be easy for you.

"What's that?"

"Mom!" I scramble for the stereo, hitting several buttons at once. "What the heck, mom?" I complain, trying to still my still racing heart. "And it's nothing, just some stuff."

"Can I listen?" she asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

I shake his head emphatically. "It's not your type of thing, really."

She nods reluctantly- she's been keeping an even closer eye on me since Jeff- before finally saying, "Alright, well I'll leave you in peace," and walks out, closing the door behind her.

I wait until I hear the telltale 'click' of the door shutting before placing my finger over the play button.

I can't bring myself to push it.

Hitting play the first time was easy, I had no idea what I was about to hear. But this time, this time it's one of the most frightening things I've ever done.

When you're done listening to all thirteen sides- because there are thirteen sides to every story- rewind the tapes, put them back in the box, and pass them onto who ever follows your little tale. And you, lucky number thirteen, well, you can take these tapes straight to hell. Maybe I'll see you there.

There's a pause, and I start to think it might be over, but Jeff was always one for surprises.

In case you're tempted to break these rules, know that I made a copy of these tapes. If everyone plays nice, no one else will hear these tapes except for you lucky thirteen, leaving any changes in your lives completely up to you.

Of course, if this package doesn't make it to all of you, the copies will be released in a very public way, and you'll have to deal with consequences completely out of your control.

For some of you, the consequences will be minimal: shame, embarrassment, a loss of face. But for others- well you know what you did- you could be humiliated, fired, maybe even arrested and put in jail.

This was not a spur of the moment decision.

Do not take me for granted.

Again.

There's got to be some mistake- I pull the box towards me and search for a name, an address, something, anything to tell me that the tapes aren't meant for me.

There's not.

I feel like I'm going to throw up. Jeff wouldn't be that cruel, would he? I mean, we were roommates since he transferred here halfway through freshman year, and best friends ever since. I'd like to think I knew him well enough to say that he wouldn't, but then again I hadn't noticed he was suicidal, so maybe I really didn't.

I almost forgot. If you're on my list, you should've received a map.

I let the box fall back onto the bed.

A few weeks ago, someone had slid an envelope with my name and the words "SAVE THIS- YOU'LL NEED IT" on it under the door to our dorm room. (I guess I should start saying my dorm room now.) Inside it were a few folded up maps, with a dozen gold stars marking different areas around town.

Throughout the tapes, I'll be mentioning several spots for you to visit. I can't force you to go there, but if you'd like a little more insight, just head for the stars. Or, if you'd like, just throw the maps away and I'll never know.

As Jeff speaks through the worn headphones, I feel the weight of my backpack pressing against my leg. Inside, crushed somewhere at the bottom, is the map.

Or maybe I will. I'm not actually sure how this whole dead thing works. Who knows, maybe I'm standing behind you right now.

I let myself hope for a moment, turn around wildly, expecting a head of blonde hair to jump out and tackle me like always.

I'm sorry. That wasn't fair.

Ready, Miss Fabray?

Love it? Hate it? Can't wait for more?
Let me know what you think in that lovely little box down there. x