The Mysterious Record That Changed My Life

I had never believed in fate, but after that night, I’m not sure I believe in anything anymore.

It started innocently enough. I was a struggling music producer, working long hours in my dimly lit apartment, surrounded by the usual mix of wires, soundboards, and empty coffee cups. The music world was tough, especially when you were trying to carve your name into the industry. But I was determined. I wasn’t going to let the fear of failure stop me.

I had just finished working on a track when I stumbled across an old vinyl record I’d found buried in a thrift store months ago. The cover was plain—just a dark, cracked surface, but something about it had called to me. The label was scratched beyond recognition, and there were no names, no hints of its origin. The moment I slid the record onto my turntable, I felt a strange tingling down my spine. Maybe it was just my tired brain playing tricks on me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to discover something big.

The first note came as a soft hum, barely perceptible. Then the sound swelled, growing until it felt like the entire room was alive with the beat. It was unlike anything I had ever heard—a blend of melodies that seemed to sync with my thoughts. As the music intensified, the air around me grew heavy. I reached for the volume knob, but before I could lower the sound, the beat hit its peak.

And everything changed.

The world around me warped—not in a physical sense, but in the very fabric of reality. I could hear the past, present, and future all at once. I saw flashes of people—some familiar, some strangers—dancing across my vision. In one brief moment, I saw myself standing on a stage in front of thousands, adored by fans. In the next, I saw myself as a child, laughing with my brother in the backyard.

But then it turned dark.

I saw myself in a hospital bed, alone. No one was there. No family, no friends. Just silence. The terror in my own eyes reflected the loneliness that would one day claim me. The image was vivid, and the fear was palpable.

I couldn’t stop the visions. They kept coming—faster and clearer. It wasn’t just a preview of the future; it was a warning. And the more I tried to block them out, the louder the music became, drowning me in a sea of images I couldn’t control. I slammed my hand on the turntable, stopping the record, but the visions didn’t stop. They haunted me, etched into my mind.

The next few days were a blur. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. The images of my future—dark and filled with isolation—kept pulling me back. And that relentless beat, that haunting melody, wouldn’t leave me alone.

It felt like it was calling me.

I thought maybe I had imagined it all. Perhaps it was just the result of too much coffee and exhaustion. But the next night, I couldn’t resist. I placed the record back on the turntable, my hands trembling. The moment the needle hit the grooves, I was sucked back into the same world of visions.

This time, I saw myself on stage again, performing in front of a huge crowd. But there was something wrong. The more I performed, the more I saw the toll it was taking on my personal life. I saw relationships falling apart, friends growing distant, and the success that seemed so alluring beginning to isolate me.

I saw the moment the beat consumed me entirely. It was no longer something I controlled. It controlled me. The music had taken over my entire life, and I was left with nothing but the sound.

I yanked the record off the turntable, but it was too late. The beat was in my head. The visions were already too vivid. I tried to push them out, but I couldn’t. The music had unlocked something—something powerful—and it was far from over.

I spent the next few days consumed by the rhythm, unable to escape. The visions continued, growing darker with every passing hour. It was as if the future was being shaped right before my eyes, and I had no choice but to watch. The beat wasn’t just music; it was a force—one that I could shape, but one that would eventually consume me.

I didn’t know how to stop it. The power of the beat was too strong. It had already shown me the price I would pay for tampering with time: success, but at the cost of everything that mattered. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.

But there was no going back.

Now, every time I hear that beat—every time I think of the record—I wonder if I can control it. If I can navigate the future it’s shown me without losing myself in the process. But the question still lingers: can I change the future, or will the future change me?

I don’t know if I can live with the consequences. But one thing is certain—the beat is not done with me yet.