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Want to sample before you buy? Read on:
// Begin transcript.
Archival Tag: Slake House Livestream, DB940-11-L58
This transcript is produced under authority of the Crown, and is not to be removed from Archives, under express order from Admin.
Playback of Fragment 1 begins here. Archival footage, and this accompanying transcription, is from the second posted instance of the original material. Said instance appears to have been recorded off the initial livestreams uploaded to the Who Hunts, We Hunt, Let’s Gooo! YouTube channel starting at approximately 3:30 AM BST (10:30 PM EST local to broadcast source, per channel metadata) on 17 April, 2027, and subsequently removed on the morning of the 18th.
Investigation confirms no DMCA request was filed and the upload appears GDPR compliant; the original broadcasts were simply scrubbed. A video stitching together all three original livestream feeds, using damaged but collated footage, was quickly reposted to the Candid Cryptids forum on the morning of 18 April, 2027, using a heavily rerouted IP – whose originating backtraced address does not appear to exist.
Subsequent postings have been frenetic and short-lived after the second posting, too, disappeared. The video continues to pop up randomly in increasingly small and obscure corners of the internet at the time of compiling this material. Quality and connectivity of content has degraded with additional uploads, so only the Archive’s copy of the first re-upload – recorded automatically by Eagle Eye’s algorithm on first appearance – is used for this transcript.
NB: Though the source material included three simultaneous livestreams, cutting in and out at various points of recording, “livestream” will be used in the singular throughout to refer to the broadcasts as a whole, in respect of the use of the compiled video being addressed, and for general ease of transcription. //
A screen flickers to life at night, the camera panning awkwardly across a dark wood, before the frame comes to rest on the exterior of a house sitting high atop a grassy hill. Though the frame of the house still exists, it’s been gutted by fire. Blackened smudges have licked up, ravenous, along windows and open doors. Heavy scores of soot elsewhere marring its once-proud oak. The house is old; the kind of ancient that breathes decay and leads unwary travellers down paths into culverts and deadfalls and laughs low and long as they land broken and begging for aid.
<< Less extemporizing in your copy please, L. We’ve talked about this. Also, you are at some point going to put this in proper transcription format, yeah? We don’t want another one of these gone off to Archives looking like … this. >>
<< Oh my god, I will get to it. >>
