I bought my iPod from the Apple Store, new in the box. It was sealed, and it’s pretty safe to say that nobody’s touched it but me.

I unpacked it and plugged it in to my laptop, and everything seemed fine. My music, my videos, my podcasts, they were all there when I ejected the device and plugged my headphones into my ears.

I didn’t start noticing anything odd until halfway through my daily walk. I was crossing an alley when I noticed a layer of audio fuzz overtop my uptempo walking music. It sounded like several voices, all distinct from each other but lacking any distinct male or female tones. “Look at me,” they all whispered. “Look. Look.”

I whipped my head around and saw, pressed against the grime-encrusted windows of an abandoned warehouse, hundreds of handprints slowly appearing in the dirty glass. Across the street, in a derelict storefront, they were appearing as well. “Look at me. Look.”

I’m setting it back to factory default and returning it in the morning. I hope they don’t ask me why.