Nastoasego Muzciny Audiokniga — Devid Dejda Put-

The first chapter was fine. Muzcina’s voice was low, a little gravelly—like footsteps on wet gravel. Then came chapter two. The protagonist entered a cellar. Muzcina’s tone dropped. David felt his own throat tighten. By chapter three, the voice had changed. It wasn’t just acting. Muzcina was leaning into the words, stretching vowels until they seemed to hold something else—a second meaning, a second speaker just behind his tongue.

David looked at his reflection in the dark computer screen. His lips were moving.

He loaded the files at 11 p.m., headphones on, tea growing cold. devid dejda put- nastoasego muzciny audiokniga

“No,” he whispered.

He restarted his computer. The files were gone. Replaced by a single track: , timestamped tomorrow. The first chapter was fine

It started as a favor. A friend of a friend, a man named Czernin, had produced an audiobook of a forgotten Polish novel, The Hollow Seam . The narrator was a man David didn’t know: one Jerzy Muzcina. “Unpleasant,” Czernin had warned, sliding the USB stick across the café table. “Muzcina. His voice. It gets inside you.”

David took off the headphones. The room was silent. But in his left ear, faint as a radio signal from a dead station, the voice continued. The protagonist entered a cellar

He threw the USB stick into the garbage disposal. Ground it to plastic dust.

In the morning, he called Czernin. “Who was Muzcina?”

A pause. “Nobody knows,” Czernin said. “He sent the files from a post office box in a town that burned down in 1944. The advance was cashed in pre-war złoty.”

Here’s a short draft for a story titled (based on your request, which I interpreted as: a draft looking at David Dejda, who put on an unpleasant man’s audiobook ). The Voice That Wasn’t His