I honestly tried looking for the original thread for this, my addition to the original creepypasta.

“I am so amazed it took me this long, amazed that this show has been remembered since it wasn't supposed to be.

Let me explain.

53 years ago, I was a systems engineer at WTSF in Ashland, Kentucky.  We were just a local PBS station, gearing towards more family-friendly and children's programming, but we were desperate for donations.

It was then that a Mr. Ahriman offered to donate $10,000,000 to the station if we broadcast this show he'd been producing in his home.  Since the executives knew we needed the money, we agreed.  He claimed it was a children's show but that we should not preview it.

It was Candle Cove.

Since we did not know what the show was about, the senior executive in charge of broadcasting scheduled it at 4:00 pm, believing it would be when children were ready to watch it or, perhaps, be too busy with other activities.

I remember the strangeness of the delivery of the tapes.  It was one at a time, each week, and that the tape would be immediately returned to Mr. Ahriman after.

The first tape arrived, and we prepared the broadcast.  Imagine my surprise when nothing but static came across the broadcast screen, as it was my job to monitor it.  Still, viewership rose, meaning someone was watching it.  It seemed strange, since it was nothing but static, but the numbers didn't lie.

When that tape was returned and the next arrived, we didn't know even more would be watching.  It was static for half an hour, nothing more, but it seemed to be something the children were enjoying.  It was strange, but $10,000,000 was a lot at the time and we needed it.

The cycle continued for the next 10 tapes, broadcasting static, returning them and getting the next.

During that time, we received many letters written by children, proclaiming how wonderful Candle Cove was.  They described scenes and characters that I had not seen.

But then the 13th tape came.  When it broadcast with, again, just static, the station received multiple calls from concerned parents.  Several complained that the broadcast caused their children to shriek with terror, but a few called to say that, after that broadcast, some children fell into a coma.

With that many concerns, the executives of the station tasked me with delivering the news to Mr. Ahriman that we would not be accepting his donation, no matter how generous it was.  Since he provided no phone number, I drove to his house.

Before I could knock on the door, I could hear a conversation.  Mr. Ahriman was talking to someone.

I can clearly remember that other voice, a voice that resonated darkly, made my very soul quiver, leaving nothing but an emptiness inside.  It was a voice that seemed to speak not only to my ears but to my mind as well, a voice that held authority, menace and pure hate.

Even now, all these years later, I can hear Mr. Ahriman pleading with it, claiming that he'd done what the owner of the other voice told him he had to do to pay the debt.  The souls of the children were claimed by the tapes  — the ones he created in order to harvest them, the ones directed by him.

The other voice, the one that still haunts my dreams, seemed to snort at the idea, claiming he'd not paid nearly enough and that, ultimately, his soul would be required to fill the debt.

Mr. Ahriman screamed.

I left, unable to bear it anymore.  The next day, the report came down that he'd been found, that his face had been twisted in pure terror although there was no blood left in his body.

I still had the last tape.

It was when I found out that children's memories of that show started to re-emerge that I had it analyzed with more modern techniques.

Slowing the tape down, there were multiple instances of voices filtering through, speaking of what had been reported as being on the show.  Then the urging to give the watchers' souls over to the one who claimed them.  As they listened to the screams, their souls were property of the one who made the show.

Here I am, in my 77th year now.  I can't hide anymore.  It's such a dark memory I can no longer keep hidden.  If I die now, let the record show I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for it all.  All because of greed.”