V/H/S/2

V/H/S/2

Inside a darkened home exudes a column of TVs littered with VHS tapes, even a pagan shrine to forgotten gods that are analog. The displays pop and crackle endlessly with monochrome vistas of noise permeating the brain and fogging concentration. But you have to fight the desire this is no movie night. Those out-of-date spools feature more than just tape. They are imprinted with the soul of evil.