This tale was written based on the following prompts
People trust me with their secrets, but if they really knew me, I think they would have second thoughts.
You see I’m an agony aunt, or perhaps I should say uncle. I’m the one those people write their deep dark secrets too for a bit of titillation. I’m the one who offers a salve for their conscious at a bargain price.
The editor reckons I’m what gets the papers off the shelf at the supermarket. That at a discount price I provide the entertainment which there has sorely been a shortage of lately. I tend to ignore the labels he parks on me, I’m on a diet, I don’t need his saccharin sweet foods.
Anyway, moving on, you may have read my column, Sunset in a cup, you may even enjoy it, but you wouldn’t if you knew the truth I hide.
Ok, its time to end the agony, no pun intended, I’m not an aunt, I’m not even an uncle, though I pretend to be. I’m a gramophone, a haunted gramophone and I live in that house.
Hey, don’t disconnect … I didn’t build it, I was just bought at the junk yard sale.