Forgotten Frames

It was supposed to be a simple afternoon of clearing out the attic.

Lily sifted through boxes of old books, faded photo albums, and knick-knacks from her childhood home, humming to herself in the dusty light. She’d always felt a strange nostalgia for this house, even though she didn’t remember much of her early years here. Moving away when she was five meant she only had vague memories of the rooms and hallways, but the house felt oddly comforting every time she visited her parents.

In the far corner of the attic, under a frayed quilt, she found a metal box she’d never seen before. Curious, she brushed away the dust and pried it open. Inside, there was an assortment of VHS tapes labeled in faded ink, each with a date scribbled across the top in her mother’s careful handwriting.

She pulled out the first tape, marked “Spring 1997.” She was only two years old then, and memories from that time were nonexistent. She hadn’t seen her parents use the old VHS player in years, but she knew it still sat in the basement gathering dust.

With a sense of curiosity tinged with excitement, Lily made her way down to the basement, popped the tape into the player, and sat back to watch.

The screen flickered, and her mother’s voice echoed from behind the camera.

“Alright, everyone, say hi!”

There she was, her tiny self, wobbling as she toddled towards the camera with a huge grin. Her father appeared next, scooping her up and lifting her high into the air as she giggled. A warm smile spread across Lily’s face as she watched, feeling a strange sort of comfort in these old, forgotten memories. It was like visiting a life she had never fully known.

A few minutes into the video, Lily noticed a figure in the background—a young boy, maybe seven or eight, with shaggy brown hair and big, expressive eyes. He was playing with a set of toy cars, completely focused on lining them up in a neat little row. She squinted at the screen, trying to remember who he was.

Had her parents taken in a neighbor’s kid? A cousin? But her family wasn’t particularly close with anyone who had children that age.

The next tape, labeled “Christmas 1998,” held more surprises. The mysterious boy was there again, sitting beside her at the table as they decorated a gingerbread house. He laughed when she smudged frosting on her face, and she watched as her mother wiped it away, all the while ruffling the boy’s hair with a fondness that made Lily’s skin crawl.

The tapes grew stranger as she went on. The boy was always there, in every video, watching over her as if he were her older brother. She felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest every time he appeared. It was as if she were watching a version of her family she didn’t belong to, a strange alternate universe where this boy was as much a part of her life as anyone else.

Finally, she pulled out a tape labeled simply “July 1999.” There was no mention of a holiday or event, just the date. She hesitated, fingers trembling, but curiosity got the better of her.

The video began with her family playing in the backyard. The boy was there again, helping her onto the swings. This time, he looked older than in the previous videos, almost as if he’d aged faster. His eyes were sharper, his movements almost protective as he guided her onto the swing.

“Go higher, Jake!” she heard her own young voice cry out.

The name struck her like a hammer. Jake. She had no memory of ever knowing anyone named Jake, let alone calling someone by that name. Her hands were clammy as she reached for the remote, wanting to stop the tape—but something in her wouldn’t let her.

The tape continued, and the scenes grew more unsettling. Jake would look into the camera, straight at her mother, and the way he stared felt wrong. It wasn’t just a boy looking at his family; it was something dark, something with an intensity far beyond his years.

The screen crackled, and the footage cut to an entirely different scene: nighttime, in her childhood bedroom. The camera was set up at the foot of her bed, capturing her tiny figure sleeping soundly under a heap of blankets.

There was movement at the corner of the screen, and Jake’s face emerged in the shadows. He was standing at her bedside, just staring down at her, watching her sleep. His eyes seemed darker than before, hollow somehow, and he stayed there, motionless, for what felt like an eternity.

Then, slowly, he reached down, running his fingers through her hair in a gentle but unnatural way, like a puppeteer examining a marionette.

Lily's skin crawled. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she watched the boy—this stranger, this thing that seemed to be Jake—reach out with those unsettlingly still eyes.

As the camera recorded, Jake’s hand moved to her shoulder, pressing down firmly. Her tiny self stirred, letting out a muffled whimper, and Jake leaned in close, his mouth inches from her ear.

The screen went black.

Lily sat frozen, horrified by what she’d just seen. But before she could even process it, the video flickered back to life. This time, she was older, maybe four or five, in a dimly lit room. Her parents were huddled in the corner, whispering to each other, glancing nervously at the door. The camera’s microphone picked up faint snatches of their conversation.

“We need to take him back,” her mother was saying, her voice tight with fear. “I thought we could handle it, but… he isn’t normal. He’s not our son.”

“He’s all we have left of them,” her father replied, his tone strained. “We can’t just send him away.”

The camera panned to Jake, standing alone by the window, looking out with an expression that was both sad and… knowing. Lily shivered, feeling as if his gaze were somehow piercing through the screen, as if he could see her now, in the present.

Suddenly, the video cut out, replaced by a static hiss. She reached for the eject button, desperate to pull the tape out, but it wouldn’t budge. She pounded on the VCR, yanking at the cords, but the screen remained stubbornly black, crackling with static.

Then, the static cleared, and she was staring at her own reflection in the television screen.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror. But behind her, she saw movement—someone standing there, just out of focus. She whipped around, but the basement was empty.

Heart pounding, she turned back to the screen, and there he was: Jake, now a grown man, standing directly behind her in the reflection, staring down at her with that same hollow expression, his eyes gleaming with a dark and twisted familiarity.

“Why did you forget me, Lily?” His voice was a whisper, raspy and low, filling the silence around her. “Why did you let them send me away?”

She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She stumbled back, feeling as if she were trapped in a nightmare, as if the boy from her past had somehow reached through time to confront her.

“You were supposed to remember,” he murmured, his voice cold and laced with sadness. “You promised we’d always be together. But you forgot me. You abandoned me.”

He stepped closer, his figure distorting and shifting in the reflection, growing taller, darker, his face twisting into something inhuman, a monstrous grin spreading across his face.

“Now I’m the only one who remembers,” he hissed. “And I’ll make sure you never forget again.”

The screen went black, and the room fell silent.

Shaking, Lily stumbled out of the basement, her mind racing with fragments of memories she couldn’t piece together. She ran to her parents, demanding answers, but they looked at her with haunted expressions, a flash of guilt flickering in their eyes.

After a long silence, her mother finally spoke.

“He… he wasn’t ours,” she whispered. “He came to us after… after you lost your real brother in an accident. We thought… we thought he’d be like a second chance. But he was… wrong. He was never like you. He was… something else.”

Lily’s blood ran cold as her mother’s words sank in. Jake hadn’t just been a memory erased. He was something darker, something her parents had desperately tried to hide, to forget.

And now he was back, haunting her, clinging to the shadows of her past. She knew, deep down, that he would never leave.