That evening, Elliot sat cross-legged on the worn rug of his modest living room, the cardboard box of tapes at his side. A dim table lamp cast a pool of yellow light, leaving the corners of the room steeped in shadows. 

Outside, the wind howled faintly, rattling the single-pane windows as the first drops of rain began to spatter against the glass.

He held the first VHS tape, its unmarked black casing cold and nondescript. The thrill of anticipation coursed through him. These tapes could be anything. Cult horror films taped off late-night TV, bizarre documentaries, or forgotten treasures. He slid the tape into the player with a practiced hand and leaned back against the couch, remote in hand.

The screen flickered to life. At first, the footage seemed disappointingly bland: shaky shots of the Kansas countryside. A gravel road stretched toward a flat horizon, bordered by wheat fields that swayed in the breeze. The camerawork was amateurish, the occasional jerk of the lens suggesting someone walking while filming. Elliot frowned but kept watching, hoping for some unexpected twist.

Then, the lens panned to a figure. A boy, maybe ten or eleven, trudging along the road with a school backpack slung over his shoulder. Elliot tilted his head, curiosity piqued. The boy looked vaguely familiar. 

The tape continued, lingering on the boy’s unremarkable walk until he reached a modest suburban home. The footage ended abruptly, cutting to static.

Elliot rewound the tape and watched again, leaning closer this time. That house—the white shutters, the sagging porch swing—was unmistakably his childhood home. The boy was him.

He sat back, the remote dangling loosely in his hand. He must have been ten in that footage. The realization sent a prickly sensation creeping up his arms. He chuckled nervously to himself. Old home video? Maybe my dad shot this. His father had dabbled in filmmaking as a hobby, though Elliot couldn’t recall ever seeing him use a camcorder like this.

Still, he wasn’t ready to dismiss it. He rummaged through the box and pulled out a second tape. This one had a handwritten label: Tape 2. His fingers trembled slightly as he slid it into the player.

The screen flickered again. This time, the footage was of a carnival, its bright colors and bustling crowds unmistakably from the 1980s. Ferris wheel lights glimmered against the darkening sky as children and families milled about, laughter and indistinct chatter muffled on the tape’s audio track.

The camera zoomed in on a teenager at a concession stand, standing awkwardly with a soda in hand. Elliot’s stomach twisted as recognition hit. That was him—gangly, with a mess of dark hair and a Metallica T-shirt he’d worn religiously during high school. 

The camera followed as he strolled through the carnival, alone, stopping occasionally to glance at booths before wandering toward the Ferris wheel. The tape ended there, abruptly.

Elliot stared at the static on the screen. This wasn’t just old family footage. Someone else had filmed this—from a distance, without his knowledge.

He scrambled for the next tape, driven now by a mix of unease and morbid curiosity. The third tape began with a shaky view of a moving van parked outside a nondescript apartment complex. 

The lens zoomed in on a young man unloading boxes—a version of Elliot he recognized as himself in his early twenties, on the day he’d moved into his first apartment. The footage was grainy but unmistakable. The camerawork lingered long enough to capture Elliot walking back and forth between the truck and the building, oblivious to the unseen watcher.

The static buzzed like white noise in his head when the tape ended. He ejected it with shaky hands, the box of tapes sitting before him like a nest of vipers.

“Okay,” he muttered aloud, his voice shaky. “This is… weird, but it has to be a prank, right? Someone from school messing with me. Or—or Dad’s weird idea of a project.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow.

Still, the growing weight in his chest told him otherwise. The tapes spanned decades, clearly following him from boyhood to adulthood. If his father had filmed them, why hadn’t he ever mentioned it? And how would he have filmed the carnival without being noticed? None of it made sense.

Elliot stood and paced the room, running a hand through his hair. His thoughts churned, grasping for rational explanations. Maybe an old friend—or a neighbor, someone with too much time on their hands—had compiled this footage. 

But that only opened more questions. How had they stayed so hidden? Why had they been following him?

He sank back onto the couch, his legs feeling unsteady. The tapes weren’t just unsettling—they were invasive. Each new clip felt like a violation of his privacy, moments of his life stolen without his knowledge or consent.

A part of him wanted to stop watching. To pack up the box, take it to the nearest dumpster, and pretend this strange discovery had never happened. But another part of him—a stubborn, obsessive part—needed answers. If there was a clue hidden on one of the remaining tapes, he had to find it.

Elliot reached for the remote again, pausing with his finger over the play button. The rain outside had intensified, drumming against the windowpanes like an erratic heartbeat. The living room seemed darker now, the shadows in the corners deeper. He shivered but pressed on.

The next tape began with an image of an empty street at dusk. A streetlamp flickered in the distance, its pale light casting long, distorted shadows. The camera moved slowly, deliberately, until it settled on a familiar figure—a man locking the door to a hardware store.

Elliot’s breath hitched. The man on the screen was him. Not younger, not from a distant memory, but him as he was now. His jacket, his messenger bag, the way he glanced over his shoulder as he turned to leave—all of it was disturbingly recent.

He turned off the tape and sat in silence, the sound of the rain filling the void.

This was no prank. No forgotten family project. Someone had been watching him—following him—for decades. And they were still watching.

For the first time that evening, Elliot felt truly afraid.

To Be Continued …