It had been two weeks since he discovered the box of tapes, and every moment since felt like slipping further into someone else’s story. The footage of Arthur Caldwell standing outside the hospital still haunted him—those whispered words, “You’re ready now.” Ready for what? The question consumed his waking hours and crept into his dreams.

Determined to make sense of it all, Elliot dug deeper into the tapes, combing through hours of grainy, often nonsensical footage. But the more he watched, the stranger things became.

One night, as Elliot sat hunched over the projector, he froze. The tape on the screen showed a man walking through a crowded market. The camera zoomed in on him, following him closely. The man wore a brown jacket and a green scarf, the same clothes Elliot had been wearing when he visited the estate sale. The man turned his head, and Elliot’s heart stopped—it was him.

Elliot yanked the tape from the projector and stared at it, his hands trembling. He didn’t remember being filmed. He didn’t remember the market. But there he was, clear as day, walking through it.

The next night, he found another tape that twisted his perception further. This one showed his apartment. The furniture was the same, but the space seemed subtly different—newer, brighter. The footage revealed Elliot in the room, sitting at his desk. The timestamp on the screen read two days in the future.

Elliot couldn’t look away as the version of himself on the screen reached into a drawer and pulled out an unfamiliar object. It was a key, long and rusted, engraved with intricate patterns. The tape cut to black before Elliot could discern what the key was for.

He turned off the projector and buried his head in his hands. His sense of reality was slipping, and the tapes weren’t just documenting the past anymore—they were predicting the future.

To make matters worse, the phone calls began. Late at night, his phone would ring, and when he answered, there was only static on the line.

Sometimes, beneath the hiss, he thought he could hear whispers—low, unintelligible murmurs that sent shivers crawling up his spine. Once, he swore he heard his name.

***

The knock came at 2:17 a.m.

Elliot had been sitting on the couch, staring at the pile of tapes he was too afraid to watch, when the sound startled him. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all at this hour. Hesitantly, he approached the door and peered through the peephole.

A man stood on the other side, his features obscured by the dim hallway light. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with sharp eyes that darted nervously around the corridor. Elliot opened the door a crack.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The man leaned in, his tone urgent. “Are you Elliot?”

Elliot hesitated, then nodded.

The man exhaled, a mix of relief and frustration. “We need to talk. It’s about the tapes.”

Elliot stepped back, his unease growing. “Who are you?”

The man glanced over his shoulder before answering. “My name is Caleb Caldwell. Arthur Caldwell was my father.”

Elliot froze. “I thought Arthur didn’t have any family.”

Caleb shook his head. “That’s what he wanted people to believe. Look, I don’t have much time. You need to stop watching the tapes. They weren’t meant for you.”

“Why not?” Elliot demanded, his voice rising. “What’s going on? What are these tapes?”

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the box of reels. “I don’t know how much he told you, but my father… he wasn’t just a filmmaker. He was obsessed with capturing more than just moments. He believed he could record… alternate realities. Futures. Possibilities. He said the tapes were a map, but they were incomplete, broken.” Caleb’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They have a way of… twisting things.”

Elliot stared at him, his heart pounding. “Twisting how?”

Caleb stepped closer. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? Things that don’t make sense. Time bleeding through the cracks. If you keep watching, you’ll lose your grip on what’s real.”

Elliot wanted to argue, to demand more answers, but Caleb turned abruptly and disappeared down the hallway. The sound of his footsteps echoed into the distance, leaving Elliot alone with his thoughts—and his fears.

The next morning, Elliot woke to find a tape already in his VCR. He didn’t remember putting it there. His pulse quickened as he turned on the TV and pressed play.

The footage showed his living room, filmed from an angle near the ceiling, as if the camera were perched on a hidden shelf. Elliot’s throat went dry as he watched himself sitting on the couch, staring at the tapes. He looked exactly as he had the night before—the same clothes, the same exhausted slump of his shoulders.

The version of himself on the screen picked up a tape and slid it into the projector. Elliot recognized it as the one that showed him walking through the market. The footage on the TV mirrored the events of the past week, as though documenting his every move.

Suddenly, the on-screen Elliot looked up, his eyes locking directly with the camera. The image flickered, and the perspective shifted. Now, the footage was being filmed from behind the couch, showing the back of his head.

Elliot spun around, his blood running cold. The couch was empty, the room still.

The tape continued to play.

On-screen, the perspective shifted again. It showed Elliot standing in the doorway, staring at himself on the screen. The TV Elliot’s expression twisted into something unreadable—a mix of fear, resignation, and something else, something almost predatory.

The on-screen Elliot whispered, “You’re ready now.”

Elliot stumbled back, his mind reeling. The screen cut to static, the sound rising to a deafening roar before the TV shut off by itself. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by Elliot’s ragged breathing.

He didn’t know what was real anymore. The tapes had consumed his life, blurring the lines between past, present, and future.

And as he sat there, paralyzed by fear, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him from just beyond the edges of the frame.

To Be Continued …