The Forgotten One

Jamie had never been one for nostalgia. Memories were just that - moments to be remembered and moved on from, not dug up. So when they found an old, dusty box labeled "Home Videos" in the attic of their childhood home, they almost ignored it. Almost.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and the house was eerily still. After their parents passed, Jamie had reluctantly come back to pack up the house, and now they were knee-deep in dusty boxes and old furniture. The attic was the last place they wanted to deal with, but curiosity got the best of them when they saw that box.

The tapes were old VHS, the kind you had to rewind with a pencil if they jammed. Jamie sighed, picking one up and rolling it in their hand. The familiar blocky handwriting of their mom marked the tape: "Family Vacations '92-'94." There was something oddly comforting about it. Despite the disarray of the house, this felt like a time capsule - an innocent peek into simpler times. Maybe this would make the packing a little easier.

Jamie rummaged around in the living room until they found an old VHS player still connected to the television, hoping it would still work after all these years. After a few frustrating moments of finagling cables and blowing dust out of the machine, the static on the screen flickered, and the tape began to play.

The first video was from a family trip to the beach. Jamie watched as a much younger version of themselves ran along the shoreline, their parents laughing and calling them back to pose for the camera. It was strange to see their mom and dad so young, so full of life, and Jamie felt a tightness in their chest. They had been happy then. Life had been…normal.

The next tape was a birthday party - probably their fifth or sixth. They could see a crowd of children gathered around a cake as their mom held the camera steady. Jamie smiled, recognizing a few faces, distant friends from childhood, faces that had faded from their memory over time.

Then, the next tape started.

The scene began with a backyard barbecue. Their dad was manning the grill while Jamie's younger self played on a swing set. But as Jamie watched the screen, something shifted. At first, it was subtle - like a detail out of place that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Then they saw it.

A boy. A boy Jamie didn't recognize.

He was sitting at the picnic table, no older than five, maybe six, smiling and laughing as if he belonged there. Jamie frowned, feeling a cold chill creep up their spine. Who was that? They paused the tape and stared at the boy on the screen.

Jamie rewound the tape and watched the scene again, slower this time. The boy wasn't just there in the background; he was interacting with everyone - playing with Jamie on the swings, running around with other kids, laughing with their parents.

Jamie's breath hitched. No. That didn't make sense. There were no other siblings. It had always been just Jamie. They had no recollection of anyone else. How could they forget something like that?

Confused, Jamie kept watching. The next clip showed the family opening presents by the Christmas tree. The boy was there again, ripping open gifts, just as excited as Jamie had been. Jamie paused the video, staring at the screen in disbelief. Why couldn't they remember him?

The videos continued, each one featuring the boy more prominently. There was a sense of unease growing in Jamie's stomach, an inexplicable feeling of wrongness. The boy - this sibling - was present in all the videos now. In every memory that Jamie thought they knew, the boy was there, laughing, playing, talking to their parents. But Jamie had no memory of him, not even a fragment.

Desperate for answers, Jamie rummaged through the box, pulling out more tapes, more memories. Each one was the same - the boy always there, part of the family, acting like he belonged.

Jamie felt sick. They needed to understand. They needed to know who he was.

They called their aunt, the only family member they still had contact with. After a few rings, she picked up, her voice chipper at first. But when Jamie mentioned the boy, there was a long pause on the other end.

"Jamie, honey, what are you talking about?" her aunt finally said, her voice wavering with confusion.

"The videos," Jamie said, voice trembling. "There's a boy in them. A boy I don't remember. He looks like he's my brother, but…but I don't have a brother."

Their aunt was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Jamie…I don't know what you're talking about. You've always been an only child."

Jamie's stomach twisted. "But he's right there! In all the videos! How could I forget him? How could you forget him?"

Her aunt sighed, clearly uneasy. "I don't know what's going on, Jamie, but…there's no boy. You were the only child your parents had."

Jamie hung up, the phone slipping from their trembling hand. The walls of the house felt like they were closing in, the air growing thick and suffocating. Something was wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong.

They turned back to the tapes, their fingers trembling as they inserted the next one. The screen flickered, showing a family road trip. The boy was sitting in the backseat next to Jamie, staring directly at the camera with a smile that sent a shiver down their spine.

The unease grew into full-blown terror as the boy's presence in the videos began to change. In the earliest videos, he seemed like any other child - a regular part of the family. But as the years went on, something was off. His movements became unnatural, his smile too wide, too fixed. He began staring into the camera more often, his eyes locking onto Jamie's as if he could see them watching from the present.

Then came the final tape. The handwriting on the label was shaky, almost frantic: "Do Not Watch."

Jamie hesitated, but their hands moved on their own, inserting the tape into the player. The screen crackled with static for a moment before showing a familiar scene - the living room of their childhood home. Their parents sat on the couch, looking older, more haggard than Jamie remembered. The boy was there, too, standing in the center of the room, staring directly into the camera with that same unnerving smile.

Their mom was crying softly, and their dad was talking, but his words were muffled, hard to make out. Jamie leaned forward, trying to catch what he was saying.

"…we did everything we could," their dad was saying, his voice barely audible. "We tried to…but he won't leave us alone. He just…won't go away."

The boy's smile widened.

Jamie's heart pounded in their chest as their dad continued. "It's like he's…part of the house now. Like he's always been here, even though he's not real. But he's…he's in the tapes. He's in our memories. He's everywhere."

Their mom sobbed louder, burying her face in her hands. "What have we done?"

The screen flickered, and suddenly the boy was standing closer to the camera, his face filling the screen. Jamie's blood ran cold as his eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, staring directly at them, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

The tape ended abruptly, leaving the room in thick, suffocating silence.

Jamie sat frozen, their mind reeling. The boy - he wasn't real. He had never been real. But somehow, he had embedded himself in their family's life, in their memories, in the very fabric of the house.

They looked around the living room, their heart racing. The walls seemed to close in on them, the shadows stretching and shifting in the dim light. Jamie felt a presence behind them - a cold, oppressive weight pressing down on their shoulders.

They didn't dare turn around. They didn't have to.

They knew he was there.

The boy from the tapes.

The forgotten one.

And he wasn't going to leave.