I found some home videos from my childhood in my parents attic.

My father, who loved so much, recently passed. It was hard on both me and my mother, it damn near killed her. He was 75 when he passed away, and my mother is now 70 so she’s too old to go through his things herself. She’s also disabled, hasn’t been able to walk since the age of 62. so as the only child, and really only contact with the world I decided to take it upon myself. It was a big task, sure, but I thought maybe going through his things would be one last way to bond with him.

I begin sorting through dusty boxes, figuring out what should be kept, what should be thrown out and what should be donated. It’s pretty cool to see all the vintage, antique things from decades past that my parents kept with them throughout the years.

As I move things around, I come across an old trunk with a lock on it. This isn’t surprising because my parents have always been somewhat secretive. I grab and inspect the lock, it’s old and rusted, I bet with a good wack if a hammer it could come off. I could have taken the time to hunt for a key, but god knows dad would hide something like that in a place where no one would ever find it. Plus truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood for a scavenger hunt. I dig around and find my dads old tool set and grab the heaviest hammer I have and bust the old lock off.

I sift through the contents of the trunk, video tapes, a baby book, some old clothes that my mother probably wore in the 80s, and some other things that didn’t really catch my eye. I was very interested in the VHS tapes. I pick a tape up and read the label “Evan’s birthday. ‘88.” I smile and chuckle to myself. I remember they always had that old video camera out. He always said he loved to relive his best moments over and over. I decide to take a few of the tapes to the Tv in my dads office just below. I’m glad he never listened to me when I told him to toss out that old VHS player.

I pop the black tape into the player and turn my focus to the distorted video, slowly sorting itself out on the screen. There I am, just two years old splashing in a little puddle at a park in my tiny blue rain boots, my mother is holding my hand and laughing, and you can hear my father say “big jump” every time I splash in the puddle. My mother lovingly tussles my dark brown hair. Just a serene moment of time captured on this tape like a firefly in a mason jar. I smile to myself remembering my dad and hearing his voice. It didn’t sound how it did before he passed. Less raspy, and more energy, but none the less that’s dad alright. I sit and smile at the screen, and im then snatched out of the moment when I see something that doesn’t fit quite right.

Off in the distance of the park about 100 yards away maybe less. Out by the tree line, there’s a woman facing away from the camera, just standing still all by herself. Her long black hair clings to her emaciated form and her skin looks pale, at least from what I can make out. It seems like she doesn’t have any clothes on but some beige under garments. My dad zooms in on the big smile my mother had on her face, and when he zoomed back out to show the entire landscape again, the woman was gone. “Ew what a freak.” I mutter to myself as I push the eject button.

I look through my options and I next choose the one labeled ‘Fourth of July ‘89’ Fourth of July was always one of my favorite holidays. I insert the tape and as the image adjusts itself, I’m met with a moment swear I almost remember. It’s me and my paternal grandma. I’m sitting on her lap, and she’s helping me eat some steamed clams. Those were my favorite food on earth at the time I recall. I remember I could eat piles and piles of them. I found it comforting that my dad and grandma got to be together now.

I watch as she wiped the stream of melted butter that dripped from my mouth as I chewed, reveling in the bliss of care free child life. My dad pans the camera around at the party shooting my grandparents huge yard. the hustle and bustle of the extravagant cookouts they had all summer long, kids running with sparklers, adults talking while eating their grilled meats, and their big glorious home they were always so proud of. The perfect life, my grandparents were the embodiment of perfection. It’s probably why my parents strived for it so hard as well.

As my dad pans the scenery, I get a sense of dread when the shot passes the sliding glass window. “No fucking way.” I mutter to myself as I lurch forward and slam the rewind button. The scene backs up to the window and I hit pause. She’s there again, inside the house this time. The same woman with the black hair, facing away from the camera and leaning against the sliding glass door. She’s closer this time, maybe 20 yards or so. Standing perfectly still. Almost like a statue. The weirdest part is no one acknowledges her. They act as if she’s supposed to e there and fits right in, or as if she isn’t even there at all.

Something about this gives me a feeling I can’t shake, like a fight or flight. I take the tape out and grab the one closest to me. “Easter ‘91” I put it in and quickly press play as I feel sweat beginning to coat my palms. The scene opens to me in my Sunday best with my candy in a basket, though this time I’m not so interested in reminiscing as I am in looking for this woman. And without fail, there she is.

She’s right outside the dining room window, still facing away. She’s close enough now that I can see she’s soaked to the bone. And her arms are bent at an unnatural angle, so that her palms are behind her, pressed against the glass, and her fingers are bent as if she were trying to claw through with her nails. As the scene moves around her, with my mother helping me open a piece of chocolate, and little our family dog running around hoping for scraps, she just stands there. Still like a photograph.

My breathing quickens and i grab the last of the tapes i grabbed, “Christmas 91’” it says. I take a deep inhale and carefully put the last tape in. The scene comes up on the screen and it’s how I always remembered our Christmases. The tree in the corner of the living room, the slightly dim bit warm lighting of our lamp reflects so beautifully off the ornaments in the wee hours in the morning. I watch as my past self opens presents and holds them up with glee. My mom stands next to me in her fuzzy pink robe, blonde hair still in rollers, holding her coffee And watching my excitement. I sigh a breath of relief not seeing that wretched woman.

But just then, my heart skips and my breath gets caught in my throat. There she is, I see her. In the corner just behind the tree. Standing there, facing away from the camera again. She’s just feet away from me this time. I watch this woman in paralyzing terror, almost completely blocking out the joy of Christmas Day going on around her. I can feel the anger and evil radiating off of her from the video. Standing there, unnoticed in a scene where she doesn’t belong. Then I notice movement. She’s painstakingly slowly turning her head.

Just before I get a glimpse of her face, I push the eject button so hard that it nearly knocks the VHS tape off the shelf. I cannot catch my breath and my body is numb. Something about this feels so wrong, terrible, heartbreaking and evil at the same time. When I’m able to feel my legs. I grab the tapes and run back to the attic.

I dig through the box some more. There has to be answers in here. Who is that woman? Why is she always around? There a tape, one in particular I feel drawn to. I hesitantly pick it up and take it down stairs.

I walk to the VHS player and read the label one last time. “Evans birth.” I take a deep breath in and gently place in the video. The scenery before me is my mother holding me as a baby, swaddled and serene. they’re at home, I recognize the bathroom from my childhood house. This must be after they brought me back. After a few seconds the tape ends. It must have been watched and not rewinded. I rewind the tape, unable to look at the screen until it’s at the beginning.

“It’s time, John.” My mother says to the camera with a warm grin as the tape starts. “I can’t believe it’s finally here. Our baby boy is going to come home.” He says from behind the image. You can hear the giddiness in his soul escape through his words. My mother begins walking up stairs. Her full body comes into view I’m taken aback by how thin she is. My mother says she hardly showed when she was pregnant with me but she looks as thin as I always remember her being.

As they both get up the stairs, she gives my dad a kiss and he says “after you.” With a chuckle and you can see his hand gesture towards the door. She opens it slowly, and nothing could prepare me for the scene ahead.

In the bathtub there’s a woman, she’s sickly pale. Her face is black and blue with bruising and she’s undressed except for those beige bra and panties. I can see that her face is the only area with injury, but it looked horrible. Her nose is purple and crooked, From what i can see if her lips beyond the gag they look cracked and swollen. She’s quietly groaning in pain. Her arms are underneath her body, they seem stuck there. You can see the water is pink with blood, and worst of all, she’s heavily pregnant.

“It’s time Emily, he’s coming.” My mother says to the woman. You can see the woman begin to sob as she shakes her head quickly, and you can hear her saying “uh uh. Uh uh!” From behind the gag covering her mouth. I for some reason am unable to turn my head from the horror on screen, no matter how bad I try to look away. It’s as if my eyes are magnetized to the screen. My mind is screaming at me to shut it off, but I can’t.

Out from my mothers waist band, she pulls out a large carving knife. “Be careful Maryann.” My father warns her. You can hear the smile on his face in the way he speaks. “Don’t worry John. Protecting our baby it’s of the utmost importance. He’s going to be absolutely perfect.” She says while tracing the edge of the blade with her finger.

She then places one hand over the woman’s mouth, and says to her “thank you for this Emily, it’s the right thing. We can give this baby the life he deserves. One someone like you never could.” And before I knew what was happening, she slowly and methodically begins cutting at the woman’s abdomen. A thin red line opens and blood spills out as my mother cuts across this womans belly. She screams and writhes in pain. “Should we shut her up?” My dad asks my mom. “Why bother? The closest neighbors are a mile away and what are the odds someone will be walking outside in February?” She says nonchalantly with a shrug.

God I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. The woman is crying and screaming, or at least trying. Between the gag and my mothers tight grip hardly any noise is getting through. The knife cut through her skin like hot butter. My mother was so focused on her task, that the woman crying and rolling around to get away hardly phased her attention. She started to roll onto her side and my mother smacked her in the face. “Knock it off. Do you want me to hurt this baby? If he get cut that’s on you.”

As my mother cuts through the next layer, and let’s to go the woman’s face to reach around inside. You can hear the sickening squelch as her arms move around. the woman screams louder and smashes her head on the tile, hard. Maybe to put herself out of her own misery. It didn’t work, however. She’s still alive, but her screams of anguish become more and more lulled and become a weak groan, but you can see crimson blood on the white tile where her skull made contact.

“There he is.” I hear my mother say in the tape, it draws my attention back to her. From the abdomen of this woman, my mother pulls a baby. Blood covers my mothers arms up to her elbows. In her stained arm is A little boy, lightly crying. “We agreed on Evan, right? After my dad?” My father asks, of course honey. My mom says as she washes the gore off the baby and her own arms in the sink. She then wraps me up in a little blue blanket. “What are we to do with her?” My father asks pointing the camera at the weak, disemboweled woman. She’s looking in the direction of the camera, but she looks so out of it she probably can’t see anything anymore. Her eyes look bloodshot and empty.

My mother looks at her and with a tsk tsk tsk as she thinks. “There’s no point in her suffering more.” She says. She hands me off to my dad just then she walks to the woman, and pushes her head under water, face down. You can see the woman struggling the best she can, but due to blood loss she had no strength and quickly succumbed to her water grave. Left to drown in a pool of her own bodily fluids. My mother then takes me back from my dad and holds me for the camera, and kissing my head. showing me the scene I was greeted with when I put the tape in.

I sit there for a moment. My breathing ragged and my body feels frozen. There’s no way this isn’t a prank. I want to move but I can’t. I look up at the black screen to see my own reflection. I look pale, and then I see her. Just behind me. That woman, lurking right over my shoulder, illuminated by the dim light of the table lamp.

I quickly turn around and see nothing there. I run upstairs as fast as I can and sift through the box once again. My baby book. I open it and I am greeted with posed photos of my mother, who appears to be pregnant at, and photos of myself as an infant. There’s a photo of my mother and several other pregnant women labeled ‘birthing class’ I flip the page, a piece of hair from my first hair cut, a stamp of my foot print. I turn the page again and was shocked by what I found.

News paper clippings. “Young, expecting, Fresno woman still missing.” The headline read.

Emily Jean, 19, went missing from Fresno California in September of last year. She would be 6 months pregnant by now. Was reported to be last seen hitchhiking on the side of the interstate. Her whereabouts are unknown. Her family begs her to call home, if she is able and is offering a 25,000 reward for her safe return.

Underneath there was a photo of this young woman, and I see my own green eyes looking back at me from her, and the same nose I’ve always hated. She had my dark Brown hair I remember I thought it was odd because neither of my parents had it. My mother, or the woman whom i thought was my mother had told me her parents had my color, they passed before I was born so how would I know. I feel the knot in my stomach tighten and I turn the page. The headline read “Body of missing woman Emily Jean, found in local pond”

emily Jean, 19, who had been missing since September, remains have been found this Monday. Her body was heavily. Fresno PD says they have no comments at this time.

My heart has never pounded so hard. I can feel sweat dripping from my forehead. Is this woman my mother? Are my parents killers? Do I turn her in? My mind is racing over this situation that feels like a fever dream. It doesn’t feel like real life. I feel like my heart could give out at any second. How could my parents be such monsters.

My racing mind is interrupted by the quick, heavy thuds of running up the stairs. “You weren’t supposed to see that, Evan.” I hear an old creaky voice from behind me. I turn around, and there, is the woman who I had been told is my mother, standing in the doorframe backlit by the hall light. As far as I knew she couldn’t stand, let alone speed run up the stairs. And worst of all In her hand, she held the carving knife from the old home videos.