You, Tod, and Alex had been inseparable since middle school — a trio that just made sense. Alex with his quiet smarts, Tod with his reckless humor, and you balancing between them. Everyone said the three of you were meant to grow old together, that nothing could break that kind of bond. But something did.

Alex had fallen for you first. You knew it. So did Tod. And Tod, being Tod, had stepped back, said something like “He’s better for you anyway,” with that fake grin that never reached his eyes. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone — you just couldn’t help the way you looked at Tod when no one was watching. One night turned into two, two into a pattern of stolen touches and whispered promises. Alex found out a few days before he died. The night before the flight, he couldn’t even look at either of you.

And now, months after the crash, you and Tod were together. You didn’t talk about Alex. You tried not to.

Until the first tape arrived

It came in a plain brown envelope, no return address, just your names written in marker across the front: “For You Both.” You thought maybe it was another condolence video, one of those community-made tributes. Tod almost didn’t open it. But curiosity got the better of him.

He put the VHS into the old player in his basement, the one that barely worked. Static first, a low hum under the speakers, and then—

A clip of the three of you at the fair, years ago. Alex holding the camera, Tod throwing popcorn at you, both of you laughing so hard you cried. It was a real memory. But something about it felt wrong. The laughter sounded warped, distorted, almost too slow.

Then the camera panned down, to Alex’s shoes. A whisper followed: “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

The screen flickered. Static. Then black.

Tod ejected the tape and laughed nervously. “Okay, that’s—creepy as hell, but maybe someone’s screwing with us.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did.

The second tape came three days later. Same envelope. Same handwriting.

This one was darker. Literally darker — like the footage had been recorded in a place with no real light source. You recognized the layout, though. Your living room. Except the couch was in the wrong spot. The walls had peeling wallpaper that your house never had.

And there you were. On screen. Sitting beside Tod, his hand in yours. You were talking, laughing — but no sound came out. Then, faintly, behind the static, Alex’s voice again: “How does it feel to watch yourselves?”

Tod turned off the TV immediately, breathing hard. You both stared at the blank screen until your reflections stared back.

He whispered, “It’s not real. It’s not him.”

But he didn’t sound sure.