I don’t celebrate birthdays anymore. When you get older you try to forget they even exist. You really don’t need a reminder telling you you’re slowly becoming an outdated dinosaur, and I’ve always found commemorating the harrowing approach of your own death a rather morbid notion. So I suppose having my birthday in the middle of a nationwide lockdown was somewhat of a godsend.
That didn’t stop my mother from sending me a present though. She always found a way to annoy me, in the best way possible, and she’d out-fiddle the devil himself just to put a smile on my face. I don’t know how she did it, but this morning, when I went to let Dave, my cat, out, I nearly tripped over it. An anonymous brown package just laying there, inside my flat. How the hell did she pull that off?
I chuckled internally as I desperately tried to decipher what was scribbled on the front of the package. It was clearly in her handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere. The worst f’ing handwriting you’ll ever see. Like if you grabbed a crow, dipped its beak in ink, and let it peck randomly on the paper.
TO JEFFY, LOVE MOM
I yelled to Dave to hurry his shit up, but he wasn’t having it, so I just closed the door, and brought the package with me inside, carefully placing it down on the kitchen counter. Mom was a next-level prankster, so I made sure to investigate every inch of it, weighing it, gently shaking it, before finally opening it.
I scratched my head in puzzlement. It wasn’t much. Just a DVD. No note or anything. My mom wasn’t very technical, and the thought of her burning a DVD was quite frankly absurd. Did she even own a computer? Maybe dad helped her out? Or my brother? I guess there were ways she could have pulled it off, so I shrugged, and plopped the thing into my laptop.
After whirring discordantly for what felt like minutes, I was finally greeted with a single video file named Jeffy’s Home Videos 86-90. I caught myself smiling sheepishly in the reflection on my screen. I didn’t even know we had a video camera back then, so it was a very thoughtful surprise. Sort of an atypical gift from my mom, but I was still halfway expecting it all to be some elaborate prank. Maybe it was a rick roll or something?
But no, to my mild surprise it seemed like a pretty extensive collection of genuine home videos from the 80’s, complete with ridiculous low resolution, graininess, horrible audio, and an abysmal cameraman. They seemed to be in the wrong order though, starting when I was 4, then younger and younger, which, to me, proved that it was my technically challenged mom who’d compiled them.
I sat for about half an hour enjoying every second of the shaky cam time travel, reliving moments I’d entirely forgotten, laughing at how weird everybody looked back then, and boggling at how I was still alive. I was a stupid, stupid kid, always falling over and running into things. I sent my mom a picture of me and my bottle of wine relishing the ancient videos, with the caption Thanks for the home videos mom<3 Best birthday gift ever!
But then it got strange. I’d just finished watching the summer of 87, when we apparently spent the holiday out by my grandpa’s cabin by the sea. I was two years old then, and my brother Justin must have been five. It was a wonderful trip down non-memory lane, since I had no recollection of it, and I was anxiously looking forward to videos from my first year. I didn’t have any photos or anything from back then, my mom said they’d must have been misplaced when they moved a decade ago, but she could never seem to find them again.
It was the summer of 86 according to the date in the bottom left corner. A shaky cam, more than likely maneuvered by my dad, looking over a tall white fence. A family of three was gathered on the other side; husband, wife, and a tiny toddler. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I suppose they must have been our neighbors. We moved every couple of years when I was a child - something about my mom’s work - so it was an educated guess.
There was some barely audible whispering as the camera was lowered, now facing the grass. I replayed this part several times, but I could never really hear what was said. Just fragments of it made sense. We...Move...Leave...Hurry were the only words I could make out. Then the camera was raised, once again peering over the top of the fence. The family was gathered out by the front porch of a house, the toddler with his assumed mother, and the assumed father operating a hose, spraying water on assorted flowers. Then the camera moved again, focusing on the cheery face of my mom. She was wearing a bright red sun hat, real cheesy looking, and the first time I saw it I giggled uncontrollably.
“Let’s do it,” she said, grinning widely.
A chill ran down my spine. Those exact words have no meaning without context, you know. Could point to absolutely anything. Let’s do it. Let’s go get ice cream. Let’s do it. Let’s drive down to the beach. Innocent things. Mundane snapshots. But the way she said it, and the expression on her face; I knew instantly that something wasn’t right.
Moments later the shaky cam got shakier, now running around the fence, and into the backyard of the family. The cameraman, assumedly my dad, stopped at the gate, zooming in on the woman’s face. She looked shocked. Scared even, holding onto the toddler tightly, and backing away towards the front door. Then my mom came into view again, and I realised why the woman appeared so frightened. I had to replay that moment several times too, because I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it was her.
She was wielding a knife. A huge butchery thing. She turned and grinned to the camera, waving the knife around playfully, before suddenly charging at the woman, her terrifying high-pitched screams echoing through my kitchen. I almost stumbled to the floor as I watched the carnage unfold. My mom stabbed the woman brutally in her left leg, causing her to collapse on the front porch, the toddler rolling down onto the grass, wailing hysterically. The assumed father suddenly became aware of what was happening, and his eyes widened as he yelled something, running to the woman's aid, only to be stabbed in the neck by my mom as he came within arm’s reach.
The next two or three minutes were dedicated to my mom stabbing the two of them repeatedly, the fleshly, pulpy, mangled remains at the end of it hardly even human in appearance any more. Absolutely drenched in blood, my mom turned to the camera, laughing maniacally. She suddenly noticed the wailing toddler in the grass, and quickly wiped clean the knife with the inside of her dress, placing it down on the porch. She then gently lifted the toddler, hugging him tightly, smearing blood all over the child.
“We’ll name you Jeffy,” she said, and kissed him, me, on the cheek, before waving to the camera.
I slammed the laptop shut, and staggered back, hyperventilating uncontrollably. No. It couldn’t be. It had to be some kind of prank, right? Right? Some unbelievably elaborate prank. You could do that these days, you know? Fabricate shit like that? Right? Deep fake and everything?
My phone vibrated. A text from my mom. I read it. Then again. Once more. Then I grabbed my laptop and got the hell out of there.
I didn’t send you any videos, but your father is coming over to sort it out.
Stay where you are, Jeffy. Everything will be alright. Don’t move. We’ll be right there.
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