I can't trust my roommate.
We both like old stuff. I have an old VHS Player and he got a big kick out of it, when he first moved in. He's got one too, but mine is better cared for, so we use mine.
We got a lot in common.
He's got a bunch of tapes of old movies like I do, and when he said 'But please don't handle them when I'm not around,' I didn't think much of it, because I'm the same way. I told him not to handle my tapes too.
Collectors are really careful with the stuff they collect. You'll find that a lot of vinyl aficionados don't like it when you touch their discs. Same goes for stamps. Same for VHS.
Edgar – that's his name – he's on the couch one day when I'm about to leave for class. We live in an old house, quiet street. Wooden floor. Three bedrooms. The third one's got nothing but a bed, a closet and an old U2 poster on the wall. I never rent it, it's too old and small, no one would take it.
"You got any plans today?" I ask, buttoning my shirt. Something's hissing on the TV. He's watching a movie. I don't pay much mind to it.
"Getting high and watching dumb shit," he says, and he laughs and I leave.
When I come back from class he's asleep on the couch, and the TV's hissing static. I crouch in front of the VHS player and I'm about to turn it off when I remember:
Be kind.
I press rewind and get up and go make a sandwich. Edgar's snoring.
And then something catches my eye onscreen. Just for a second. The image of a dark, poorly-lit room, an amateur footage. A flash, and then it's the bright colors of Lion King rolling backwards under the three wavy lines of the rewind.
I make way for the living room again, careful not to make much noise with my feet, I'm not even sure why. I press play.
Lion King starts rolling onscreen. I look back. The tape's open on the coffee table. Edgar's asleep.
And then the film changes. With a low whistle and a flash of gray rain, the cartoon disappears, and a room takes its place. Poorly lit. Small. Just a bed with no mattress.
Analog camcorder, 8mm footage. I sit on the floor, my eyes glued onscreen. Some tumbling noises off frame, then a torso shows up, and the torso's followed by a young girl, tied up in scotch tape. Mouth, arms and legs. The torso-person sits her on the bed. Her eyes are red, crying, wide.
I look back at Edgar. Asleep. Then at the TV.
The torso-person, it's a man, that much I can see. He speaks and I think I can recognize his voice.
"Are you afraid?"
The girl cries harder, muffled under the scotch tape. The torso man disappears from the frame, then he's back with a hammer. The girl cries harder.
"You should be." The hammer brushes softly against her skin, and she cries harder still. I know her face. We had a class together. Me, her and Edgar.
I haven't seen her in a few weeks.
She cries harder. The torso man raises his hammer hand. My eyes go wide like hers in expectation.
"What are you watching?"
I turn off the VHS and jump up on my feet. Edgar's rubbing his eyes, waking up. The Lion King tape open between us.
"Nothing," I say. "You fell asleep watching TV."
He blinks himself awake, sitting up. His eyes go up to me, then the tape. "Yeah. I guess I did."
He gets up. "I should watch the end of it, sometime. I always fall asleep before, and the ending's the best part."
We keep eyes on each other for a second, then he goes around me, heading for his room.
I hear the door click and I press play again. I'm looking for something. Anything that could excuse this. It's fake. It's a movie. It's a prank. It's something someone found on the streets, no way it can be –
But then I see it. Just as the camera shakes with the fall of the hammer, I see a glimpse of a U2 poster on the wall, old and half-peeled off.
This is the third bedroom in my house.
I hear noises from Edgar's room. I head for the last door after the couch. For the third room.
I open the door and flip the switch, but nothing. The light's broken. One glimpse is all it takes for someone to make sure it's the same room in the tape.
I walk in, slow. I look around. Then I open the closet on the right and my eyes stop on the 8mm camcorder resting quietly on top of the tripod.
I take it out and study it, my breath growing fast and shallow. "Edgar... can you come in here?"
"What's up, mate?" Edgar's already by the door, looking at me. I don't know how long he's been there for. "What are you doing with that camera, man?"
I look from the camera to his face. He's not smiling. I go to him.
"I told you I didn't like it when people touch my tapes." I'm the one who says that.
I click the door shut behind him. He frowns. I have the chloroform rag in my hand already, I always keep everything in the closet.
He's in the middle of Beauty and the Beast now, right after the scene with the last flower petal falling. His recording isn't as long as the others, I didn't really enjoy doing it. But I had to. I told him. I told him not to watch my tapes. And he did.
See? I couldn't trust him.
author: unknown
a/n OH MY GOD THAT PLOT TWIST! Holy hell...