The Jackson Files

“Gotta get this goddamned thing open, you can tell there’s stuff in it,” said Marcus, trying  to jimmy the cabinet open.  

Keisha was digging through boxes of clothes and random junk. “Well don’t break it. God,  they left so much.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think of Momma and Pops as pack rats.”  

Pops had been dead six years, Momma just the week before. Cleaning out the old house  on Cascade fell to them. Marcus had wanted to hire a service; Keisha dreaded losing anything  with emotional weight, so they were in the attic, only now comprehending the vast task that lay  before them.  

The cabinet popped open. “There,” Marcus said. “Whaddya we got?” 

“Momma’s dress from my graduation!” cheered Keisha, still digging through the box.  “Teal. She loved teal. Wore a matching hat. That’s gotta be around here somewhere.”  

“What the hell?” said Marcus, looking into the cabinet.  

“A HAT, she wore a hat. Of course she did. Wouldn’t go poorly dressed to an occasion.”  “Keesh,” said Marcus. “Come here.”  

The cabinet was very carefully lined with video tapes in different formats, starting with  VHS and proceeding to the littler ones that starting coming out later. Carefully stacked  notebooks, all the same brand, were piled up as well, and came in two colors; red and green.  There was a little box, which, when Marcus pulled it out, Keisha could see was full of USB  drives.  

“That’s weird. Marcus, what did you find here?”  

Marcus took out a red notebook. The cover had an inscription, written unmistakably in  their mother’s handwriting; it said KEISHA V. J. 1/1/1989 – 31/12/1991.  

 Keisha took the book from him and flipped it open. On the first page, the first entry read:  

KEISHA JACKSON – 18/3/91 – 6 yrs 1 month. In bedroom, subject exhibited prolonged  solitary play w. doll (asset ID 48B) briefly made eye contact in direction of camera but no  recognition. 13:42 whispered to self likely in play. Recommend no changes in baseline  environment. Filed: D.G. Jackson  

“Donna Geraldine,” Keisha said. “Momma.” She flipped through the book. It was all the  same, every day. Every day of her life. 

Marcus was reading a green notebook. “This is every day. Every day. Momma wrote  some of this. Pops, he wrote some too.” He read further. “What the…”  

Keisha had her laptop, brought up to catalog items. She grabbed a USB drive marked  1997-(2)(FEB/KJ) and put it in. It was full of video files. She fired one up. Marcus watched.  

The video was of her, eleven years old, in the kitchen, doing homework. It was grainy,  clearly transferred from one of the tapes. In the lower left corner was displayed KJ  MONITORING 199702.7981 KITCH. Nothing of note happened. The happy voices of their  parents and of Marcus could be faintly heard coming from somewhere else in the house. Their  dog, Tommy, dead now a quarter century, strolled past the young Keisha. She absentmindedly  reached down and petted him.  

Keisha closed the file and opened another. It was of Marcus, about 9 and so around the  same time. He was on his bed, reversed so his feet were up against the headboard, reading a  book. His mother called from off camera, and he got up and went to her. The video ended the  moment he was out of frame.  

“What is this?” Keisha said. “What…”  

Marcus reached past her, almost panicking, yanked the USB out, and stuck in another. He  fired up a video. It was Marcus and a friend sitting on the couch watching something, eating  chips.  

“This isn’t real,” Marcus whispered. He stepped back from the cabinet. “Not real, not  real, not real…” 

Keisha went back to the notebooks. Behind the stacks were more stacks; the number of  notebooks was astounding. All full of dense notes. All written by one or the other of their  parents.  

They went right up to seven months ago, when Momma had fallen and gone into the  hospital for good.  

Keisha now dug through the box of USB sticks and withdrew one that said 2023- (9c)(APR/KJ) and plugged it in. More video files.  

“2023,” Marcus said, his voice dreamy, almost slurred. “That’s, that’s now. We’re  grownups.”  

Keisha started a video. It was another surveillance shot but not taken from the house on Cascade. It was taken in her house, at night. The video was of her son.