The Boy Who Didn't Exist

EPISODE#1 The Forgotten Friend John had always been told he had an overactive imagination. As a child, he would talk to someone named Zayan — a quiet “friend” no one else could see. His parents played along at first, thinking it was harmless. But it didn’t take long before things turned strange. His toys would go missing and reappear in odd places. Lights flickered in his room, even when the rest of the house was fine. Once, his mother found muddy footprints leading from the backyard straight to John's bed — though John hadn’t been outside that day. When questioned, he’d always say, “Zayan did it.” By the time John turned 10, the name stopped coming up. Zayan, whoever he was, faded into the back of John’s memory like a half-forgotten dream. The house grew quiet again. Normal. Now 17, John was helping his parents clean the attic. While moving dusty boxes, he found an old, moldy photo album tied shut with a fraying red ribbon. Curious, he opened it. The third photo stopped his breath. It was his fifth birthday. He recognized the backyard, the clown balloon, the Batman cake. There was young John, smiling at the camera — and beside him stood a boy with jet-black eyes and pale skin. One hand was resting on John’s shoulder. The caption underneath read: “Zayan and John – Best Friends Forever.” John’s throat tightened. The boy in the photo didn’t look like any neighborhood kid. His eyes were too dark, his expression too cold. “Mom?” he called downstairs. “Who is this?” She came up, wiping her hands on a towel. When she saw the picture, she froze. Her face turned pale. “You weren’t supposed to find that,” she said softly. “What do you mean?” Her voice shook. “You had a twin. His name was Zayan. He… he died when you were four.” John blinked. “But I remembered him. All this time I thought I made him up.” She nodded slowly. “We didn’t want you to remember. After the accident, you kept saying he still talked to you. That he was hiding in the closet. Whispering from under the bed. We thought it was trauma. But things kept happening.” John stared back down at the photo. The air around him felt heavy. That night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the photo. About the boy. About the whisper he thought he heard when he turned off the lights: “You forgot me.” When he woke up the next morning, there were muddy footprints at the foot of his bed. EPISODE#1 ENDS HERE