She had gotten into the habit of carrying her camera wherever she went and taking a photo whenever she heard an unusual sound. For years most of her photos were of trees or random parts of the sky, even the occasional bird made an appearance if it had sounded particularly odd that day. At the end of each day she printed her photos and recorded the noise she'd heard on the back of them,placing them into the latest of her countless albums.
She was glad for the normality, glad she'd gotten into the habit and even more glad that she had physical proof that life wasn't as messed up as it had been when she was first given reason to start this project of hers. She'd only been eight at the time, received her first camera for her birthday from her aunt and proceeded to carry it with her wherever she went.
Taking photos where she heard unusual sounds only began when she went to stay with her grandparents in the city for the first time since they'd moved house. Their new home was much larger, giving her enough room to wheel herself around without risking damage to furniture or walls. She had her space downstairs, her room and en suite while her grandparents stayed in the two room upstairs.
The wide space, while practical, made her feel nervous and unprotected. She was too used to carefully manoeuvring around the antique furniture instead of free wheeling through several feet of hard tiled floor. Her only wish at that point was that they'd out a stairlift in so she could sit on the balcony from time to time and watch the sunset with her grandparents - she could hardly risk them carrying her up!
Now the new house hadn't settled properly, as her grandmother said. It creaked and groaned and ticked in a way that sounded a little too much like laughter and long nails running along stone. At first she took one photo when the noises got to their worst near her room, crawling to the door and sticking her camera around the edge before darting back into bed as fast as she could.
Now her first camera was an old film based one with no image viewer, she never knew what she'd taken a photo of until the roll came back from the printer. When the images were developed she could see someone in every night picture. Every moment the noises had been at their worst there was a young boy dressed in torn grey pyjamas bent at an odd angle. In some frames it looked like he was trying to peer around the camera to see her with what little face he had left.
Her nightly photos soon became "any odd noise means I take a picture" became a habit that she kept with her, never showing the photos to anyone and never stopping no matter where she was or who she was with. When she went missing at the age of thirty three the albums were finally shown to her family. The boy was in every photo, peering over or around the lens and over the course of twenty five years he went from crouching nearby to casually sitting around her flat, trailing his intestines behind him like a car on string.
She was glad for the normality, glad she'd gotten into the habit and even more glad that she had physical proof that life wasn't as messed up as it had been when she was first given reason to start this project of hers. She'd only been eight at the time, received her first camera for her birthday from her aunt and proceeded to carry it with her wherever she went.
Taking photos where she heard unusual sounds only began when she went to stay with her grandparents in the city for the first time since they'd moved house. Their new home was much larger, giving her enough room to wheel herself around without risking damage to furniture or walls. She had her space downstairs, her room and en suite while her grandparents stayed in the two room upstairs.
The wide space, while practical, made her feel nervous and unprotected. She was too used to carefully manoeuvring around the antique furniture instead of free wheeling through several feet of hard tiled floor. Her only wish at that point was that they'd out a stairlift in so she could sit on the balcony from time to time and watch the sunset with her grandparents - she could hardly risk them carrying her up!
Now the new house hadn't settled properly, as her grandmother said. It creaked and groaned and ticked in a way that sounded a little too much like laughter and long nails running along stone. At first she took one photo when the noises got to their worst near her room, crawling to the door and sticking her camera around the edge before darting back into bed as fast as she could.
Now her first camera was an old film based one with no image viewer, she never knew what she'd taken a photo of until the roll came back from the printer. When the images were developed she could see someone in every night picture. Every moment the noises had been at their worst there was a young boy dressed in torn grey pyjamas bent at an odd angle. In some frames it looked like he was trying to peer around the camera to see her with what little face he had left.
Her nightly photos soon became "any odd noise means I take a picture" became a habit that she kept with her, never showing the photos to anyone and never stopping no matter where she was or who she was with. When she went missing at the age of thirty three the albums were finally shown to her family. The boy was in every photo, peering over or around the lens and over the course of twenty five years he went from crouching nearby to casually sitting around her flat, trailing his intestines behind him like a car on string.
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