I.
Blackwood Harbor hung by a fraying pendulum under autumn’s early-crisped rays. The falling, velvety leaves clouded over the windswept bay. It was a day unlike any other for Nelle, the owner of a small film development shop along the main street’s coastal byway.
As the bell rang above the entrance door, his head perked up from where he was dusting old camera lenses at the counter.
“Morning, ma’am. Is there something you’d like developed?” He asks politely with a welcoming grin to the elderly woman that entered his shop, spotting the vintage camera grasped in her hands. It appeared to be an earlier model, from somewhere between the late 60’s and early 80’s.
She ambles over the other opposite end of the counter with a nod, her nimble hands placing the camera down onto the countertop. “Yes. Please.” She answers while glancing at the models on display behind Nelle. “It’s from while I was growing up. I’d love to have the photos developed to show my kids.”
“Great, I can do that for you.” He smiles kindly once more, accepting the camera from her into his own. He examines the model further to ensure he has the right equipment before nodding her way.
“I can have your film developed for you by tomorrow, that sound good? You won’t have to pay me until my services are finished, so long as the photos are printed to the quality you want. That’s a guarantee!” He adds, the same mantra he has repeated for a decade now.
“Yes, sounds excellent!” She clasped her hands together, a gleam reflecting in her gaze at the prospect of being able to have parts of her childhood in her palms.
As she left moments later, Nelle began to work on developing the customer’s film in the darkroom. He placed the reel of current-darkened photos into a light-tight tank with the developer, carefully agitating before draining. After he was finished with the developing process, the photos slowly faded into color as he strung them up one by one. His gaze followed the splotchy photos clashing against the red lighting. However, amongst all the photos strung, his breath caught in his throat when he noticed something amiss in each one.
II.
The next morning, when the elderly woman returned, he showed her the photos. “Do you… recognize who this is?” He asks, a clear pang of anxiety etched into his tone. He shouldn’t be questioning a customer’s photographs; but these were too terrifying not to intrude on the matter.
She scanned the photos, her face paling over as she saw what Nelle was talking about. In each of the photographs, an eerie, strange figure lurked in the background. Watching her. Poking out from corners of walls, amongst her group of friends, to even standing behind her. The closer the silhouette came into frame, the further her heart sank in her chest.
“No… no…” Is all she could manage to stutter, slowly backing away without taking her eyes off the photos he has in his hands, up until she bolted out of the door with the most fearstrucken expression he ever saw.
Worse, she left her camera behind on the counter.
Throughout the rest of the day, Nelle kept glancing over his shoulder as he cleaned up his shop. He wasn’t sure if he was merely paranoid or if the hairs on the back of his neck were alerting him of prying eyes watching his every move. His deafening thoughts ultimately led him to close up sooner than he had expected, the subtle clicking of a camera alerting his attention from time to time on his walk home.
Was he being stalked? Where were the sounds of a camera coming from? The noises sounded too close to be someone hiding away behind a building or overgrown brush, yet they almost echoed as if from a distance. With a shake of his head, he kept walking and ignored it to the best of his ability, his head hanging low to the ground.
Upon reaching his modest apartment, he swiftly unlocked the front door and shut it behind him with a loud thump, making sure to lock it up for his own safety. He kicked off his shoes at the entryway, then closed all the blinds as he made his way across his apartment towards his bedroom. He had to be paranoid, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious nonetheless.
During the night, as he listened to the idle sounds of crickets chirping from outside, he heard the clicking of a camera in his ears. His eyes shot open, glancing at the time: 12:12 a.m. He sat up in his bed, the subtle, constant clicking sounding as though it was directly in his personal space this time. He no longer understood he was safe in his own home. Despite not knowing what was causing the sound, he longed that he wouldn’t find the source.
III.
Nelle turned the open sign over to his shop as he arrived that morning. He did his best to act as though nothing was wrong. To continue on with his days as usual. The sky was a muddled gray with the clock tower chiming outside the window panes.
When he took a peek at the calendar to see that it was a week until Halloween rolled around to the sleepy town, that was when he saw it.
The elderly woman’s camera still sat on the counter. A series of photos splayed themselves on the glass countertop beside the camera, his curiosity earning the better of him as he stepped forward for a closer look.
There the strange, mangled shadow of a figure was again. Except this time, it was behind him. It had followed him the previous night, the clicking sound having been lurking mere steps away from his shoulder. He could see it so clearly yet simultaneously blurry in each photo he scanned. Closer and closer to the frame the figure became, as did it to himself. To the point that it draped over him as he had slept.
He hesitantly continued flipping through the photos, halting as in the next one the very same figure was staring back at him. Lifeless, beady eyes. Mouth agape into a wicked, hungry smile that made a shiver run down his veins like a string of electricity.
Then he heard it drum against the shell of his ears.
Another click.
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