The Disposable Camera

My family never owned a camera, so if I wanted to take pictures to remember trips or summers by, I’d have to buy a disposable camera. Every year I would buy a few disposable cameras and use them periodically over time. When I didn’t need them, I kept them on my desk so they’d be available when I needed them.

            It was September of 2000, and I had finally used up the three cameras I purchased in the spring. I worked at a grocery store at the time that had a photo-developing department, so I brought my cameras in before I started my shift. A few days later, I picked up the three envelopes full of pictures and brought them home to thumb through. I remember being so excited to relive all the fun things I did during the summer, as the past month back at school made it feel like summer was a distant memory.  But something seemed off to me. At the store, the lady behind the desk had given me an odd look when she told me to enjoy the pictures. Her expression and tone to her voice bothered me, like she didn’t believe what she was saying. I shook it off at the time, thinking I had simply put meaning into something that wasn’t there.

            I arrived home from work and went straight to my room. Opening each package, I viewed them in chronological order, thumbing through each photo carefully, as to not smudge them with my prints. The first stack of photos didn’t cause any sort of alarm, as they all were from a camping trip at the beginning of summer. I flipped through the glossy photos one at a time, occasionally chuckling at the ridiculous poses or situations involving my friends. The next stack of photos brought immediate disappointment. There were a higher than normal percentage of photos that didn’t come out. The picture would be completely black with the exception of some large yellow flashes of light somewhere in the blackness. I guessed that the lighting was insufficient or something went wrong in the process. There were about five of these pictures in this stack, along with the normal expected photos.

            I moved onto the final stack, all taken near the end of summer. The same issue continued with these photos. I’d get through a couple before reaching another black photograph. Out of frustration, I resolved to either take a photography class or develop my disposable cameras at another store. But just as I neared the end of the stack of photos, I found one that put a deep dread into the pit of my stomach.

            The photo was of… I’m not even sure how to describe it. It must’ve been around five in the morning, because the room was lit by the dim morning dawn. I was in the corner of the photo sleeping in my bed, but I wasn’t the only one in the photograph. There, holding the camera, was a girl.  Or at least I think it’s a girl. I couldn’t tell exactly her age, but her skin was ghastly pale and shriveled, although not from age. She looked soaking wet, with strands of knotted long hair obscuring part of her face. The girl wore a gown that had once been white, but was now horribly stained. Her gaunt face stared straight into the camera, her cheeks sunken in and jaw lazily open. I could see into her mouth and her decaying tongue, with blackened pointy teeth. But what stood out to me the most were her eyes, her bright yellow eyes that could easily have been mistaken for a cat. They glowed behind the strands of blond hair stuck to her face.

            What’s odd to me was the girl’s face, as she didn’t look malevolent or particularly evil. Instead, she appeared almost fascinated by the object in her hands. Had she ever seen a camera before? I stopped myself. Why was I even thinking this? The more important question loomed in my mind. What was she? Was she human? And if so, was she living, or something much worse? But if she wasn’t a human, what creature could she possibly be? She had some degree of intelligence to operate a camera, but besides that I had no idea what I was dealing with.

            The thought of something that grotesque invading my space while I slept filled me with absolute horror. A part of me wondered if this was all an elaborate hoax played on me by my older sister, but I didn’t recognize the face, and there was no way she or any of her friends could’ve created that face with makeup. I went to her room with the picture to double-check. When she recoiled from the picture, I knew this wasn’t some sort of prank. She asked me what the heck was that thing, but I couldn’t give her an answer. I took the picture to my parents, but they weren’t much help. Sure, the photo freaked them out, but all they said to comfort me was that they would look into getting a home security system for the house. At this point I knew I was on my own about this.

            I spent the rest of the evening trying to make sense of it all, eventually falling asleep after putting the picture into my bag. I had to go back to the camera counter at work and find the answer. That morning I woke up and shut the window in my room. The weather was still warm, so I kept my window open for the cool air. I had to shut it, as the stench seemed particularly pungent that day. Arriving back at the camera counter, the lady who gave me the pictures the day before was working. She asked if she could help me, and I pulled out the photo of the mysterious girl. The woman grimaced as she stared at it.    

            “Someone’s dressed a little early for Halloween, don’t you think?” she asked.

            “I didn’t take the picture,” I countered. “I was wondering if this picture had been edited in any way, or if there was a mix up with the film?”

The woman shook her head.

            “Nope, those pictures were developed just like any other ones I work on.”

            “You’re sure there hasn’t been a mix up at all?” I replied, hopefully.

            “I’m positive. I have those photos ingrained in my mind. I wish I could forget ‘em.”

I could tell she didn’t have any other information for me, so I packed the photo and started to leave.

            “Oh, well thank you for your time. Have a good day.”

I took a few steps towards the exit when I stopped in my tracks. One word stuck out to me like a splinter on my index finger. I looked back and shot her an inquisitive glance.

            “Photos? What do you mean? I thought she was in just that one.”

            “Take a closer look,” responded the woman.

            I felt nauseous. I had to check the other photographs back in my room, all of them. Back at my house, I searched each of the black photos, when I noticed they all had one thing in common: they had one to two yellow flashes, or eyes in them. Slowly the outline of my room revealed itself in each picture. My amateur stalker friend wasn’t just one time offender; I had solid proof of eight visits in my hands. I thought back to all the garbage photos I threw out years previous, how many of those contained these eyes that pierced the darkness?

            Now that I had the evidence in front of me, I vowed to make sure this never happened to me again. My night visitor somehow made her way into the house through an entrance downstairs, but not anymore. That night my parents went to bed around ten, as they were never exactly night owls. I double-checked each downstairs window and door, securing each one as I moved from one to the next. With the house secure, I made my way upstairs and got ready for bed. After all, I needed my sleep, and I figured my parents believing the freaky picture as a valid reason to skip school an unlikely outcome. With all my preparations complete, I slipped under the covers and turned the light off, hoping to get some rest.

            It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I spent most of the night wide-awake. Every single creak and bump in the night caused me to jolt up and reach for my tennis racket. Hey, when you have limited options for protecting yourself, you take what you can get. I’ll admit that I felt embarrassed the first couple of times I waved the racket around, but the whooshing noise at least gave me a peace of mind. Eventually, I’d place the racket back and the routine would restart all over again. Feeling bored, I played my Game Boy Color to pass the time and ease my mind. Around three in the morning I grew tired of video games and decided to try something different. The end of my bed partially sat next to the window looking out to the backyard. Tired of waiting for something to happen, I moved my pillow to the other side of the bed and stared out into the distance. I only had a small area to look through, but I could see enough of the backyard without adjusting too much. We didn’t have a fence for our backyard. Instead a row of large bushes acted as a natural barrier to the property. Beyond that, a few yards away sat the creek I used to explore as a child. With nothing better to do, I watched the backyard and hoped it would give me peace of mind. I had the window open to keep cool in my normally warm room. I found watching the trees sway in the wind particularly soothing.

            About an hour later, just as it was hard to keep my eyes open, I heard a rustling in the bushes that perked my warning senses. Looking over in that general area I noticed the branches shaking, and a dark crouching figure emerged into my vision. I didn’t need a second look to know my stalker had arrived. She crept cautiously on all fours through the backyard, making her way towards the window. In a flash I spread myself flat on my bed and kept my ear in the direction of the window. I heard nothing at first, breathing a slow sigh of relief that my plan to lock the downstairs windows and doors succeeded in keeping that creature out of my house. My relief, however, turned into fear when my ears picked up a slow but steady scraping against the wall of the house. The girl didn’t need to use the downstairs windows to get inside; she used the brick wall to scale up to my window!

            Thinking fast, I slipped onto the floor and crawled underneath my bed. The closet sat on the other side of the room; no way could I make it over there in time. The bed skirt on my bed frame obscured almost all of the area underneath my bed, so I could count on that to keep me hidden at least. I stretched my arm for my tennis racket when the unmistakable squeal of my window screen slid upwards. Crap, I realized in my panic I forgot to lock my own window! I gave up reaching for my racket, and instead concentrated on keeping my breathing quiet. Under my bed skirt I saw a shriveled hand with sharp, black-crusted claws extend to the ground with the grace of a stalking cat remaining absolutely quiet. The flaky pale skin dripped with beads of water, the familiar stench of the creek seeped into my breathing air, tainting it. Her other hand followed close by, her arms bending down as she slunk to the soft carpet. I could see her blonde hair now, knotted and matted together, dangling and mingling with the floor. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering, but I couldn’t stop the rest of my body from trembling. I prayed the noises wouldn’t give away my location. By now, the girl’s feet hit the ground, but they appeared distinctively different from a normal person’s foot. Sharp dragon-like claws protruded from the tips of her toes, and translucent webbing connected the toes together. Along with her feet, I recognized bits of the white gown I spotted from the picture. The stains were much clearer now, even in the darkness of my room; it was blood.

            My invader stood up from the ground and lurched around the room. She made a quiet hissing sound as she walked, which I think was the noise of her breathing. Her feet stopped next to the side of my bed, and the hissing continued in a much more rapid pace. She had to notice that I wasn’t there like she expected. The bed sheets shuffled around above me as she climbed onto my bed, followed by rapid bursts of harsh hissing. The covers hit the side of the wall and she dragged her claws across the sheets in frustration. I knew this incensed creature stood mere feet above me, and I hoped and prayed she wouldn’t look below. Almost as if she heard me the movement stopped, and her hand reached down to the floor, groping around towards the sheets. The tips of her hair hung near the bottom of the bed skirt and I gulped in terror. The hand reached over towards my arm, only to pick up my Game Boy, which had fallen from my bed in my attempt to hide. She brought it up to her, and I could hear her click the buttons. Oddly enough the hissing died down, and in its place she made a slight chirping noise.

            The Game Boy didn’t hold her attention forever, as she climbed off of the bed a few minutes later and moved about the room. She uttered these short cooing noises, like she was calling out for me to come out to meet her. The girl made her way to my closet and managed to open it. Good thing I didn’t hide in there, or she would’ve found me. Clothes and hangers fell to the ground, and the coos became more frustrated. Making her way back to the middle of my room her movement stopped, just when I felt I could catch my breath. She just stood in one position right by my desk, which unnerved me. I didn’t know what she was doing, but her feet remained planted in one spot. I heard soft scratching noises, so I knew she was up to something, but I didn’t dare take a peek and risk getting caught. I didn’t have a watch on me, but she stayed that way for what felt like eternity. Why wouldn’t she just go? Was she studying the room, looking for hiding spots? After a long time passed, she took a few steps away from my desk and then went back to my window. I heard her make one final cooing noise before she made her decent down. She put the screen back to its original position, followed by the scratching noises of her climbing down the side of the house.

I waited with baited breath for a good ten minutes more, making sure this wasn’t some sort of trap. When I knew the coast was clear, I went straight to my window, shut it, and turned the locks. No way would I make that mistake again. I surveyed the room to see if she had destroyed anything, and to my relief she hadn’t. Exhausted, I flopped back in bed and worked on calming myself down, trying to make sense of what happened.

That morning before school, I went to my desk to grab the picture of the girl. I planned on showing the picture of the girl to the police and tell them my ordeal from last night, but I couldn’t find it or the other photos she took of herself. They were missing. The night before, I left the girl’s picture on top of the other recent pictures, so I assume she took it while standing at my desk. Frustrated, I gathered my schoolbooks for class and threw them in my backpack when I discovered one parting gift left to me from my stalker. There, in the open notebook on my desk, was a crudely made drawing of the girl on top of my bed with a bunch of junk underneath it. That’s why she stood in place at my desk for so long. As I studied the drawing further, the blood drained from my face from a frightening revelation. It wasn’t a bunch of junk underneath my bed; it was a picture of me trying to hide.

 I never saw her again. I hope I never have to. I never sleep with the window open, no matter what floor I sleep on wherever I go. I always keep them locked, and I never ever look out from the blinds when I hear her scratching softly on the other side of the glass.