November 15, 2024
Sandy shuffled through the cluttered aisles of the pawn shop, her fingers brushing over dusty knick-knacks and forgotten relics, her mind somewhere far away. Franky’s birthday was just a few days away, and she was desperate to find him something special. Ever since her husband, Tom, had passed last year, Franky hadn’t been the same. He had retreated inward, quiet and sad, no longer the bright, playful boy he once was.
Sandy sighed, her eyes scanning the shelves. She missed Tom too. He had been a photographer, always tinkering with cameras, always out on a new project. The day he died was still a blur to her—a photoshoot near that old cemetery just outside town. They had found him dead, slumped near his tripod, his camera untouched, his body cold. No clear reason why.
As she moved past a shelf filled with old electronics, something caught her eye: an old 1990s video camera, bulky and worn, its black plastic frame faded and scratched. Sandy picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hands. It reminded her of the cameras Tom used to carry, the ones Franky would play with, pretending to be just like his dad.
She flipped the camera on, half-expecting it not to work, but to her surprise, the screen flickered to life with a grainy display. A smile tugged at her lips. This could be it. Franky would love this—a piece of his dad, in a way. It felt like the perfect gift.
Excited, Sandy bought the camera and hurried back to her car, eager to wrap it and surprise Franky. But as she sat in the driver’s seat, her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see how it worked, just for a moment. She turned the camera on again, pointing it out the windshield toward the street.
Through the small viewfinder, she saw him.
A man.
He stood on the sidewalk, staring directly at her. His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes sunken deep into his skull. His clothes were dark and ragged, hanging off his thin frame. But it was his expression that froze Sandy in place—his mouth curled into a grotesque smile, twisted and unnatural, as though it didn’t belong to him.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She lowered the camera and looked out the windshield.
Nothing.
The sidewalk was empty. The man wasn’t there.
Sandy frowned, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the camera again. She scanned the street, and there he was—closer now, standing in the middle of the road, his smile wider, his eyes locked on hers.
With a gasp, she shoved the camera into her bag, her pulse racing. She looked out again—nothing. No one.
Her hands were shaking as she started the car and drove home, the image of the man burned into her mind. She tried to tell herself it was nothing, just a trick of the light, an old camera malfunctioning. But deep down, she knew something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
When she got home, Sandy parked in the driveway and sat for a moment, staring at the camera in her lap. She needed to know. Needed to see if what she’d seen was real or just her mind playing tricks on her.
Slowly, she brought the camera to her eye and scanned the street in front of her house. There was nothing unusual—no sign of the strange man. She exhaled, feeling a flicker of relief.
But then she panned the camera toward the driveway, and there he was. The man stood at the end of the driveway, his hollow eyes fixed on her. He was closer now, much closer than before. His expression had changed too—his smile had faded, replaced by something darker, angrier.
Sandy’s hands shook so violently that she almost dropped the camera. She scrambled out of the car, her heart hammering in her chest. She ran to the front door, fumbling with the keys as panic washed over her. When she finally got inside, she slammed the door shut behind her, locking it tight.
She threw the camera onto the kitchen table, breathing heavily, her mind racing. What was happening? What was she seeing? Was she losing her mind?
She picked up the phone and dialed Phillip, one of Tom’s colleagues. Her voice was shaky as she asked him if Tom had ever mentioned anything strange before he died.
Phillip paused before answering. “Not that I can remember,” he said slowly. “But… now that you mention it, Tom was acting really strange that day. He was nervous, hesitant to take any pictures. Like he didn’t want to be there.”
Sandy’s heart sank. She thanked him and hung up, staring at the camera again.
She didn’t want to, but she had to know. Gathering all the courage she had, she picked up the camera once more and lifted it to her eye.
This time, she pointed it at the kitchen window.
The man was standing right outside, his face pressed against the glass, his eyes wild and burning with fury. His hands were splayed against the window, as though he was trying to push his way inside.
Sandy screamed and dropped the camera, stumbling back. She ran into her bedroom, tears streaming down her face. She had to do something—anything.
Frantically, she tore open the closet and grabbed Tom’s old camera bag. She hadn’t touched it since he died. Her hands shook as she pulled out his digital camera and turned it on. She scrolled through the photos, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the last series of images Tom had taken before he died.
The first photo was of the cemetery, the one where Tom had been found. Nothing seemed out of place at first, just rows of headstones and a cloudy sky.
But in the next photo, the man appeared—distant, standing between two graves. His face was blurry, but it was unmistakably the same man from the video camera.
In the next photo, the man was closer. His face was clearer now, and there was something wrong with it—his smile was twisted, cruel, his eyes full of anger.
Sandy’s hands shook as she scrolled to the next image. The man was even closer, his face contorted in rage, his teeth bared.
Each photo showed him closer and closer, his face becoming more grotesque, more terrifying, until the last image—where he stood just a foot away from Tom’s camera, his face inches from the lens. His eyes were wild, furious, his mouth twisted into a scream.
Sandy dropped the camera, her chest heaving with fear. She didn’t know what to do.
And then she heard the front door open.
“Mom?” Franky’s voice called out.
Sandy froze. Her heart raced as she hurried to shove Tom’s camera back into the bag, hiding it deep in the closet. She couldn’t let Franky see.
When she stepped into the kitchen, her blood ran cold. Franky was holding the video camera, his face lit up with excitement.
“Is this for me?” he asked, smiling. “It doesn’t work though, everything on the screen is black.”
Sandy’s stomach twisted as she watched him raise the camera to his face again.
She moved toward him slowly, her hands trembling as she looked at the screen over his shoulder. It was black, just as he had said. But she knew why.
He wasn’t pointing the camera at just anything.
She reached for the camera, her breath shallow, and slowly tilted it upward. As the lens moved, the blackness began to fade.
Until she saw him.
The man. He was right there, in front of them, blocking the camera, his face contorted in rage.
Sandy screamed, her voice piercing the air, as the camera clattered to the floor.
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