I pressed the power button.
“Set the Date/Time.”
Febuary 8th, 2023. 2 AM.
The screen was black. I picked up the camera and moved it around my room. I pulled a switch to zoom in on some moving boxes in the corner opposite to my bed.
The action was completed with a whirring sound as the zoom lens extended. I looked through the small digital screen. Everything looked faded and grainy. The box I had zoomed in on had writing in sharpie.
“Christmas decorations.”
I took a picture, and my room was lit up with the flash of the camera.
The only sound in my house was the whirring of the lens as I zoomed back out.
I turned the camera around to look at the lens. It was covered in dust and I could make out a few fingerprints.
I faced the tiny screen again, zooming in on my bedroom door this time.
Good, it was locked.
I moved my eyes across the several buttons on the camera’s surface. I pressed one out of curiosity.
A menu popped up, displaying a series of images. I moved through them, pushing the scroll wheel ever so slightly so I could take a good look at each picture.
Photo one. A picture of someone’s hand. Probably my sister’s. Date, 2014. This one was old.
Photo two. A picture of my room. So many terrible memories. Date, 2014.
Photo three. A picture of my closet. I don’t remember a closet being in that corner of the room, but it was a different house so who’s to say? Date, 1980.
It must default to that when no date is set.
Photo four. A white screen with a stripe of pink down the center. Date, 2020.
Photo five. An art project I had done in 5th grade. I remember being proud of it. Date, 2014.
Photo six. Someone holding up the camera to a bathroom mirror. The person was my grandfather. Date, 2007. Not long after I was born.
Photo seven. A picture of me smiling as a baby. Date, 2024… why can you even set the date past the present on this camera? Old piece of shit.
Photo eight. A picture of my grandma curled on the floor. I remember this. My grandfather had pushed her over after an argument. I don’t remember taking a picture, but my feet were in the bottom of the picture, along with my blue PJ’S.
Photo nine. Date, 2023. A picture of…
No.
My bedroom door. Not my old one, the one from just a few minutes ago, the one I zoomed in on. It was closed, but also unlocked.
I immediately looked up. My door hadn’t changed. I looked back down. It had changed back to photo eight.
Photo nine (again?). It was a different picture this time. My mom and her sister at a wedding; probably for a cousin of theirs or something. Date, 2005.
Photos ten through fifteen were all random pictures of either me or my sister’s feet, pictures of random walls, or…
Photo sixteen was a video taken at midnight. I heard my grandfather mumbling to himself as he walked through a field. Finally, he stopped on a hill and aimed the camera downwards at a patch of dirt.
“You… bitch. You better tell no one what I did to you. I know what you’re capable of, so I’m sure you know just as well that I could get this over with right now. I ain’t gonna stoop to your level though, mad woman. I have fucking decency, but one more word from my grandchildren and its off to hell for you and your camera.”
Photo seventeen. Me as a kid, once again, sitting in the middle of an empty dark room I didn’t recognize, crying. Someone’s thumb was covering the bottom left part of the photo. Date, 2017. Taken around 3:30 pm.
Photo eighteen. A wine glass shattered on the floor. Wine had spilled out everywhere.
Photo nineteen. A zoomed out photo of the last one. There were dozens of wine glasses shattered all over the tile floor. Date, 2023.
Photo twenty. A picture of my door again, wide open, leading into an empty void. Date, 1980.
I glanced up, and the photo matched reality.
My blood ran cold, and I quickly picked up the camera and aimed it at the darkness. I took a photo, which was followed with a digital clicking sound.
The screen went dark.
I screamed at the sound of the lens retracting back into place. I was met with dead silence.
Photo twenty one. A photo of my open bedroom door I had just taken. On the floor was a box. It was labeled “Christmas decorations”. It was open.
Photo twenty two. Another photo of the box I hadn’t taken. Date, nan.
Standing behind the box was my grandma. I couldn’t see her face, but she was holding the camera. Her dress was stained with wine.
I looked up at my door in reality, but it was closed and locked as I had left it.
I looked back down at the camera. My grandma was gone, but the box remained.
Enough of this shit.
I threw the camera as hard as I could across the room at my door. I winced and closed my eyes, expecting to hear a loud thud.
I opened my eyes, but the camera was hovering in the center of my room, aimed at me. It took a picture and then quickly fell to the floor.
Photo twenty three. A picture of me as a child once again, cowering in fear on the bed I was sitting on now. The date was replaced with cursive writing.
“Don’t leave your room. You know too much. Grandfather will kill you. Your sister is already dead.”