I’m posting this because I’m fucking scared. I am pretty sure I’m going to be attacked, here in my home. Maybe even right now. Every slight noise gives me palpitations.
I’m going to get down as much detail as possible. If something does happen to me I want to leave a trail to get the fucking psycho.
Now, the first part of this I wrote for my blog. This is why there is no panic in my voice in the first half of this story as I wrote it before I knew what was in the second and third albums. Posting here I can’t add the photos and I don’t have time to figure out how best to share them - maybe I will never have time to do that. I posted this about three weeks before today. Here’s part one:
I am Lance P., American born explorer, currently living in London UK and I’m a photographic restorer by trade. You may already follow this blog - It’s blowing up in the photography world, despite all the haters spreading bad press about me! I work for a library, restoring ancient photos, mostly portraits. Photos are amazing, they make history real to people. That’s the secret of my blog - it gives people a link to the past, it transforms our ancestors from dusty textbooks back into the living and breathing people they once were.
Now, I’m a workaholic, so my hobby is also restoring old photos. My favourite thing to do is to browse junk shops, antique places sometimes for second hand photo albums. I love the sadness, that once someone painstakingly went to all the trouble of collecting and preserving these photographs - frozen memories of a happy life - then discarded into the trash or given to thrift stores, all that love and emotion lost, meaningless to the person who inherits it. These albums typically get picked up from old people who die with no surviving family - sometimes they were the last person to remember the people in those albums. It makes me feel melancholic, but restoring these old albums gives me a sense of satisfaction, like I’m honouring the spirit of the photo album creator.
So, one day I’m in east London browsing around the vintage stores and I’m in this weird dank shop, tucked away in an old corner of Spitalfields market down an alley off the main area. I find three beautiful leather albums; a little beaten up but good quality leather. They look like they could be interesting so I reach out to grab one and this man, the shop owner, grabs my wrist and stops me. He barks a laugh and tells me it’s not a library. I asked if he really expected to sell photo albums to anyone unseen and he looked me right in the eye, smiling a disconcerting grin and said “I don’t expect “anyone” to buy them unseen. I expect you’ll buy them unseen, Lance.”
Now, I’ll admit this freaked me out, I’d never met this guy before in my life. He was tall, I think Eastern European or maybe Russian, I’m not the best at discerning those accents. I stiffened and was about to reply when he sensed my unease and lightly released my arm with a laugh. He smiled and his face disappeared into a crease of wrinkles around his eyes.
“I’ve read your blog Lance, I recognise you because I’m a huge fan! In fact, please take these books as a gift - you have brought me so much pleasure with your blog, I want to return the favour. Something about these albums just calls for someone like you. A conisseur with a truly unique world view, truly.”
I relaxed immediately - I get recognised semi-frequently, mostly in art musuems, but it does happen elsewhere. Anyway, I was happy to accept the books and thanked him. He gave a strange smile that didn’t seem entirely happy, like there was a sadness there. He told me he would see me again soon and that he hoped I enjoyed the albums. He told me he’d be checking my blog, just like everyone else, to see how I got on, so Mr. Veles, if you are reading this, hi!! Thanks so much for the albums!
Now the part you’ve been waiting for; I’m going to go through the albums and document the photos as I go. I looked in the front page of all the books and they are dated. The first is 1987 - 1999. I will work through them chronologically.
The first album is bound in blue leather and looks like decent quality. The paper is thick and cream coloured, again this is an expensive album. It’s a high quality piece. In the front page we have the date range I mentioned before and, in flowing cursive script the name of the family this album belonged to, the Davies.
On to the pictures - let’s see what the Davies family got up to!
The first picture is a little grainy, there’s a man and a woman in hospital with a new born baby. The lighting is stark but the quality of the picture is low, rendering the subjects facial expressions difficult to read, as the detail is washed out by the fluorescent hospital light. The man is dressed in a white short sleeved shirt and a pointed tie, typical fashion for the time, the mother is wearing a hospital gown but sports a bouffant haircut. The photo is labelled “Birth of Lee - 1987”. The parents are not named but we can assume this is Mr and Mrs Davies and their new son Lee. The baby is also hard to see thanks to the poor lighting - but the body language of the parents is obvious, they crowd around the baby wanting to be as close a possible, both smiling from ear to ear. A happy time, the birth of, I’m guessing, their first child (otherwise I’d expect to see their previous child in the photo).
The next few photos are fairly unremarkable, snaps of Lee’s first few months. They seem to have mostly stayed at home, the shots are in different rooms but it seems to be in the same house, fairly small and decorated in a garish fashion, popular in the 80s. As the photos move through time, the mood in the house seems almost to sour. Mr D, in one of the pictures sits aside from Mrs D, no longer touching her when posing for the photo. The newborn sits in her lap, and Mr D sits on the other side of the sofa. Mrs D still has a smile but it’s a little strained. Mr D seems tired, his posture is slumped and he sags around the edges. I’m guessing this is an adjustment period. A new baby is a lot of work and neither of the Davies look like they have been getting much sleep.
As Lee grows, the photos become less frequent. There is one of him walking for the first time, one of him at a nursery of some kind, wearing a huge overstuffed backpack and a baseball cap far too large for his head. It looks like his dad’s. He holds the hand of a woman I haven’t seen before, I assume the kindergarten nurse, and is beaming. He must have really loved that place. The woman smiles warmly at the camera, but her eyes seem fixed slightly off centre. Like she was almost looking at the camera but maybe watching something happen behind the scenes of the camera. Such a shame we only see what the camera sees - photos can only show one slice of an event and the wider context can change the photos meaning entirely.
The next photo shows Lee maybe one year older. He has grown into the hat although it’s still oversized and he is with some of his friends. Two boys and a girl, the four of them stand smiling in a concrete backyard. There is a rusted chain coiled behind them next to a dank shed. The brick walls that line the yard are covered in broken glass cemented to the top as a cost effective anti climb device but it gives the yard a stark, authoritarian feel. The children smile warmly and behind them with her arms around all four kids is Mrs Davies. This photo is the first one that names her as Jane, as the inscription reads “Jane and the Kids 1993 party”. It’s unclear what the party reference is to - perhaps this is Lees birthday, which would explain why his friends are over but there are no decorations or cake, just Jane and the kids in that concrete yard. Although her torso is mostly obscured by the children it’s possible to see in this photo that Jane’s stomach has started to swell - she must be a few months pregnant.
The next photo is of Mr Davies, or as we can now call him, Kev. “Kevs 40th”. No year on this one but I assume it must be around 93-4 based on the other photos either side. This is a picture of Kev in a string vest. He is well built with large rounded shoulders and thick tufts of black hair poking out from his vest. He wears a gold necklace and holds a can of lager. He is standing in the same yard as the previous picture, and he is staring at the camera. He is unsmiling. He’s not frowning but his face is neutral - it’s hard to read what he might be thinking. It looks like he is looking at the person taking the photo who, from the angle we can guess is someone about a foot shorter than him, likely Jane. Again, it’s odd that for a birthday there are not more photos, or photos of other guests. The children are not in the yard in this photo either.
The next photo is titled “picture day”, again without a year. It’s a photo of the three of them, dressed smartly. Kev wears a suit, although it is ill fitting and sits on him uncomfortably. His tie is askew and his jacket is not properly set around his shoulders. His eyes are heavy and his expression is neutral, his eyes squinting slightly, as if daring the viewer of the photo to challenge him.
Jane has a dark bruise across her face. She wears a pair of wide wrap around sunglasses to hide it, but in the photo which is clearly taken indoors in front of a screen, likely at a local school picture day, or a small independent photo studio, draws all the more attention. She’s heavily pregnant now wearing a garish pantsuit, and her smile is watery and thin. Lee sits between the two of them, each parent resting a hand on his shoulders - the pose of all three is stiff and unnatural. He is not wearing his usual hat and his hair is fiercely combed back. He looks serious, like he is concentrating. The whole family seems weird, none of them seem to display the emotions I’d expect for the pictures and scenes. The next landmark in the Davies personal history is “Birth of Jack - ‘94 “. In the same harsh fluorescent light, possibly even in the same hospital room as Jane’s first child 7 years prior, Kev and James cradle their second son Jack in their arms. Lee watches from across the room sitting on a chair too large for him. His hands are placed pensively on his knees and he looks sidelong at the newborn with a stern expression. There are small bruises on his exposed arms. Kev and Jane both look happy, I notice seeing their smiles here that they haven’t been smiling the last few years. Seeing that happiness throws the tension I’d become accustomed to into stark relief. They were not a happy family I guess, but it does seem the birth of Jack brought a moment of genuine joy to both the parents.
Jane still sports a black eye. More obvious now, as she is dressed in a hospital gown with no glasses.
There is a nurse in the background of the room. She is looking over her shoulder so despite facing away from the photographer her face is captured in the shot. She looks anxious. The next few pages the photos are missing. The captions are still there (Jack’s first walk, Jack in the bath) but all that remains is tape and some tattered photo corners. This is quite common, as the albums often travel before reaching a final destination and typically they are not designed for long travel so photos do get lost or damaged. Remember to back up kids!
The next intact photo is called “the fair”. No year on it but from Jack’s age in the picture he must be at least 4 or 5, so in guessing we are nearing the end of the date range of the first album. The family are at a fair, assumably Jane is taking the picture while Kev is shouting toward the camera. Lee is in the background now some ten years old, with a stick of cotton candy. Jack is crying and has a stick of candy floss lying on the floor at his feet. Kev looks older, greyer and more paunchy. His well built frame is starting to go to seed. It looks like he is shouting at the cameraman while pointing toward Jack. The whole photo is tilted at an angle, as if the photographer was recoiling as they took the picture, tilting the lens skyward as they took a step back. I don’t think the Davies were a happy family. Kev was clearly beating his wife and his reaction in this photo - a snarl of fury. Bar the birth of his kids, Kevs face is stoic and set, his strong features rest into a stern expression, but that emotionless facade is gone entirely in this picture. His eyes are narrowed with malice and his mouth yawns open around some curse he is throwing at Jack, or Jane, or both.
The photo on the next page is a picture of the four of them but Lees & Jack’s faces had been violently scratched out. Damp spots stain the page and the photo has generally been scribbled over. Underneath the graffiti it looks like another family portrait, but it’s hard to make out and it’s untitled. It’s deeply disturbing - whoever defaced this photo was clearly feeling some raw emotions, but what? Rage? Sadness? Regret?
The final picture in this album was entitled family portrait ‘99. At first I thought it had been removed but upon a further inspection of the album there was a discrete pocket on the back page, wide enough for a couple of photos. The photo I found in there was labelled on the back family portrait’ 99 (I just realised I need to go back and check the back side of each photo - maybe there are more inscriptions that can lend some context to this story) and it shows Kev, Jane & Lee, dressed in their usual outfits for the family portrait.
Jack is absent from the photo.
The three Davies in the photo all look tired and worn. Kevs eyes are heavy and sad - another genuine emotion. The seriousness of his emotion contrasts with the humorously ill fitting suit he still wears. Jane has huge bags under her eyes - although no black eye this time. Still, she looks thin and pale. She looks like she is weighed down, physically by the weight of whatever is bothering her. She is wearing her same pantsuit as last time, but now it hangs loosely on her narrow frame. Lee’s transformation is the most shocking. No longer a happy little boy his face is gaunt and set into a stern expression. He must only be about 12 or 13, but he already looks so old, his eyes look tired and dull. That spark of the happy kid in the photos is gone. This photo is kind of hard to look at. There is an overwhelming sense of loss in the photo, but also a stiffness between the family. Kevs hand rests lightly on Lees shoulder and Lee is almost imperceptibly shifting away from Kev toward Jane on his other side. She too is turned away from her husband. There is tension, unresolved. The pose is similar to the earlier one but the absence of Jack means the this photo has none of the previous balance. It seems off kilter, like the pose is incomplete.
Jack almost is in the photo, in terms of the space his family leave around where he would have been. Although there are many possible reasons why Jack may have missed this photo - he could have been sick, or away on a school trip - I can’t help but feel that he is absent for a more serious reason. All the pictures had a sense of sadness but the grief in this final picture is palpable. I wonder if this picture was placed in the back pouch as a result of the author of this album (which I’m sure was Jane - Kev doesn’t seem the type) reading the loss in their own faces? Perhaps it is too painful to look at. Perhaps, in this photo, they could too clearly see the space of their grief.
Will the next albums contain the answers to the Davies sad tale? What happened to Jack? What becomes of Lee? Will the Davies ever shake off the weird, melancholic tension they all seem to share? For that you have to read part two of my blog! Coming next Friday!
OK so that’s part one. I wrote that and decided to call it a night, published it to the Web. I got swallowed in my paid work, as often happens in life and I didn’t get around to part two for a couple weeks. However, in that time my first blog post went viral, not quite tiktok viral but a circulation of several hundred thousand. I guess the mystery of the Davies weird album captured people’s imagination. Either way, this surge of interest made me want to pick this project back up.
I didn’t get to the second album until yesterday. Fuck. It’s fucked up. I’m posting this because I need help, but if you are easily triggered or squeamish it’s best not to read on.
The second album was called “Lees photo diary”. The title page is written in a strong confident hand. There are no dates. The first picture was a selfie of Lee. I would guess age 18 or so. He’s matured into a young man. His face still has that same hardness from the last photo, there is an anger in his eyes. His hair is cut short, it’s blond, not like his dad. His striking blue eyes pierce into the lens. He has chosen a good lighting for this shot. His expression is neutral but his eyebrows seem to naturally rest in a slight frown. His jaw is clenched. He has lost any puppy fat he might have had and is now a gaunt, muscular young man.
The next couple pages were unremarkable, the photos a budding photographer would take, before they get a good eye. Mediocre landscapes, cityscapes. None of the photos are titled.
It seems Lee fancies himself a photographer. None of his photos in the first half of the journal contain pictures of people, other than that first selfie. It’s mostly nature and city shots. Perhaps he was trying to lose himself in the scenery, a way to avoid his family, maybe.
Then it got weird. The photos get more artsy. Weirder angles, coloured tints in the pictures. A dark barren tree against a black sky.
Then a photo of what looks like roadkill. Extremely close up and graphic. The lighting is harsh - he was probably using a flash in dim lighting.
Then a photo of a woman, walking alone on a rainy night. The photographer is behind her maybe ten paces. She is hunched against the rain, sheltering under an umbrella. A curl of smoke is caught under the umbrella and the ember of a cigarette is visible in the shadow of the scene.
The next photo is much closer. The woman has half turned and looks frightened. She is looking toward the photographer. The photographers hand is reaching toward her, in a thick black leather glove.
The next photo, well the next eight, I don’t want to describe. They are truly vile. I really don’t want to even think about it.
At first I thought they must be a staged horror themed shoot. The woman was probably an actress or a student, helping Lee out with his passion for photography. But I am now convinced the photos are genuine. It’s all too real. There is no clue, no little mistake that would hint at this not being real.
I need to share the details but I will not describe them in my usual way - for the dignity of whoever this poor woman was I will only describe the outline of the events. She was taken somewhere, to a dark room. Handcuffed to a mattress, blindfolded and gagged. I believe the photographer forced the woman to get changed as she is wearing the pantsuit that Jane wore for the family photos.
He clearly beat her and I guess kept her prisoner for some time. The lighting in the basement while always dingy, did vary, implying she was held for several days. He took several pictures of her in various poses, showing off the hideous injuries he inflicted on her. Sick bastard.
The penultimate photo is of her with her throat slit. Stuffed in a large duffel bag. Fuck. The last picture is the same duffel bag, now fully zipped up, sinking slowly in a marshland, in a forest somewhere.
I need a whiskey, this is fucking so fucked up. At this point I was thinking I needed to call the police, but I thought I ought to check the other photos first so I could give a full report. Besides although I’m ashamed to admit it, a morbid fascination drew me on.
It gets worse.
Next picture is another series similar to the first. A man sits in a car. It’s impossible to tell who the man is, the photographer is too far away, in a house or garden on the opposite side of the street is guess. It’s a suburb, night time. The street is lit by streetlamps, but shroud the driver in shadow.
Next photo is closer. The driver seems to be waiting for someone, he’s looking toward the house he is closest to.
Next photo, the photographer is only a few feet from the car. He’s crouched by the side and zoomed in, the person’s face is visible in the wing mirror - the photographer must have angled the camera carefully to achieve this effect. I started when I realised it was the face of Kev. It’s kevs face. Older certainly, greyed and grizzled. His lips bore the thin slots of a life avowed smoker, his eyes weighted down with heavy bags. Tired and old, smoking a cigarette and waiting in his car. The next photo is taken from the back seat of the car. A leather gloved hand clamps around Kev’s neck, pinning him to the headrest. The photo is taken from the photographers left shoulder facing down on Kev. Kev looks up at the camera, his face contorted with rage.
The next photo is taken from the passenger seat. Kev is driving and a leather gloved hand is holding a long silver knife to his neck. It’s cut him slightly and a thin trickle of blood has dripped onto kevs oddly mishappen collar. Kev’s eyes are on the road. But he looks panicked. The next picture is a picture of a grave. It’s well lit on a misty morning. Bright sun illuminates the tomestone. It reads
Here with a choir of angels rests Jack Davies 1994 - 1999 Taken by the lord early, as he was too sweet for this earth.
There are some trinkets and such around the grave. It’s shadowy and out of focus - I didn’t realise what it was at first, maybe a football but as I examined the picture in greater detail I realised it was a face. It’s kevs face. I couldn’t figure out how he was lying down such we could see his face and not his body. I shit myself when I realised I was looking at a decapitated head. Lee fucking decapitated Kev and left his fucking head on the grave of his brother WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
The next photo is at the grave of Jane Davies. Same morning, likely same graveyard. This time he perched the head jauntily on the edge of the tomestone, the fucking freak. In this photo you can see viscera, blood, I don’t know what, oozing down the headstone from the stump of Kev’s neck. I stifled a sob when I saw this. It’s fucking horrific.
The penultimate photo is a selfie of Lee, holding his dad’s head next to his own. His ghoulish, sick grin is deeply unnerving. His eyes burn brightly with a defiant and manic light. Kevs eyes are unfocused, his tongue lolls loosely. He.. It’s still seeping.
The last photo is kevs face looking out amongst assorted refuse in a skip. I believe the photographer deliberately threw a banana skin over Kev’s face, partially obscuring the grossly bulging face in a final act of desecration. We see the photographers hand in the foreground, flipping off the head as it rests amongst the debris and trash.
The last page contains a handwritten note. It is in the same handwriting as the title page.
“this book is the first chapter of my opus. Photography is time travel. We can capture a moment and keep it forever. I will be the greatest photographer ever, and I will capture the greatest moments there are. Life, death and everything between. Every hardship I endured was to train me to endure for this. Every challenge I faced was to help me overcome this challenge. All of it is mine now. I have conquered my demons and now my victories are my own. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair. “
There is no signature.
Fucking sick. Lee is clearly completely unhinged. I was about to call the police when I decided to take a quick look at the third. It was empty. The title page is filled out, in the same handwriting as the second album I would guess, it reads:
Lee’s Photo Diary: Part II 2023-
Fortunately the album was empty. No more horror to contend with. Or so I thought.
Upon reflection, last night I decided to sleep on what I should do. I felt like the photos were genuine but they could have happened years ago, in which case reporting it immediately would not change anything. Or it could have been a hoax or an art piece but the photos seemed so real to me. But I couldn’t quite summon the courage to call the police. If it was just a silly prank I’d look like such an idiot. God I wish I had taken the chance to look like an idiot.
I went to bed leaving the albums on my dining table. Knowing sleep would be evasive I had a generous whiskey and eventually passed into an alcohol dazed sleep.
When I awoke the next morning… Fuck. That’s why I’m writing this. I came downstairs, to my kitchen, to make coffee and shed the dryness in my mouth still lingering from the previous evenings night cap.
The third, blank album now lay on top of the other two, not where I left it and there was a white envelope placed on top of it. In red ink the envelope read “LANCE”.
I almost bolted from the room. I was terrified, who the fuck put that there? Someone must have broken in.
I steadied my nerve and grabbed the envelope. A small part of me felt a surge of courage - who would try to make me a victim in my own home like this? Fuck them. It was probably just some weird prank, or a game. Maybe that weird shopkeeper Veles or whatever he was called is in on this. On the off chance it’s a hidden camera show, I strode confidently over to the letter, betraying no fear, and smartly opened it and pulled out the enclosed letter with a flourish that was empty hearted, but I hoped would convey my total lack of fear to any potential onlooker. The letter had no address or date. Here is the contents:
“Dear Lance I’m a big fan of your blog. I was delighted to see my albums being posted on your site. I read it dozens of times. The only thing, is you were rude about my family. You said we were weird. My friend at the shop told me about you. He helped me guess your password. He told me what I’d find hidden away in the recesses of your blog. Not all the work is yours, is it? Dad always taught me that liars and failures have to face up to the consequences of their actions. You didn’t tell our real story, didn’t try to understand my greatness. And you broke the biggest rule of all. WE DON’T TALK ABOUT JACK. And so now, just like everyone else in my life who has hurt me, or failed me, or lied to ME, besmirched ME - you need to face your consequences. Like my friend told me, liars and failures must be PUNISHED. Sorry I hadn’t finished my second diary. I have added some pictures in there for you - a preview of your future. Photos normally capture the past but these photos are special. You will see your future. Savour it Lance. Most of us are not so lucky. Yours faithfully L. D. “
Trembling I opened the album. In one sense, Lee was right I could see from the pictures what he had planned. They told a short and gruesome story. You cannot unsee what you have seen and, if I get through this, I know I will see these photos every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
Every dream.
It will always come back to these nine photos.
The first three are on a page entitled “past”. Photo 1: it’s in my bedroom. It’s dark. I’m lying down on the bed, fast asleep. The photographer is standing over me, his gloved hand is extended and holding that long silver knife. He holds the knife just above my right eye. I’m wearing the t-shirt I went to bed in last night. He must have broken in last night to take this. He could have killed me, the whiskey I had probably dulled my senses enough that I didn’t wake up. My brow is furrowed as if having a bad dream.
Photo 2: this time the camera has been setup in the corner of the room. I’m still asleep in my bed and Lee, or who I assume is Lee, is standing over me. He’s naked except for a pair of thick leather gloves and a thick leather hood, like a gimp mask, over his face.
One hand extends down toward me, holding the knife over my sleeping face. His other hand covers his mouth in a playful pose, as if stifling a laugh. His head is turned at a joky angle. His stance is like that of a friend messing around, but his outfit and that knife remove any trace of jollity from the scene.
Photo 3: it’s a photo of my cupboard, in my bedroom. My suits and shorts hang up, neatly pressed together. Beneath them there is a shelf and on that shelf Lee has added some items that aren’t usually there. His long knife, a roll of duct tape and some rope. Once I saw this I ran to my cupboard and all the items were there, in the same position as the photo. He left behind his kit, to what, taunt me? Terrify me? After seeing the knife so close to my face I’m loathe to touch it. It feels like it has a heavy, dark ugly presence. In the end I leave all the items where they are and return to the album in the dining room.
The next three are in a page entitled “the future”. Photo 4: this photo is not from my house. It’s of a dark basement. There is no natural light just a dingy bulb that throws a weak, sickly yellow glow over the barren room.
It’s the same basement that the photos of the woman were taken in.
The only furniture is a chair. Basic, solid and metallic with a missing back support piece. There are sturdy looking metal arms too. Around the arms and the front legs are scraps of duct tape and severed wires. Clearly the chair is used to restrain people. There is a bucket next to the chair. There are a few items, hard to make out from the dim light, scattered on the floor. I can’t make out all of them but there are some scissors, the blades coated in something dark and liquid. I also make out some pliers, a screwdriver, some knives and a thick leather belt. Some other items I cannot identify.
The floor is covered in a dark liquid spatter, as if something has been split on the floor multiple times and never cleaned up. This photo is haunting.
At this point, I’m in a state of shock. I notice and process details that I shouldn’t, given the gravity of the situation but I still approach each photo as an analyst, a student of the art. I can’t help but notice his framing choices, the lighting. If the subjects weren’t so utterly horrifying, they would be good photos.
Photo 5: it’s a photo of some clothes laid out on a lumpy single bed. Dimly lit. It’s a string vest and some jeans. They look old and worn.
Photo 6: it’s a picture of, I assume, Lee. Again naked and wearing his leather glove and mask combo, with nothing else. Sitting on the chair from photo 3. The knife point balances on his knee, grasped in his gloved hand. His legs are spread wide and his penis is solid and juts aggressively at the camera. His mask has a mouth zipper, in this photo unzipped and the white teeth of a broad grin are visible. It’s too dark to see his eyes through the mask. This man is a terrifying presence.
The last two photos are on their own page. The title reads “the END” Photo 7: a new room. A single high up window let’s some daylight through. Looks like another basement room given the placement of the window. The window doesn’t draw attention though. The thick, merciless noose hanging from the ceiling commands your eye, starkly contrasted against the light that is cast from the window. It is tied to a large iron hook, driven into the ceiling.
Photo 8: concrete floor. Hacksaw. Stains all over the blade and on the floor. There are chunks of, something littered around the floor. It looks like a mixture of shards of bones and slivers of meat. They have sharp jagged edges, presumably the offcuts of whatever Lee used that saw for last..
Photo 9: in a forest somewhere. The ground is covered in twigs and leaves. There is a shovel driven into the earth. It’s clearly been used to dig a hole about 3 or 4 foot deep. The day is bright but the home is deep enough to be full of shadow. A thick, dark pit in the middle of cheerful sunshine. He’s placed a small cross, made of twigs at the head of the trench, watching over the empty, expectant space.
The last page of the journal contains a handwritten entry:
“Some of the photos are placeholders. Don’t worry, although right now they are in the future, soon they will be in our past. The only thing we can count on in this world is change. But don’t worry - I will capture your past and crystallise it forever, in my pictures - you will live forever in the present, preserved in time. See you soon Lance”
I’ve called the police, they are on their way. I don’t know if they will get here in time, he could already be here. Or even if the police believe me and give me protection, whose to say he won’t be able to evade them? What the fuck did I do to deserve this? It doesn’t make sense, it’s not fair! Who the fuck is this psycho!?
I’m putting this out there in case, well, in case I don’t get a chance to later. If the worst should happen, I wish I could give better clues as to who this person is but beyond a name, I know nothing. This destructive force flew into my life from nowhere and now threatens to end everything. And so I sit here typing this. I think I can hear the sirens in the distance. Wish me luck.