The Photo, Page 2

wasn’t so sure.

  “There’s some sort of figure behind you, with a hoodie on, and long teeth, and claws…” Diane knew that the more she spoke, the more insane she sounded.

  “I beg your pardon?” Now Gina was upset – what the hell was this woman playing at?

  “I can see it in that photo – are you saying you can’t see it?”

  “There’s nothing in there apart from the four of us.” Gina was adamant and Diane could see that she meant it.

  Oh no, she’s gunna think I’m insane – thought Diane. She invites me in, after all she’s been through, and I go on like this? Diane had another look at the photo to make sure that she hadn’t invented this beast, but there it is – beaming madly like it was about to tear into Gina’s flesh, her long slender neck only a few centimetres from its razor sharp teeth.

  Then it clicked for Diane. “Let me see more photos with you in them,” she said.

  And there it was – again, and again, and again.

  There was 12-year old Gina graduating from Year 6 at school, the dark beast hovering behind her, its forked tongue in her ear.

  There was 23-year old Gina on her wedding day, the demon’s fearsome face between hers and Paul’s as they signed the bridal registry.

  There was 28-year old Gina lying in bed with Sarah two minutes after giving birth to her, Paul standing on one side of the bed, the demon cloaked in black on the other.

  In every photo, the demon was ogling her, dominating her, mocking her.

  “My God! It’s in every photo!” Diane couldn’t believe it but the demon was in every photo that Gina was in. If Gina took the photo, or if it simply didn’t have her in it, then it was like any other normal, happy photo. But if she was in it, so was the monster. And it wasn’t interested in anyone else. Only her.

  Diane recalled some of the events that Gina had said had happened in her life – her father drowning at the beach, her brother (her only sibling) becoming a paraplegic after falling from a ladder, various accidents and injuries she suffered as well. Gina seemed beset by more bad luck and heartache than all of Diane’s friends combined.

  “I have no idea what you’re saying, but I don’t like it! I don’t like it at all!” Gina was really upset now.

  Diane instantly knew that was why she had that sense of foreboding that day – Diane sensed this beast, even though she didn’t see it. Gina couldn’t see it, but for some reason now Diane could see it reflected back at her in the photos. She had to get out of this house – fast!

  “I think you should get out of here,” Gina said. She was close to tears. She wanted to scream at Diane for upsetting her, but she was choked up with emotion – the words could barely come out.

  “I’m so sorry Gina, but I can see something in these. We need to talk later,” Diane said as she grabbed her purse from the table, knocking the almost empty coffee cup onto the floor.

  Gina stayed in the sitting room, on the couch over the photo album. From behind Diane could see her shoulders move up and down and she knew Gina was crying. But Diane had to leave, that sick, sinister feeling was still here and she had to get out of this house fast.

  She reached the front door and as she reached for the handle, she saw a long talon-like claw reach for it and open the door. Standing next to the door was the demon – over six feet tall and towering above her. She smelled a rotting sulphur smell, too, as it craned its neck forward, revealing its decaying face.

  She noticed the detail in its skin – it was decomposing. It was as if it was dying as Gina got older. In the photos of the young Gina, the demon was lighter, more oily and lithe. But the wizened brittle beast that stood in front of her now showed signs of decomposition, as if it were decaying in front of her.

  Its eyes glowed fire; she could feel the heat coming from it. The beast smiled that sleazy grin, flashing saliva-covered rows of pointed teeth. In one hand it held up a photo of Diane’s own house, her husband and kids out the front. In the photo she could see her family moving in the front yard, doing some gardening, which was what she knew they were doing that day.

  It took its hand off the door handle and raised an index finger to its mouth, making a “Sssshhhhh...” sound, a sulphuric gaseous smell filling the hallway and let her out of Gina’s house.

  About the Author

  Jamie J. Buchanan is based in Perth, Western Australia. He spent many years playing in rock bands, mostly loud, fast, heavy metal and hard rock bands - the sort your parents warned you about. But his first love has always been writing.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jamiebuchanan1971

  Publishing history:

  Jamie has had a short story “On My Goat” published by Cardigan Press in 2006 in the anthology “Allnighter”.

  The short story “Sanguine Saviour” won second place in the monthly “Darker Times” competition and was included in the inaugural Darker Times anthology as well.

  The short story “The Woman on the Pavement” has been published in an upcoming Editor’s Choice anthology by Stringybark Press entitled “Hitler Did it”.

  The short story “Battle of Wits” won first prize in the Twice-yearly Short Story Competition “Raspberry & Vine”.

  Jamie enjoys the films of Robert Rodriguez, The Coen Brothers and Guy Richie, music by Bad Religion, The Offspring, Clutch, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Metallica, and books by James Ellroy, Irvine Welsh, Chuck Palahniuk and Stephen King amongst dozens of others. His only hates are people who talk about themselves in the third person...and Brussel Sprouts. He hates Brussel Sprouts.