Tom peered at the camera across the street. The night was dark, the moon was out, scattered stars glimmered, and the pale light of night reflected of the camera’s lens. Tom studied it curiously, then backed away, then sat there thinking, the thoughts turned sinister, Tom turned paranoid and so he got up and opened the small slit in the blinds so that he may watch the camera that had been watching him for the past two weeks.
One large eye stared at him, its iris black, uninviting, it sucked Tom in, and just as it had done the moment he first laid eyes on it. Snap, click. Snap, click. Snap, click, it photographed Tom, whose pose was stiff, his eyes were wide with fear of something he could not possibly comprehend. The camera didn’t miss a thing; it understood everything about the man it was photographing, and bit by bit the camera tore Tom apart. The lens was soul sucking, and once it had trapped Tom’s soul it would store it away, with the others, a million grey eyes looked at Tom through the lens.
Green eyes, serpent’s tongue, pale skin, Tom looked at the camera but tried to think what thing hid behind it. He imagined it laughing, a choking gurgling noise, Tom felt its horrid eyes penetrate deep through his skull to play around with his head, it was in there, and Tom felt it. Its scaly hand rearranged everything inside of him, looked out through Tom’s own eyes. It had stormed into Tom’s life like an unwanted guest at a dinner party, Tom could not tell it to go away, Tom could not ignore it, he could only wait and see what happened in the end. What happened when the camera had taken his soul and filed it away with the others, for surely there were others. He saw that too. Ghoulish, pale, unforgettable faces in the camera that warned him away from the window, they smacked their fists against the solid glass eye of the camera, screamed and howled but made no noise. All this happened while they demonic figure, Tom imagined being behind the camera, laughed, watched and waited.
The camera had first revealed its self two weeks ago. If it was there long before that Tom did not notice it, but it couldn’t have been. The camera and the thing behind it had a presence that was redolent in Tom’s every step and move. It hid in his shadow; the lens was seen in every reflective object. Tom covered all of his mirrors and any other thing that would remind Tom of what lay waiting outside for him. He could see the lens in everything, and the lens could see him anywhere, it burnt the back of his head and whispered when Tom turned his back. It was perpetual, written in stone, written in blood. It would be there for as long as Tom lives, and would be there for others once it had finished making Tom go mad.
The camera did not show it’s ugly black eye when it was day time. It saved it’s self for the twilights peak. When killers hunt the streets, when victims are stuffed in bags for the post mortem, and when sirens blare for the wicked, it embodied all of that. Tom had made it his duty, a guard vigilant at his post, to watch for when the camera made its big entrance. On its long slender legs, how it waltz into Tom’s life and destroyed it simply by being there. He would wait for hours, well into the evening when the sun cowered from the evils that night brings about with it. He would watch...wait...watch...wait...blink, and it would be there! He would blink and God pulled the curtains down curtain down on the world. Tom’s world would fall into darkness and the camera would be born. The monster behind the camera would bring it opposite Tom’s house. The camera grabs the steering wheel and starts driving Tom to insanity. Snap, click. Snap, click. Snap, click went the camera. Go away, leave me alone! Tom wanted to scream, but only in his mind, lest the thing behind the camera heard this, knew his pain and madness, and went to collect what was left of Tom.
Another week went by; before Tom found the horror that was trapped inside the camera.
It had been twenty one days. A thousand photos of Tom by his window. Tom stood by his window, gripping onto the blinds, their wooden edges cut into his palms but he paid no heed. In a sudden fit of anxiety he abruptly stepped back, his next step was a tumble, the floor beneath ran like a treadmill. He grabbed onto something to keep his balance, the cloth that covered his bedroom mirror. In a fantastic motion he fell on his backside, the cloth jumped on him like an eager ghost, suffocating him beneath its thick never ending bosom. Screaming, arms failing, Tom battled with the cloth spun and punched it till common sense kicked in and he removed it himself. He regretted it soon after. The cloth lay at his feet, but he wished it was back to strangling him. Tom sat bewildered, in front of him sat another man. The stranger’s eyes were large; they popped out of his skull as if his head had been squeezed in a vice. His lips were blue and crusted, blood poured from various cuts along the man’s arms and face. His blood shot eyes were similar to the cameras, vacant yet there, at this thought Tom reeled back screaming. And the stranger did the same, but his made no sound. Tom stopped screaming and the man ceased to move his lips.
What has it done to me? Tom asked the familiar stranger. The stranger gave no reply; his mouth opened and closed but made no noise. This can’t go on, it’ll kill me, and it’s already started. The stranger staring at Tom looked dead enough. I have to stop it, the camera; I have to get the bloody thing... Tom stormed from his bedroom and down the stairs and stopped inches from his door.
Tom tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t allow it. His hand reached for the door knob and hesitated. Whatever is behind this door will kill me, it can’t get me in here but out there it can. But its’ is killing me, inside this house or outside it doesn’t matter I’ll be dead soon, at least this way I can try to stop it. Before he knew what he was doing Tom swung it open and ran to the end of the street. Tom cried like a boy who was running away from his worst nightmare, but Tom was heading straight for it! What has he done to me! Tom screamed.
He reached the end of the street and faced the camera. It only lasted a few seconds but Tom imagined himself to be examining it for some time. His eyes flicked nervously in front of him, around him, above him, looking for the green eyed, serpent tongued, pale monster. He did not find it and was relieved. Tom grabbed the camera, flinging the tripod onto the floor. He ran inside, his heart threatened to leap out of his mouth and almost did when he slammed the door behind him.
Tom stood in the dimly lit corridor. He held the camera in his hands, which was what amazed him most. This thing that had ruined his life, turned Tom into a stranger even to himself. And now he held it in his hands. He held it in his hands! And now that he did Tom realised it was nothing but a camera, something small, something worthless, and something he could buy at any store. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, he laughed while he walked up stairs; he laughed walking into his room and when he sat down on his bed he laughed some more. He pressed the ‘show pictures’ button on his camera and stopped laughing.
The first picture was the front of his house and a man standing at the window. Tom stared straight into his own eyes.
The second picture was the same. As was the third, the fourth and the fifth.
The sixth picture exposed a man, who Tom had mistaken for a shadow at the edge of his own home. It depicted clearly his arms, his legs, and the object in his hands.
The seventh picture and the man came closer to his door.
The eighth picture and the man were closer to Tom’s door.
On the ninth picture the man had disappeared into his element, hiding, and waiting.
The tenth picture showed the door open, the ones after that showed Tom running down the street like a mad man towards the camera. That wasn’t what caught Tom’s eye though. Because behind Tom was the shadow man who darted for the open door, while Tom ran for the camera he slipped inside the house. What he held in his hands was sharp, it was a knife. The man slipped inside and leapt up the stairs.
The rest was a blur, wild images of Tom’s face, his shirt, the street.
Tom realised the camera was still taking pictures, even when he was running. But Tom wasn’t watching himself, surely he wasn’t! This must be some other poor soul. Don’t go inside there, there’s someone there, he’s gone upstairs, he’s in your room!
Tom turned the camera over and faced the lens, then turned it back to see a disgruntled face that was his own. Behind Tom’s own face was another. Green eyes. Serpent tongue. Pale skin. Tom felt the monsters rancid breathe burn his back.
“He’s behind you!” Tom screamed at the poor man in the photo. “He’s behind...”