POV: Someone’s in Your Photos… But You Were Alone
Alex Marshall never intended to return to his grandfather’s house. The attic had been off-limits when he was a child — his mother’s sharp warnings always laced with something that felt less like fear and more like reverence. But now, with his grandfather gone, the house was his. And the attic door, long forgotten beneath layers of dust, stood slightly ajar.
The air was thick with neglect, carrying the scent of mothballs and something metallic. The wooden floor groaned under his steps as he ventured deeper into the attic’s gloom. Boxes slumped under their own weight, forgotten relics of a life preserved in dust. But it was the wooden chest beneath the farthest window that caught his eye.
He crouched, brushing off cobwebs, and pried the lid open. Inside, nestled in worn velvet, lay an antique camera — its body engraved with intricate swirling patterns that seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking directly at them. The lens, unnaturally pristine despite the years, reflected the dim light like a black hole. No brand, no markings. Just a single roll of undeveloped film tucked beside it.
The weight of the camera was wrong. Too heavy. Too cold.
He should have left it there.
Back in his apartment, the bathroom had been hastily transformed into a darkroom. The air reeked of developer fluid and nostalgia. Alex worked methodically, unspooling the ancient film, his fingers trembling as the images slowly emerged in the dim red glow.
The first frame showed an empty hallway, the wallpaper peeling in forgotten curls. The second, a dusty parlor with an old piano. But the third —
His breath hitched. The attic. His grandfather’s attic.
The angle was impossibly familiar, as though someone had stood exactly where he had hours before. The chest was there, the same light slanting through the grime-streaked window. But something was different.
The lid was open.
And a figure stood beside it.
Alex stumbled back, knocking over a tray of chemicals. The acrid scent stung his nose, but he barely noticed. His hands shook as he fumbled for the next photograph.
The figure was closer now. Blurred at the edges, as though the film had captured something it wasn’t meant to. A tall shape, featureless but looming, its presence thick with intent.
The final frame sent ice through his veins.
His own bedroom. His own bed. The camera’s perspective impossibly perched at the foot of it.
And the figure, standing right beside him.
A whisper slid through the room, though the windows were shut. The shadows around him stretched, deepened, pulsed.
Somewhere in the darkness, the camera shutter clicked.
And this time, Alex knew he wasn’t the one holding it.
The electricity flickered. A cold weight settled in his stomach. Alex’s breath came fast and shallow as he grabbed the film, shoving it back into its envelope. His reflection in the mirror across the room wavered, a slight delay before mirroring his movements.
The air pressed heavier against him. It felt wrong, like the walls themselves were listening.
A floorboard creaked.
Not under his feet.
Slowly, Alex turned toward the bedroom doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs. The hallway beyond was shrouded in darkness, but something shifted within it — a subtle movement, just out of sight.
He wasn’t alone.
The camera still sat on the counter, its lens gleaming in the dim light. The urge to grab it, to capture whatever was lurking in the shadows, clawed at him. His fingers twitched toward it, but something deeper, something primal, screamed at him not to.
The whisper came again, closer this time, just behind his ear.
Click.
The power surged back to life, the overhead bulb flaring too bright before settling into an uneasy glow. Alex stood frozen, his body trembling. He turned back to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed, breathless.
But his reflection’s hands were empty.
The camera was gone.
This short story was taken from Horror Books — immerse yourself in terrifying tales that will keep you up at night. Download the app now: https://horrorstories.app/
