Chapter 3

Five hours had passed since I got up from my chair.

I couldn’t sleep at night. Tossing my body over and over, not being able to forget this dark creature on my Polaroid. Who was that? Or maybe I should say what was that?

My room was plunged into darkness for hours and my poor plants were probably already on the verge of dying due to the lack of sunlight this room was experiencing.

But opening the blinds would expose me to the sun and hearing the singing of the birds would have distracted me, and I would probably try and find a reason to leave my room. The only source of light was my laptop, which showed dozens of old pictures I had taken at the theater of the actors. I took the shots last year, but none of them showed that dark shadow. Was it possible that it was just a malfunction of my Polaroid camera?

I pick up the Polaroid that lies beside me and turn on the desk light to analyze the picture one more time. A clear shape can be seen in the photo, eyes piercing right through me.

But if it was a malfunction, why did it look so much like a human? Or something similar to a human.

I throw it in the corner of my desk and let out a big sigh. It was no use staring at it. My knees were getting numb, and I would probably soon melt into the chair If I wasn’t going to give myself a break. Standing up, I grab the Polaroid without looking at it, turning to my bookshelf where a photo box was stored. A layer of dust covered it, reminding me, that I had promised myself to use my Polaroid camera more. But after I took the photo at the crime scene, I felt bad, every time I looked at it.

I take off the lid when suddenly, another Polaroid falls down to my feet. When I bend down, I realize what the photo is showing. It was the picture I made at the crime scene. The one I never dared to look at, because I was scared of the guilt that would wash over me. But something else was there. Something I didn’t expect. The dark figure.

***

After taking a minute to collect my thoughts and grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen, I go back upstairs to face those scary pictures again. But after entering my room, something feels off. My laptop which I had closed, was open and shining bright. And on it was an open document full of text, page after page, written over. I sit down in front of it and start to read curiously.

“Help me, I am Selene Woods. I was killed. Help me. I am Selene Woods I was killed. Help me I am Selene Woods. I was killed.” Repeating over and over, not stopping, no matter how much I scroll.

And suddenly, the Polaroids start to blur together with the screen, together to one single picture.

And it all becomes clear.