The Attic Camera

I found the camera while cleaning out my grandfather’s attic after he passed away.

It was an old film camera, the kind people used before everything went digital. It was sitting inside a dusty box with a few random belongings, and at first I thought it was just another forgotten family item.

There was still a roll of film inside.

I almost threw it away, but something made me get it developed.

Most of the pictures were normal.

Old family gatherings, vacations, random shots of the backyard.

Then I reached the last few photos.

The first strange one showed the hallway of my childhood home.

Nobody was in the picture.

I thought maybe my grandfather had taken it for some reason.

The next picture was the same hallway, but taken from a different angle.

Closer.

Like someone had walked forward.

The third picture was the hallway again.

Except this time, there was someone standing at the end of it.

A person facing away from the camera.

I stared at the picture for a long time, trying to recognize who it was.

The clothes looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

Then I noticed something that made my stomach drop.

The picture was taken inside my old house.

A house my grandfather had never visited.

We moved there years after he stopped using that camera.

I convinced myself there had to be some explanation. Maybe the pictures were mixed up at the photo lab. Maybe someone else had used the camera.

Then I looked at the final picture.

It was taken from inside my old bedroom.

The camera was pointing directly at my bed.

The bed where I used to sleep.

And standing beside it was the same figure from the hallway.

Only now I could see the clothes clearly.

It was wearing an old jacket that belonged to my grandfather.

The same jacket he was buried in.

I called my grandmother and asked if she knew anything about the camera.

There was a long silence.

Then she asked me a question.

“Did you see the picture of the bedroom?”

I didn’t answer.

She already knew.

She told me my grandfather had stopped using that camera after something happened when they first bought it.

He claimed that sometimes, when he developed the pictures, there would be photos he never remembered taking.

At first they were harmless.

Empty rooms.

Random corners of the house.

Places he didn’t remember pointing the camera at.

Then one day, he found a picture of himself sleeping.

Taken from inside his bedroom.

After that, he locked the camera away and never touched it again.

I still have the camera.

I never put film inside it.

But a few months ago, while moving it from one drawer to another, I noticed something.

The counter on the camera had changed.

It used to say 0.

Now it says 1.

And I have no idea who took the picture.