My sister asked for a photo of the strange footprints. I told her there was no accounting for the veracity of a photo in these days of AI slop. However, I felt I owed her the opportunity to share in the holiday creepiness. I stood in my bedroom window overlooking the deck in the early post-Solstice darkness that evening and decided, believer in the supernatural or not, no, I wasn’t going to take a picture of those footprints still facing my window other than in bright sunlight. I didn’t want to see something in my camera that might make sleep impossible.
Late the next morning when it was indeed bright, I snapped a photo of the snowy, yet rapidly melting, deck with my Android. But when I went to send it to my sister, the photo was only a pure, white, undifferentiated square. I’ve never seen that before. An all black photo because of a stray finger, pointing it at the floor, a pocket picture, or because my case has a flap to the cover the camera that’s pretty loose... Absolutely. But all white? Maybe it had been slow to snap and I’d caught the textured ceiling. I pointed my camera phone out the window again and could clearly see the deck and footprints and the backyard full of squirrel and rabbit tracks leading off to the neighbors’ yards. I took another photo and, when I went to share it, again...all white. I looked carefully at the lens and the case, giving both a soft wipe and took another photo. Again. Solid white.
I stared at the photo and realized it wasn’t as completely white as I’d first thought. I could see my deck, barely see it, in the photo. It was as though it was in the middle of the densest snowstorm I’d ever seen. Or at least comparable to some of the big ones. Only a shadow in the swirl. I stared more intently, trying to make out the edges of the deck and the footprints and, as I did, I felt like I was looking into one of those magic eye photos. That if I stared and stared, the white would become a pattern and would take on movement, like a real snow storm, and the deck would clearly come into focus under the overwhelming white and between the sheets of flakes.
But it wasn’t just the deck. My eye caught more. Something else was in the snowstorm. On the deck. Wrapped in the densest of the swirling white. I couldn’t tell what. But with a dawning uneasiness, I realized that it was absolutely something I didn’t want to suddenly snap into focus. It felt like it was trying to see me as much as I was trying to see it. Like the snow storm was on both sides – me looking into the photo and whatever was in there looking out, and I wouldn’t know what that meant until the moment we could see each other. I flipped the camera off, breathing a little faster. Maybe I was imagining all of it. Seeing things where there was nothing to see.
I owed my neighbor Ted a beer and realized maybe that was an opportunity for a sanity check. Grabbing an Arbeiter from the fridge, phone in my other hand, I walked the 50’ to his door and hoped he was home. His dog barked loudly from the other side of the door, nothing new there, and after a few minutes Ted appeared. He was appreciative of the beer and we took a moment to chitchat, as we always do. I held up my phone, the photo called up on the screen, and asked if he could discern anything unusual.
He stared at it and after a joke about an old guy and his Android said, “Is this some old photo of your deck? I don’t think we’ve ever had a storm that big since I’ve lived here. Definitely not since you got the deck within the last two winters. Was there a wind storm kicking up the snow back there, or are you playing around with some Instagram filter?” He didn’t hand back the phone immediately, but continued to stare at it, moving his head a little with small tilts, as if trying to looking between snowflakes. I assured him it was a new photo and I’d taken it only that morning.
He started to tell me that was impossible. And then he hitched. Mid-word. He looked shocked for a moment. I would have almost thought scared, although if you’re like me, you don’t know your neighbor well enough to make that call. You OK?” I asked him. Ted shook his head. Not with a no. But like he was trying to shake off something or shake something out of his head.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Thought I saw something, but it’s just the deck and you standing here screwing with me.” I shrugged, having gotten nowhere with the photo. I wished him a happy holidays, particularly now that he had sixteen ounces of extra beer, and took my leave. I deleted the photo as I walked back to the house figuring I’d take a few photos later and see if my camera was misbehaving and due for a replacement.
...
I’m back...it’s 12:30 a.m. Ted texted me. He wants to know if I’m walking around in his backyard and on his deck. I looked out the bedroom window, trying to see his backyard from my angle where our houses align. I can’t get a good view of the area near his house. But I can see one thing. The footprints, which had ended facing my window, now loop back to the edge of my deck on Ted’s side and disappear off the edge. I wonder what Ted saw in that photo. I wonder if something saw him.
No comments:
Post a Comment