Ghost Euanio

Chapter 3: Fish Stock

Naemh gathered the photos and the camera in her arms and scampered to her cell, desperately not wanting to be caught by her father in the wrong room. She dropped to her knees on the concrete floor of her cell and spread out the polaroids in front of her in a panic. How could this same boy be in all of these photos without her noticing; he wasn’t even old enough to drive and yet there he was, driving the truck that had obliterated Pumpkin. Something was going on here, and Naemh was determined to get to the bottom of it and avenge for beloved Pumpkin. She stood up, scooping up the polaroids with her and begun to stick them to the walls of her cell, filled with a new determination. Naemh pulled a ball of red twine out of her pocket and began to piece the clues together.

First, there was the test photo she’d taken from her window with the boy visible down below. At the time of the photo being taken, she didn’t think twice about the boy’s presence, which she regretted now. As she continued to work her way through the photos, she came to the startling realisation that the boy seemed to be getting closer in every photo. So close that he killed Pumpkin… She furrowed her brow, unsure what to make of the situation. “What if the camera is cursed?” Naemh thought aloud. “No, there’s no way that’s true.” She chortled. Her eyes drifted to the camera on the floor of the cell, “Unless...”

Naemh decided to put her ludicrous theory to the test; there was no harm in trying. After all, it’s not like she had any more guinea pigs. She raised the camera and aimed it towards her window- Not much of a view due to the metal bars, but it’d do. After double checking to make absolutely sure there was no one visible, she snapped a pic. She waited for the polaroid image to exit the camera and develop, waiting with anticipation. Naemh’s hands trembled as the image cleared: A blonde boy standing right by her fence. Holy shit and fuck. Naemh desperately tried to convince herself that it must be some trick of the camera, so she decided to take one more photo.

The camera clicked and another photo began rolling out. Again, the photo showed the boy, standing in a different place. He was right under her window, perched in a way as if he were about to start climbing up the wall. Naemh took a step backwards and dropped the camera. The camera clattered to the floor but didn’t break. It was cursed, no doubt about it.

Naemh was stuck in a moral dilemma: Does she keep the curse bestowed upon her by her dead grandmother, or does she destroy the last family heirloom? If only Naemh had let the camera be buried with her grandmother, like she had requested, instead of asking to give it a second life. Naemh had made this decision against her deceased grandmother’s will, and now she was paying the price.

But who was this boy and how did he know my grandmother? She picked up the cursed camera with shaky hands and stared at it. Naemh ever so slowly raised the camera above her head, “I’m so sorry, Grandma Christophorous,” she sobbed. Naemh threw the camera on the cold cell floor. The fragments of the camera scattered apart gruesomely, reminding Naemh of Pumpkin being crushed under the wheel. Naemh fell to the floor, her eyes ejaculating as she wept for her guinea pig, her grandma, her street boy. 

It was over now.