The Frame Advances

I pick up the grey viewfinder and click through the images. I am eight years old. I pretend the people I see have been made miniature, by magic, to fit inside the plastic box.

The photos I am currently clicking through were from a family trip to Yellowstone when I was six. In the photo are my mother, my father, my brother, and me. We are a happy family, on vacation, not a care in the world. The year is 1972.

I click the button once more, and where my mother used to be in the image, she is now gone. I shake my head and try again. Click.

She is still gone, erased from the photo. Vanished.

I bring the View-Master away from my face and shake it as though it is an Etch a Sketch and that somehow this shaking will bring her back.

Click. The frame advances.

She is still gone.

I call for her in the house. There is no answer. I call my father on his work phone. No answer.

I go back to the viewfinder. I pick it up and shake it, and look through the eyepiece again. Still no mom. This time, my father is gone as well. The only people looking back at me from our family photos of our trip to Yellowstone are my brother and me.

I am afraid to do it again, but — click.

I look one more time. I have a feeling my brother will have disappeared as well, and sure enough. He is now gone too.

I carefully set it back down on the living room table.

I am afraid to pick it up again, so I leave it and go to my bedroom. I pick up the knife I got in Niagara Falls and play with it for a while, thinking about what I should do next. I set the knife down when I remembered that we had bought the viewfinder from a man in Yellowstone. He seemed homeless and in need of money, which is why we bought it from him. My father said it would be nice to help him out.

I remember how strange the man seemed at the time. He had pitch-black hair covered with a pointed hoodie and walked with a cane. He looked like a wizard. When I took the viewfinder from him, he winked at me, not a creepy wink, but a wink that said, hey kid, did you know who you're looking at?

Had he sold us a cursed View-Master? I wondered.

I went back into the living room and picked the plastic box up one more time, and slowly put my eyes on the face.

This time, instead of me standing in front of a geyser, there was no one at all in the photo. Not my parents, not my brother, and now, not me. I set the view master back on the table and had to contemplate what to do next. I could smash the View-Master with my baseball bat or throw it in the trash or stick it in the basement behind some boxes.

I clicked the button one more time, afraid of what I might or might not see next.

Click.

In the center of the next photo was me, and standing next to me, with his arm around my shoulder, was the dark-haired man. This could not be real. I clicked again. Same photo, closer up, this time from the belly button up.

Click. The frame advances.

This time I see just our heads; his and mine. He has a smile on his face, and I look terrified. When I look closer, I can see my parents in the background, their arms around each other, looking like they had lost something. Like maybe, me.

Eighteen Years Later.

I am at my parent's house, reminiscing about my childhood when I find a viewfinder at the bottom of a box. It is old and faded and cracked in a couple of places. I wonder if it even works. I really don't want to try it again.

The front doorbell rings. I set the View-Master down and go to answer the door. The ringing continues. Just a minute, I yell. When I opened the door, no one was there, but someone had placed a package on the porch. The package is wrapped in wrinkled brown paper as though it had sat around for a long time in the dead-letter office. It has my name on the top. Evan S. Cape.

I look around the yard and the street, but I see no one. I close the door, and with measured movements, I open the parcel.

Inside is a brand new View-Master. This one is shiny and red and is pre-loaded with a reel already in it. I hesitate to pick it up. I think about taping it back up and sending it back to where it came, but then I see there's no return address.

I put it back in the box and then pull it out again and stick it to my eyes, which I keep closed. Then I open them, and what I see is a group of people standing in a circle. I count nine total. They are dressed up. It seems like summer. The time period is current.

Click. The frame advances.

The crowd of people is now split in half, men on one side, women on the other, and I can see they are standing in front of a casket. They are at a funeral. I begin to shake.

Click. The frame advances.

The casket is much closer now, the lid closed. Flowers line either side of it, on top of a fake green carpet, which is supposed to resemble grass. A pair of men's shoes is in the bottom right corner. They are brown, and one is missing a lace. I exhale, my breath leaving my body in a tightly controlled fashion.

Click. The frame advances.

The lid to the coffin is now open. I can see that the occupant is a man dressed in a suit, his hands folded over his chest, but his face is not in this frame. I don't want to push the button.

I begin to negotiate with myself. This is just a View-Master; they are only photos. I cannot decide whether to push the button or not. Yes, no? Yes, no? Yes.

Click.

The frame advances. I am now looking directly at the face of the man inside the coffin. I hurl the View-Master across the room; it lands against the fireplace with a loud crack. I back up as far away from the device as I can. I hear my own breathing, heavy in the air.

The man in the photo in the coffin is me. I sit there for a long time before I move again. Someone is playing a very dirty trick on me. There is another knock at the door. I don't make a move; I just turn my eyes in that direction. I see the handle begin to turn, and through the frosted glass, on the other side, I see the shadow of a man. In his hand, there is a stick, which turns slightly, and I realize it is a scythe. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and open the door.