The Night Photographer

I’d never liked the daytime. I think it stemmed from when I was a teenager –late nights in front of the T.V, energy drinks piling up beside me until the early morning sun peeked through my curtains. My parents used to hate it. They’d tell me about how important sleep was, and one day I’d regret it. In high school, then in university, then when I started working a nine-to-five, like them. I never did. Not even when I started working as a photographer. Animals that only emerged under the cover of nightfall were the only ones worth capturing –majestic, broad-winged owls or red foxes slinking through the backstreets. The ones that appeared when the day had fallen, when the eye of the world had blinked shut. Only in the quiet.

My house sat on the brink of the town, bordered by a tall pine forest that stretched into the mountains. Occasionally, snow dusted the road, frost lining the grass, only carved through by the occasional set of footprints. Cars barely reached my house, and when they did, they were piled high with suitcases and winter clothes and headed for the mountains, the ski slopes. Their headlights blinded me. I’d watch as they drove, standing barefoot on the grass and feel the wind whoosh past me, violently hurtling past.

I wandered off into the woods on occasion. Pine needles shuddered beneath my feet, as if I was colder than they were. I crouched down in the bushes and brought the lens of my camera up to my eye, waiting. Watching. The undergrowth rustled. Breathing. The forest was a giant living organism, and I was in its lungs.

I snapped the photo as soon as I saw it. Tufts of grey-black and white hair. Pricked ears that swivelled like satellite disks. Standing, staring. Scanning the area.

A snow leopard.

It hadn’t seen me. Its icy eyes drifted lazily across my bush, but missed me completely. Muscles rippled beneath its fur as it strolled past.

I clicked another photo. The camera blinked, freezing the captured moment. Imprisoning the moment while the leopard walked free.

I watched it walk away. It paced through the forest, vanishing into the trees as the sun crept over the horizon. Golden light streamed through the forest, and I felt myself weaken. Sag into the mulch. My skin was pale, almost colourless, but I wasn’t cold.

A man saw me as I walked back. He froze, staring, his dog tugging at its leash, confused why its master had halted so abruptly. His mouth gaped open, his shoulders slackening, puffs of perspiration gathering in front of his face. I passed him a confused nod and continued into my house. I didn’t like talking to people, either. They were supposed to be asleep. Only I was supposed to be up. I collapsed into my bed inside, closing the curtains to block the light, waiting for sleep to pull me away.

I awoke when the streetlights flickered to life. Personally, I hoped they’d break, keep the night only as light as the twinkling stars permitted. I grabbed my camera, and something fell to the floor beside it. The screen blinked to life. It was my phone. I almost didn’t recognise it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used it. A strange sense urged me to reach for it, tugging me towards it, a fleeting memory I couldn’t quite grasp. But I brushed the thought aside and fitted my camera strap over my neck, like a warm neck pillow, nourishing me with life.

The night was cold, but I didn’t feel it. My skin radiated a strange warmth that contrasted the chill of the air, almost as if I was colder.

A man in a dark hoodie tugged a mask higher over his mouth, walking quickly into the forest. Something was tucked under his arm.

I brought my camera up to my eyes. And I clicked a photo. Once, twice, then an entire burst. A gallery. I didn’t know why. Until he saw me.

The man’s eyes widened. I knew him from somewhere, and he knew me. His cheeks turned white with panic, and he broke out into a run.

I chased him. I didn’t hesitate.

He led me into the forest, darting between the trees. My feet were bare but the pine needles beneath my feet felt like a carpet designed just for me.

The man was fast, but I was effortlessly faster. My breath never quickened, my skin never spurted beads of sweat.

I tackled him. The box tumbled from his hand, but remained firmly shut.

‘Leave me alone!’ He yelled. I froze. He sounded shattered, defeated. ‘Please. Just leave me alone.’

I was on top of him, my fist hovering above his face. My abdomen ached. My hands tingled as if the camera was in them, but it was dangling from my neck.

‘You deserve this.’ I heard myself say.

‘No, please,’ he begged. ‘Please, I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please, just leave me alone.’

I knew this man. The one I had pinned beneath me, the one begging for my mercy. But wrath’s grip on me didn’t loosen.

‘You’re a murderer.’

‘No, please, I’m not. I never meant to do it. I never meant to kill you.’

The words felt like a punch to the gut. My blood ran cold. I stood up, stunned.

‘I’m dead,’ I stammered.

‘Please, just be dead. Leave me alone. It was ten years ago. It was an accident.’

The man brushed the snow off his pants. He picked up the box and slowly backed away.

I said nothing. My ears were ringing. I glanced down at my hands, which suddenly looked white pale. Ghostly.

As the man staggered into the forest, I picked up my camera. I scrolled through hundreds of photos of wildlife, all taken at night. And then, photos of the man. Photos from a long time ago. He had a gun clutched in his hand. I scrolled through the photos, watching them like a movie. A flash of light from the nozzle of the gun. The man glancing around to see if anyone was looking.

His eyes locking with the camera.

The last photo before the wildlife. A blurry photo. Angled at the sky. The man standing over the camera, gun pointing downwards.

And then it was black.

My head spun. I was dead. I died. I died taking photos. But why was I still here?

Was I not done taking photos?

Was I not done being the night photographer?