Lost within the frame

The darkroom glowed an eerie shade of red as I pegged the last of the prints on the line to dry. Despite the hundreds of photos currently downloading to my computer from my weekend in the snow-covered peaks, there was nothing quite like developing film. A certain satisfaction to having hands-on involvement.

I walked the length of the room, taking in the black-and-white detail of the mountain range, the contrasts between stark white snow and grey clouds to the darkened tree line and all the shades of the leaves.

My smile froze as I reached the last photo. A sense of wrongness lingered, however, nothing obvious caught my eye. Something just wasn’t right about it. I reversed my path, willing that same niggling to hit with the other prints.

It didn’t.

All the way to the beginning and back again, and it was only the last image that emitted a sense of… otherness. The unease had me rushing to pack away what I’d used and exit the darkroom.

My stomach growled as I emerged into the light, but for the moment, I ignored the clench. There were hundreds of digital images that might shed light on what I’d felt.

Hours passed and my head throbbed as I scrolled and check each photo I’d taken. The grumble in my gut subsided each time I went to the kitchen to appease it and the coffee maker was getting the most use it’d ever seen.

Out of 674 images, I’d thoroughly assessed only 106. I scrubbed a hand across my face and eyes, then blinked at the darkness outside. Wide open curtains revealed my own reflection, the haggard version of myself staring back numbly.

I stretched up, then side to side, sliding my hands down my thighs and up again. Twists at the waist popped a succession of vertebrae that until now had been compressed in a sitting position. I kept stretching as I methodically worked my way around the house, closing curtains or blinds and switching off lights I’d forgotten were on.

When everything was shut and the doors locked, I trudged back to the coffee machine for yet another cup.

Staring at the wall displaying my best prints—landscapes from all around the world—I sipped at the sugary brew warming my palms.

Something caught my attention, and I stepped closer. Each of these photos was the size of a poster and the detail up close was more than you’d pick up from the proofs. It took a few more sips before I twigged.

Enlargement.

Excitement buzzed through me as I wound around the furniture and made a beeline to the darkroom. My empty mug clinked against another on the side table, its surface full of caffeine-stained cups long forgotten, as I pushed through the door and locked it behind me.

The workstation illuminated with the flick of a switch, and I rummaged through a large set of drawers. With a grunt of triumph, I withdrew the poster-sized paper I needed and hip-bumped the drawer shut. I bustled about, setting up what I needed, then laid out the negatives. A hesitant smile faltered as I handled them. Even the neg gave off vibes.

The next day, I worked meticulously, cutting matting to size and selecting a frame, studiously ignoring the energy humming from the enlarged image on my framing table.

I stood back from the finished product, examining every inch of the photo where it hung on the wall, trying to pinpoint what made it… off.

Monochromatic hues of mountains, snow, and trees leapt off the paper; it enveloped me in the serenity and inherent danger of that section of the hiking trail. A buck with large antlers nibbled at an overhang of branches, and a flock of small birds hovered in the sky, but still nothing unusual stood out.

A wintery wind blew through the lounge room, whipping my hair with its fury. Tendrils of chilled mountain-fresh air snuck beneath the layer of my thin sweater, tickling along my spine. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my torso, trying to ward off the cold. I longed for my climbing gloves, wondering if I’d left them at camp or if they were tucked in my backpack.

Instead of sliding my pack off to check, I smiled and tipped my head to the left, admiring the range and the canvas nature had deemed worthy to create. The feeling disappeared from my fingertips, but I didn’t worry. It was a small inconvenience to be bathed in the glow of this beauty.

Sunlight glinted off the snowy peaks, sending diamond-like sparkles across the canyon. I reached out to catch one, smiling lazily when a glittery shard handed on a numb fingertip. I didn’t need to feel it to know its brilliance burned into my soul.

More diamonds floated from the white fluff clinging to the mountainside, warming my further until my whole being was glowing as bright as the sunset painting the landscape. As night descended over the alpine peaks and stars began to appear, I tipped my head to the sky and invited the darkness in.

***

“Detective, you have to see this,” the forensic specialist called to him as he entered the property.

“Coming,” he replied as he slid paper booties over his polished brogues. Latex gloves were thrust into his hand before he’d cleared the entryway, and they were in place as he walked into an opulent lounge room. He couldn’t help staring at the expanse of perfectly captured landscapes, the expertly framed photographs filling almost every available part of the wall.

“Detective?”

His attention pulled from the entrancing pictures, he met the specialist’s gaze. And found a man, frozen and pointing at one of the framed works.

“Is he?” he started, not quite believing what he saw. “Please tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Sorry, sir. He’s frozen solid.”

The detective searched the walls for a thermostat then requested a tech to take an ambient temperature reading.

“Twenty degrees Celsius,” the female called out as the specialist said, “Minus ten, sir.”

Confused, he walked towards the standing corpse and staggered when a wall of icy air hit him.

“What the hell?” he muttered, rocking back and forth a few times, testing the thirty-degree different in the one room.

“Indeed, sir.”

With a few words to the onsite team, he scanned the area surrounding their victim with his eagle eyes. Without knowing the normal state of the space, an outsider would never truly know if anything was out of place, but obvious details stood out.

The cleared sideboard. The stepladder in front of it. Fingerprints lingering on this frame where, on closer inspection, no others were marred by anything more than a fine layer of dust.

“Dust this for prints,” he called over his shoulder and cast his gaze around for more. More to this man’s story. More to his demise. Just… more.

He looked up to study the print again, admiring the skill it took to wield a camera and capture such vivid detail. The flock of small birds perched on branches dotted in snow and the small herd of deer trudging through the drifts so deep their hooves were invisible. A bark of laughter from someone outside shifted his focus, and when he looked back, he caught the way the frame sat slightly askew.

His years on the job told him not to touch it, but the inner perfectionist desperately wanted to straighten it. He turned to face the frozen man and noted his head tilted slightly. The detective turned to the photo and back again. He moved to stand behind their corpse. The man’s head was tilted to the left and on the same angle as the photo. Strange.

He noted that detail in his notebook and went looking for oddities. Clues. Pieces of the puzzle to join together.

“I’m going to look around.”

The detective strolled around the house, assessing the deceased’s life, as viewed by an outsider. A computer woke up when he wiggled the mouse, and since there was no password, his screen lit up instantly. Thumbnails of photographs filled the monitor. He leaned back and peered through the doorway then back to the screen. The images were of the same location or at least nearby.

Hand-scribbled notes sat beside the keyboard. IMG_ and a collection of numbers ran down the page. File names.

The detective kept walking, noting details of the computer and attached camera. Rounding a corner revealed a large table and cabinets that lined the room on one side. Cutting knives and scraps of thick cardboard littered the tabletop. Their colours matched the matting in the frame. So the photo is new, he surmised. He surveyed the other walls, pausing on the large red globe above a door in the far corner. His feet took charge, leading him to that corner, and he placed a hand on the handle. He’d had a nasty surprise last time he’d entered a darkroom alone. With a deep breath, the detective did his job and opened the door.

Light streamed in behind him, casting odd-shaped shadows before he found the light switch. The naked bulb above burst into life and flooded the small space with blinding brightness. He blinked repeatedly, trying to erase the dancing spots.

When everything came into focus, it appeared to be a normal darkroom—prints hanging, negative strips dangling from high up, empty flat tubs ready for developing chemicals. On the surface, everything appeared normal, but the niggling in his gut told him this was where they had to focus their efforts.

He casually counted the prints hanging and then the negatives. Photographers he’d known didn’t always develop every shot, but something told him there were prints missing. He cast his gaze around and finally landed on a pile haphazardly tossed on a table. Withdrawing a pen from his pocket, the detective moved closer then shifted the photos with the tip of the lid. The quality of the photography was astounding, and as he viewed more decreed the loss of this creative mind was a damn shame.

Looking from the pile he shuffled to the photos still pegged up, he perused them from end to end. The last one sent a shiver up his spine. A low hum vibrated along his senses, setting off warning bells. Taking two steps back eased the energy, but it lingered enough that the hairs on his arms stood on end, just as alert as he.

Unable to touch it, both because of protocol and that eeriness, the detective found a pair of tongs. He pulled the end of his sleeve over his hand before grasping them and plucking the picture from its perch. With his free hand, he pulled a walkie talkie from his belt and requested a large evidence bag.

A chill worked its way up his arms as he waited, and a sense of urgency assailed him.

The forensics tech held open the bag when she arrived, and the detective huffed a relieved breath when the paper left the tongs.

“Sorry I took too long, sir,” she rushed out when she heard his sigh and spotted his pained expression.

“It’s not you. there’s something… off… with this photo. Be careful.” He thought for a moment as she zipped it shut and held it at arm’s length. “Can you make a note on it please that it’s otherworldly and to be dealt with with extreme caution?”

He paused and glanced past her to the open door.

“That large one too; the one the vic is staring at. I swear there’s something wrong, I just don’t know what. Get someone to tape black paper over it for now please.”

The tech nodded, still holding the bag far from her as she left the room. With the evidence removed, the hum dissipated, and the goose bumps reduced to nothing. He finished making notes about the room and emerged into the natural light.

Two of the IT department’s experts were sitting at the computer discussing… whatever as he strode through to the lounge room. The suspicious piece of art wasn’t covered but he spied someone in a corner wrestling with black cloth while a roll of gaffer tape hung on their wrist. He was about to hurry them up when movement caught his attention.

He frowned and, against his better judgement, stepped towards the framed piece, stopping as abruptly as he’d begun.

The flock of birds was no longer on the snow-dusted branches. They hovered in the sky, their numbers creating swirls as they rode the thermals high above the earth. Their movement mesmerised him, and he swayed as they dipped and rose again, riding the wind. Fresh and chilled, the breeze tickled his nape, and he shivered, shutting his eyes out of habit.

Something snapped within and he jerked his head to the side so fast, his neck cracked.

“Get this covered!” he barked. “Now!”

The room hushed of all conversation at his command, but no one moved.

“Now!” he repeated, pointing at the offending item. When still no one budged, his long strides ate up the space until he was snatching the fabric and tugging the woman’s arm. She stumbled along in his haste to get the job done.

“Don’t look at the picture,” he bit out, then swore under his breath when the fabric tangled with his hurried motions. He paused and inhaled deep, noting the shaking in his body extended to the hands gripping the material so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Sir, let me,” came her soft voice as the woman gently prised his fingers from the cloth. When she’d unwound it, she handed it back without a word and let his eyes as they used peripheral vision to conceal the frame.

The loud rip of the gaffer filled the quiet space as they secured the covering to the wall. The chill of the breeze still lingered deep within him, unnerving his logical side.

He instructed for the frame to be encased and removed, making sure they understood it was not to be viewed uncovered.

Over the next hour or so, he and the team worked methodically to wrap up their evidence collecting and photographing of the scene. The low hum of conversation soothed him as a normal part of his day.

That was until a startled male voice, one unfamiliar to him, asked, “What’s going on here? And why are you all in my house?”

***

The icy chill fell away. The background noise of nature disappeared. Tingles of circulation returning had me twitching, my extremities warming gradually until I could move my head. Discovering my house full of people wasn’t what I’d had on my to-do list today.

When I voiced my surprise, everyone froze and looked around like they’d seen a ghost. A smartly dressed man, one not in official uniform like the others, blinked at me, wide eyed with surprise. I wasn’t sure which of us was more startled by the other’s presence.

“Sir?” he asked hesitantly. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

It was a strange question, but I humoured him, going into more detail when pressed. As I regaled him with my trip into the mountains, plates of food were placed in front of me and a bottle of water into my hand. A frown knit my brow when I got to the part about hanging my latest work, the memory not as clear as everything else I’d relayed.

My fingers rubbed the bridge of my nose as I struggled to recall the detail. “I can’t… I don’t know why, but it’s all fuzzy.” I glanced up at the detective and noted his own brows were furrowed.

“Your photograph isn’t normal. It gives off weird energy and somehow sucks people into the image. I believe I was lucky enough to escape its clutches quickly, however you weren’t.”

I stared at him, shocked that a member of the force would be open to oddities and supernatural forces. I gulped at the thought of being stuck in nothingness forever.

“Thank you for releasing me.”

He gave a minute dip of his head in response. “We’ve taken the other print from the darkroom as evidence and the framed print is secured and being relocated. If there are any other copies you have, we’ll need them too.”

“The negative?”

The detective motioned to one of the men close by and he turned to give him instructions. I glanced around my lounge room, rubbing a lingering chill from my arms when I spotted tufts of gaffer tape on the wall where my newest photographic masterpiece had hung.

“The negative isn’t there. The tech team must have already grabbed it.”

I nodded, knowing instinctually it would be dangerous to hold onto that image in any form.

Plates were removed as my statement of events was taken. The empty bottle of water replaced with a full one. The blank section of wall niggled at me until I couldn’t take the absence. The detective stopped mid-sentence when I jerked up off the couch and raced out of the room. He eyed me warily when I came back, arms clutching another framed image to mount in its place.

“This is an older one,” I explained. “I just couldn’t handle the blank wall.”

He nodded like he understood, staying silent while I adjusted the frame. Peace settled within me when I was done and I stepped back, content. When I looked around, the room was empty, save for the two of us, and he reached out to shake my hand.

“Here’s my number if you remember anything else.” He paused. “Or just need to talk about what happened. It was unnerving, to say the least.”

I nodded and saw him out, then collapsed on my couch, exhausted.

***

Underneath a bench in the darkroom, tucked in a corner filled with dust, a negative glowed with unearthly energy. Birds rode air currents and deer grazed within it.