Caught

As he transferred the paper into the final chemical bath, Edmund held his breath for a moment. He thought about what it could mean, if he had actually managed to capture a photo of the strange creature he had been seeing in his peripheral vision for so long.

Firstly, it would mean that he wasn't going mad. He pushed his held breath out past his lips. That would be a large measure of relief, even though he had told himself over and over that he had very definitely witnessed it affecting items; it knocked over a bowl on the kitchen counter, and it also turned the water off and on. And also, he'd seen that his cat, Dorcas, ran away, whenever the creature came too near her. These facts made it impossible that it was just a figment of his imagination, didn't they? He used the tongs to agitate the paper in the tub and waited on the developing image. He dared not be too hopeful. He still found it difficult to believe that the thing could be real. How could it be? 

He removed the paper from the final tray and hung it on the line above his work area. There it was! The creature was there on the right (of course, on the right). The arm of the velvet chair was in front of it a bit, but otherwise he could clearly see the entire creature. He took off his gloves and sat down on the stool by his work table. He'd never seen anything like it. Never! That strange silver-colored body made him feel a bit queasy. Where had he seen that color before? In an insect maybe? A fish? No. It was unlike anything else.

He realized, suddenly, that even though he was now looking right at the creature in the photo, that he could still be completely insane. He needed to show this photo to someone else. Or it could still be a product of his own sick mind. What would he do, if he showed the photo to someone and they didn't see it? “Why, there’s nothing there, old man! Nothing at all.” Well, he would just have to cross that treacherous, ice-covered bridge when he got there. If he got there, he corrected himself. It seemed that he now had some proof!

Who should he show it to? He didn't have very many friends. He lived alone; well, with Dorcas, and his family had all died years ago. Was this thing always with him? Perhaps this creature was the reason his life had not gone wholly as he'd hoped. Could it have even caused some of the tragedy he'd gone through? 

He looked at it again. Wait. Wasn't the chair arm in front of it before? He put his hand on the table to steady himself. Yes, he was sure that it had been in a slightly different position when he looked at it before. Well, the red light of the darkroom was probably playing tricks on his eyes. "Or perhaps you are insane", a voice whispered in his head. "Stop", he said aloud.

He took the photo and went out into the sitting room. He sank down onto the settee and examined the photo again. Now the creature appeared to be looking out of the photo, its thousand spiny teeth bared in a menacing grin. He picked up a large book and quickly slid the photo between its pages. Then he shut it and put the book on the floor. He quickly stacked several more heavy tomes on top of it. Then a few more, for good measure.

He really did feel a bit shaky. Perhaps he didn't need to show the photo to anyone after all. Perhaps he should just keep it there, under the weight of all those books. He hadn't seen the creature since developing the photo. Usually, he caught flashes of it in his peripheral vision all the time, but he was not seeing it now. A strange thought occurred to him: could he have somehow captured the creature itself in the photograph? That is, could that be the actual creature somehow and not just a likeness?

Let us suppose that the creature is real. "You know that it is not," said the voice in his head. If it's real, and he had somehow captured it, then he was free of it! Was there really a need to show it to another? He glanced at the pile of books. 

When had he first noticed it? The flash of silver in his peripheral vision. The endless sussuration; so quiet, but almost always there.

Perhaps it was why things had ended so badly with Millicent.

Oh Millicent. Maybe he would be with her now, if it wasn’t for the creature. He recoiled from remembering their last encounter. Millicent, so pale and stoic, telling him that he was a “terribly nice” man, but that she did not care for him. And then how she died that very night in a runaway carriage. So horrible. So final. No chance to see if he could sway her, if perhaps there was still some feeling for him after all. Something had spooked the horses. What if it was the creature? And perhaps the creature had prevented him from being as attentive as he could have been (would be now!), always stealing his attention by flashing past his far right vision. Haunting his dreams at night, causing him to lose sleep and become careless and less doting upon her in the day.

Yes, the creature was likely to blame for his less-than-satisfactory life. He imagined it now, pinned in the photo inside the pages of the heavy book. Writhing, gnashing it’s slender teeth together, eyes rolling, showing the whites, like a terrified horse.

Well, It was time to feed Dorcas and he probably should eat also. His step was a bit lighter, as he made his way to the tiny kitchen. There would be time to contemplate this thing more later. Right now the light of the day was fading and he was tired--but satisfied. Tomorrow he would embark on his new, better life; unencumbered by the creature and knowing that everything that had happened in his life thus far was not his fault. Yes, tomorrow he would start anew. “Ha!” the voice in his head chortled. “You will not.” His eyes dragged against his will to the stack of books. Yes. Things would definitely be better now.