I didn’t know what to expect when I was handed the package of photos at the counter. The camera was so old I was unsure it would even develop. The entire drive home I kept the envelope in my lap, almost protective of what they held. I wasn’t sure why I did. I opened the door to children running up and wrapping their arms around my legs. I ruffled their heads of thick brown hair and greeted them with hugs only that of a proud father could give. Because I was a proud father. But I continued down the hall to my bedroom, it’s empty bed warm in the setting sun. I sat down on the comforter, flicking open the envelope and dumping out it’s contents on the white fabric. The glossy paper smelled like ink as hundreds of photos fell onto the bed. Shakily, I picked up the first one, it was a picture from the birth of our first child. She was smiling, the small bundle of life and blankets nestled into her chest, sweaty hair tied back in a ponytail. Her wedding rings were hanging from a thin chain around her neck, leaving her fingers to be gripped by the wandering hands of our baby daughter. I dropped the photo, and found a second one. Our first date. Tickets to a movie theater in our hands while we clung to each other in her parents home. They had begged us to let them take a picture, and left us with the camera. She wasn’t looking at the camera, I noticed, her green eyes, greyed through the filter of time, staring at me while I looked dead ahead. She was smiling all the same, wrinkles already forming around her mouth. The third photo was more recent, our youngest daughter’s pre-school graduation, her cheap blue robe and cap covering her yellow dress and mop of brown hair. She was smiling, cheesily grinning for the camera. Behind her, she was also smiling, hand around my waist, the glint of her rings shining in the sun. This was four weeks before she had died. I picked up another photo, one that brought tears to my eyes. Her first surgery, all those years ago. She was smiling, holding the camera up to capture a photo of us kissing, her in her blue hospital gown and hair net and me in a green college sweater. She had half-heartedly begged me not to wear it, I did it to make her laugh. I let the picture fall from my hand, letting my eyes fall to a new one on the bed. Our wedding day. Her white dress spread out behind us as we pressed our foreheads together, eyes drawn to each other’s. Another one, we were at a karaoke night at a bar for our friends birthday. She was up at the microphone, belting out the lyrics to ‘Killer Queen’ by Queen. She was smiling, her face split by her happiness. I had taken the photo, laughing at her glee. A photo of us at breakfast, wet by my tears. Our faces both sticky with maple syrup and pancakes. We were laughing so hard I had thought our breakfast would come back up. This was the morning I had proposed. I looked to the dresser across from me. I was on one knee, her hands in mine. She was smiling, a hint of her laughter dancing across her features. I had told her that I loved her, and just how much I wanted to spend forever with her. If only I was able to fulfill that want for us. A knocking at the door shook me from fantasy. The voice of my oldest asking me if I was okay. I opened the door, bringing her to the bed, setting her on my lap. I put the first photo in her hand. “This is when you were born. I think you were only an hour old when this was taken.” She stared at the photo, tracing her mother’s smile. “And here,” I showed her the picture of our first date, “this was me and Mom’s very first date. We went to go see a movie.” “What movie?” She whispered. I paused, momentarily reminiscing on the memory, “Iron Man. Of all movies, we went to go see Iron Man.” I laughed. She picked up a new photo, one I hadn’t seen yet, we were dancing on a beach. “What’s this one from?” I thought for a second, “I think that’s from the first night of our honeymoon. We wanted to get a photo of the sunset and this lovely picture couple offered to take our picture.” The whining of the youngest drew the attention and the child from my arms, running out to care for her. I stared at the photo. Both of our faces shadowed by the sun. But I didn’t need a photo to remember just how she looked at me, like if I was the sun, and she was the sky, and together we would light up the world. And we did. We had light up our world, with memories and people. Her light may have gone out, but her memories kept the lanterns of her life afloat in the sky. I missed her. I missed her more than the sky misses the Earth. More than Life misses Death. I missed her smile. Her laughter. Her quiet mornings and wild evenings. Her desire for the fun and then free. I missed the way she saw the beauty in everything. I missed the way she loved. The way she loved the people she never even met and close friends all the same. The way she loved her family. The way she loved her children. The way she loved me.

We bought the old house a few weeks ago, but finally had time to clean it out. It was dirty, dusty work, and my allergies weren’t having it. “Okay,” Simon said. “I’ll tackle the attic, if you clean the shed outside. It should be less dusty.” My ass it would be less dusty, but I knew he was getting annoyed with my constant sneezing. My roommate was a bit of a hypochondriac. Good thing, it was a sunny day, and to be honest, I was curious what was in the shed.

The door creaked open, and I was thankful for the daylight. The shed was mostly empty, just a few boxes here and there. In one of them, I found old toys, half-completed crosswords, and a roll of film. Film! My photographer’s heart leapt with joy. I hadn’t work with film in years. I knew the pharmacy down the street still developed film, so that was my next stop.

A short bike ride later, I dropped the film off, and introduced myself to the woman behind Ethernet counter. “Ah, you bought the old Edwards place? Mighty odd man he was. Kept to himself. No family, no friends. I didn’t know he passed until I saw the ‘For Sale’ sign. Took odd pictures of toys. I’ve seen them, they were interesting, but why would a 90 year old man play with toys?”

“Art?” I suggested. “It’s a pretty popular hobby now.” “Ah, that may be,” she relented. “Your film will be ready in an hour.”

I decided to stick around the store, an hour wasn’t that long. I started to wonder about old man Edwards. We didn’t know anything about him, we bought the house after he passed, and the realtor didn’t know much about him. After an hour of walking up an down the same small aisles, my film was ready.

“Well now,” Shannon (I could see her name badge now) said. “Look at these. Crazy, I say!”

I look at the photos. Yes, they were of toy photography, but not the cutesy pictures I loved on Instagram. These told stories. A Carebear nurse tended to an injured Furby, set in some post-apocalyptic nightmare. And another one, a windup fish trapped in a pantyhose net, being hauled in by a Transformer. These sets, the lighting...Edwards was trying to tell people things, show his thoughts.

I wondered if anyone listened to him. I wanted to find more rolls of film. I needed to find more stories.

I wanted to give Edwards a voice.

I fade to grey, I suggest you turn away. My oxygen depletes or I should say it burns low. Once a picture laid now an old cameras memory it will stay. Now and I don’t know how the camera deletes me, so who am I to be? Just another generation blowing away, to be forgotten in the futures today? I’m sewing my mind to find who I am supposed to be. I’m never free i’m in resume to the people who have applaused me, but paused in my room, all alone. Why do the things I hate bloom like a flower in my head and stay there, whilst what I enjoy has the opposite effect. I hate my photographic memory. Yeah, fuck you camera, stop playing with my emotions i’m not a toy. I’m a photograph and i’m fading away, everyday, but I won’t forget to wave, i’ll be an ocean. Maybe then I won’t be so broken. Through history we’ll all be forgotten and unspoken of, or at least specifically spoken of. I took an oath that the camera in my head will be kept a secret. Don’t ask questions.

Red Devil’s pumpkin spice, Silver smiles, a portrait so nice.

Reminiscing back to that night, Little siblings to young to fright.

No longer wearing a mask, How’s your day? He’ll never ask.

No longer pictures speak perfect, No matter how hard you try to work it.

Silver strands showing way to early, I’m barely even turning thirty.

The devil is a costume no longer, We’re older now... and he’s much stronger.

Secrets. Precious secrets, I hold you in my hands. How I have longed for you to tell me what I desire. I hold you to the light to see what the light reveals, the all-knowing entity that can answer my questions.

I stare and wonder. Wonder and I stare. I can not comprehend what I am seeing. I crumple the roll film and discard it in disgust. How could this be? I wanted answers, not more questions.

I checked another roll, and another roll, but all the same. All rolls were contaminated with his face, the face of Ryan Lindsey, he should I not name.

I waved goodbye to Marcus, from the living room window, watching him grow smaller and smaller until he finally disappeared around the bend. He’s gone, I thought, as I leapt up and ran towards his room. I knew I just had to try to find the cause of my son’s sudden change in behaviour. He’d become so withdrawn lately, well past the realms of puberty. Ignoring the growing revulsion I felt for myself, I pawed through his underwear drawer, groping around for a clue. A baggie of powder, a wallet of condoms, anything. I wished I could’ve just turned around and left, and respected the privacy that he’d earned, but I just couldn’t. He was all that I had, and I could feel him slipping away from me, every month that he continued down this enigmatic path. Almost ready to give up, I began to close his cupboard doors when something on the top shelf, well above my head, caught my eye. My husband’s box. It had been 8 years since he passed, Edward, my husband. He’d only used it for filing documents, but it was an heirloom, dark, polished and finely crafted, wrought with intricate painting, and ebony and gold embellishments. Before I had finally decided to clear out his things, I told Marcus to go in, with Edward’s sister and take what he wanted. He had only come out with the case, filled with a few things. My sister-in-law had had to do most of the clearing, as I kept burst into tears every time I picked up something of his. I never even asked what had been taken. With Marcus’s behaviour expelled from my mind, I was finally ready to look. I left the room immediately, and promptly returned with and a large stool, and a larger glass of whiskey. After taking down the box, I sat myself down on the floor, it and the whiskey before me. I opened it. Dozens of Marcuses, Edwards and mes smiled back at me, as the photographs inside spilled out. Most of the pictures were no more than 10 or 15 years old, but I seem to have aged a lifetime. My eyes began to well. Carefully stacking the photos together, I put them aside, far from the whiskey. I took a sip. Underneath, there were figurines, a world’s best dad medal, a crossword book, and other small items. However, what really caught my eye was a sturdy, black camera. Although dated, it was an expensive looking type. I’d never seen it before. I pressed the ‘on’ button, expecting the battery to have long died out, but to my surprise, it sprang to life. Oh no, I thought. He’s been stealing. This must’ve cost a couple grand, at least, which he, at 17, definitely couldn’t afford. Fiddling about, I tried to find saved photos, just to confirm my suspicions. Taking a long swig of whiskey, I opened them. My heart stopped. I was wrong. Marcus hadn’t stolen anything.

The beginning of the roll shows a sunrise that is glorious and shows a sign of promise for the day. Then there is a family at the breakfast table, starting the day together. There are pictures of flowers in the garden, being kissed by butterflies and bumble bees. a cat lounges on the front porch. Children are home from school and studious at the table. The starts it fade into the horizon. The. Colors rise in different hues of oranges, reds and yellows to end the day in a spectacular way!

What is happiness? Is it a thought or an emotion? Is it real? Happiness is something that millions of people feel. It’s not real. It’s a lie. It’s fraud. Happiness is just another mask, hiding what’s really real, hiding the truth and the real you. Some people are genuinely happy and some people turn their noses up at the thought of it. Like a hot summers day, some people love the sun and heat, whereas others don’t and will happily sit indoors with a hoodie on. Most people put on a brave happy face to mask their lowness, but when people are happy, is it still a mask or a lie?

i could hear the sirens from miles away, only revealing further to myself what i had really done. the feeling of metal on my red hands, resting on the leathery seats of that police car, was nothing but foreign. I was accustomed to the law, i had had my fair share of misdemeanors, but nothing like that, like what i had done that ungodly day. The interview was even worse. “Hello, mary, right?” “um, yeah” “so, i assume you know why youre here sith me today” “because of my dad?” “yes. im not interrogating you, im just here for your basic information, now you will proceed with the intensive interrogation process” the good cop who once layed eyes on my poor youthful soul left, for an older man to enter. “lets cut right to the chase, why did you do it?” “My mom always said she hated her life; she hated her life because of me, and my dad. The screaming was becoming too much, and i couldnt handle it. I helped her, i released her, set her free; whats wrong with that? i love my mother, i love her pancakes and her soft voice. MY fathers voice was cold, and edged, like an unshaprened blade. IM proud of what i did.” “we found these tapes at the scene, please watch,” the images on screen resonated deep in my stomach, like moths filling up my intestines. i guess in the moment i didnt realize how much blood was on the floor, but from that angle you could see every wound, clear as day “do you recall recording this” “yes, i do, and fuck, did i do a good job”

“Guys maybe we shouldn’t,” Robin worriedly suggested to his friends.

“Don’t be like that Robin, you’re always trying to ruin all the fun.” Chloe said shutting him up. The group of kids began to look through the developed pictures, all jaws dropped at the images they saw.

“W-why would s-someone even photograph something like that...” Sarah asked before vomiting in the trash can to the left of her.

“Where did you even find the film Chloe?” Robin asked.

“I found it in… in my yard. My dog dug up this box, there was like 10 of them” Chloe replied.

“Guys maybe we should just burn them, pretend this never happened?” Casper said.

“Casper are you serious? This sicko could still be out there! We need to take this to the police!” Robin exclaimed taken aback at the fact his best friend could even say that.

“I really don’t want to be involved with the police Rob, you know my background with them.” Robin’s face softened at his friend's explanation.

“I’ll just go, you guys don’t even need to be a part of it. I found it. I developed it. I made us look at it.” Chloe said before anyone could talk.

“I’ll go with you, are you gonna be okay Sarah? I know that was hard to look at.” Robin said.

“Who’s that?” Casper interrupted pointing at the figure outside the window of the treehouse. All four of their gazes go to the figure standing in Chloe's backyard in the pitch black.

“It’s probably my brother trying to scare us,” Chloe said, “Ryan stop it!” She called out, the figure just continued to stand in its place, not moving in the slightest bit.

“Why isn’t he moving?” Sarah asked just as confused as the other 3.

“I don’t know… I’m going to go tell him to leave.” Chloe said getting up from her spot on the floor, she walked down the ladder approaching the odd figure, “Ryan why are you being so weir-” She stopped mid sentence at the sight of the knife in the person's hand, “Guys run!” Chloe yelled out before getting a knife right into her stomach. Her three friends all scream and try to get out as fast as they could.

“Come on!” Robin yelled out running as fast as he could, he turned around to see that his friends weren’t behind him but with the mysterious figure. Torn between trying to save them and saving himself he decided to keep running leaving them behind He got to the gate and as he struggled to unlock it, the person grabs him cutting his throat in half.

Soon the police arrived at the house due to the neighbors calling in a noise complaint. The kids we dismembered and all their body parts were spread across the yard.