Not-Real Fragments of the Future

I stumbled upon the camera in my grandfather's attic, hidden beneath a layer of dust and forgotten memories. It was an old, battered thing, a vintage model that looked like it had been plucked straight from a horror movie set. I’d been searching for old family photos to post online, but this camera seemed far more intriguing. The leather casing was cracked, and the lens was covered in a thick layer of grime. My heart raced as I dusted it off, revealing the words “Future Capture” engraved on the side.

It was weird and kind of creepy, but it sparked my curiosity. What kind of name was that? I couldn't resist. I took it down to my room and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. I grumbled to myself about the pointlessness of this ancient relic when I accidentally pressed the shutter button.

A flash of light burst from the camera, blinding me for a second. When my vision cleared, I glanced at my bedroom wall—and froze. A vivid image had developed right there, as if the photo was projected onto my wall. It showed me, standing in my room, but something was off. I was wearing different clothes, clothes I didn’t own. My hair was longer and messier, and my face bore an expression of terror. 

I took a step back, my heart pounding. What was this? I blinked, hoping it was just a trick of the light, but the image stayed. It felt so real, like I could reach out and touch it. 

I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. I felt a chill creep up my spine. After a few minutes, the image faded, but I could still see it burned into my mind. What had I just witnessed?

That night, sleep eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that terrified version of myself. What could cause such fear? My thoughts raced until I decided I needed to take control of the situation. I pointed the camera at my desk, pressed the shutter, and braced myself for another shock.

This time, a new image appeared—a scene of my best friend, Jamie, standing in the woods, calling my name, her face twisted in anguish. I squinted at the detail, and I could see tears streaming down her cheeks. It looked like she was lost. I felt a knot in my stomach as I realized I had made plans to go hiking in those very woods the next day.

I had to warn her. I spent the rest of the night texting her, trying to convince her to stay home. She laughed it off, saying I was being paranoid. But I couldn’t shake the dread that clung to me like a thick fog. 

The next day, as we drove to the hiking trail, I felt a knot tightening in my stomach. I kept glancing at the camera, which sat ominously on my lap. Should I take another picture? Would it show me what would happen next? 

But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see anything else. I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing. 

As we hiked deeper into the woods, I tried to shake off my fear. Jamie chatted about school, but her words faded into the background as I remained alert for any sign of danger. My eyes scanned the path ahead, but I couldn’t see anything unusual. 

Then we reached a clearing, and I heard it—a low, eerie whisper that sent chills down my spine. I turned to Jamie, but she seemed unfazed, still talking animatedly. I felt an urge to turn back, but I didn’t want to seem scared. I pushed through the unsettling feeling, but then I noticed Jamie looking off into the trees, her smile fading.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I nodded, feeling my heart race. The whispers grew louder, and the air around us seemed to thicken. Jamie grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with fear. “We should go back.”

That’s when I remembered the camera. The idea of taking another picture flashed through my mind, but I hesitated. What if it revealed something worse? 

Just then, the whispers turned into frantic cries—my name echoed through the trees, growing louder, more urgent. I felt as if the woods were alive, breathing, waiting. 

“Let’s go!” I shouted, grabbing her hand. We sprinted down the path, but the cries followed us, intertwining with the sound of our footsteps. I could feel the camera shaking in my pocket, as if it were trying to warn me.

We burst into a clearing, and I finally pulled out the camera, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I took a picture of Jamie, just as she turned to look at me. The flash illuminated the fear in her eyes. When the image developed, my heart dropped. 

The picture showed me standing there, but Jamie was missing. In her place was the image of a shadowy figure looming behind me, its face obscured. I stumbled back, realizing that whatever was out there had already taken her.

I turned, but it was too late. The figure lunged at me, darkness enveloping my vision.

When I woke up, I was back in my room. The camera lay beside me, the images still fresh in my mind. My heart raced as I checked my phone. No messages from Jamie. Panic swelled in my chest as I glanced at the wall—the images were gone. Had it all been a dream? 

Just then, the camera flashed again, and a new image appeared. It was me, sitting in my room, holding the camera, a wicked smile spreading across my face. I stared at my own reflection, my heart dropping into my stomach as realization dawned.

The whispers had never been from the woods. They were coming from within me.