I bought a digital camera. I don't know what to do about the horrible things I found inside.
I made the purchase because it was an antique: back in 2007, people could only use digital cameras to take pictures, which is why the world is so grainy in history books.
It was on sale for $1.90 at a garage sale, but I talked them down to $1.30 because I'm watching my budget. I couldn't pass up the opportunity, though, because I saw that someone had left a SIM card in it.
As I walked through the front door, I could tell that I was the only one home. So I headed straight to my room and pulled out the camera to see what was inside.
The first few pics were just boring shit. Some creepy birthday clown, photos of two women drinking tea, a doctor talking to a group of other doctors at a random hospital - it was a strange mixture.
Then I got to the boobies.
Yep, someone had taken a bunch of sex pics. There's nothing quite like naked strangers, so I started scrolling even faster.
Yippee ki-yay, these people got nasty. We're talking bondage.
Lots of it.
The bound woman held the exact same limp pose in four consecutive shots.
The next one had a bloody knife.
A chill settled over me as I realized that the man in the photos had never shown his face. It's like he had intentionally been hiding himself.
Vomit nearly hit my uvula as the next shot featured the woman cut into three pieces. Each of her legs had been cut off.
I actually did puke a little when the following picture showed her head with its eyes missing.
Why the hell was I still looking at this?
I moved to the next picture.
Her pale, gray skin was barely visible beneath the soil of a shallow grave. Only her face showed above the dirt, her open mouth now filled with mud.
I checked the next shot and nearly fell over.
It was a picture of the garage sale where I'd bought the camera. Today's date was in the corner.
I scrolled to the following pic.
Why the hell was I still looking?
The shot featured this camera sitting on the table where I'd found it. I had no idea how it could have taken a picture of itself. I didn't think it could get any weirder.
The next photo was of me, walking toward the table where I'd made the purchase.
The following one showed me holding the camera.
And the one after that was of me walking into my house, camera in hand, heading toward my room.
The photographer was clearly standing in my hallway, but I didn't remember seeing anyone there.
My mouth went completely dry. I wanted to run away, to melt into the floor and disappear, but I could only leave the house by passing through the hallway where the photographer had apparently been standing.
I'm sitting here with my phone, praying that the sounds of footsteps in that hallway exist only in my imagination.
But as I hear them moving up the walls to the ceiling, I know they're not.