Chapter 1 Grandpa's Old Camera

This story begins last autumn, specifically shortly after National Day. I vividly recall returning to work from my hometown, when my eyelids started twitching uncontrollably, causing me to feel restless and apprehensive, sensing that something ominous was brewing. Additionally, my sleep quality deteriorated significantly, waking me up in the dead of night all too frequently.

A few days later, around 3 or 4 AM, I woke up once more and found myself unable to fall back asleep. As I tossed and turned, my phone suddenly rang. Initially assuming it to be a spam call, given the late hour, I thought to myself, "Who on earth would call me at this time?"

Nonetheless, I retrieved my phone. Upon seeing the caller ID, my heart sank; it was my grandfather. Knowing that he would only call me at this hour if there was an emergency at home, unease washed over me.

Anxiously, I answered the call, only to hear my grandfather's voice, tinged with weariness, saying, "Mosheng, my dear grandson!"

Usually warm and genial, my grandfather's unusually grave tone immediately set me on edge. I hurriedly inquired, "Grandpa, what's wrong? Why are you calling me so late? Has something terrible happened at home?"

At that moment, my heart began pounding with anxiety. My grandfather cleared his throat before solemnly declaring, "My dear grandson, I'm leaving tomorrow. I won't be able to accompany you on your journey ahead anymore. I'm so worried about you, but... alas, you're grown up now. Please remember to clean my camera for me when you have the time. Oh, dear!"

Before I could fully process his words, the line went dead as my grandfather abruptly hung up. Utterly bewildered, I realized that my grandfather and I had always shared a close bond. While my parents were away working, he was the one who raised me. Our relationship was incredibly strong. What prompted him to make this sudden call, claiming he was leaving?

Panic-stricken, I immediately tried calling him back, only to discover that his phone was switched off. The gravity of the situation dawned on me, leaving me as agitated as a cat on hot bricks. I promptly dressed, logged onto the internet to book a train ticket, and tried calling my parents, whose phones were also turned off. Overwhelmed with worry, I secured the earliest available train—departing at around 7 AM—even though my workplace was quite distant from home. With no chance of getting any more sleep, I kept trying to reach my grandfather and father. Finally, around 8:30 AM, my father's phone came back online, and his first words confirmed my worst fears: "Your grandfather has passed away."

While I had entertained the possibility earlier, this call shattered any remaining hope. 

Unable to accept this reality, I struggled to comprehend how my grandfather, who seemed perfectly healthy during National Day, could suddenly be gone. When I finally arrived at our ancestral home, the sound of mournful greeted me. Rushing inside, I found a light coffin prominently displayed in the center of the mourning hall. Despite feeling deeply saddened during the journey and struggling to hold back tears as a grown man in his twenties, I ultimately succumbed to grief upon entering.

Collapsing to my knees, tears streaming down my face, I realized that the pain of losing a loved one is unbearable, no matter how resilient one might be. Crawling towards the coffin, which remained open, revealing my grandfather's peaceful, sleeping form, I desperately wished to believe he was still alive. Yet, reality refused to yield.

I wept inconsolably alongside my aunts, until my father eventually comforted me. Having traveled over ten hours, he suggested I rest. However, sleep eluded me, leading me to retreat to my grandfather's bedroom, a space intimately familiar to me.

Gazing at the array of cameras adorning the cabinet—antique and collectible models among them—I couldn't help but recall my grandfather's gentle smile and the way he cherished these treasures. He was particularly protective of them, forbidding me from touching them for fear of damage. As I observed several cameras in need of cleaning, I felt a heavy heart knowing that even in his final moments, my grandfather's thoughts lingered on his beloved cameras.

Sighing, I fetched a cloth and began meticulously cleaning each camera. Exhausted from the long journey and the emotional upheaval of my grandfather's passing, I soon found myself dozing off on the bedding after finishing the last camera.

In my dream, I sensed multiple pairs of eyes fixated on me, creating an eerie, almost monstrous atmosphere. The experience was unsettling, to say the least. Suddenly, a strange noise—part snore, part wind gust—erupted around me, followed by a gentle nudge that roused me from my slumber.

Rubbing my temples, I noted the continued commotion outside as a parched sensation enveloped me. Downing some water, I pondered the peculiar nightmare I had just experienced. Unlike a typical nightmare with a coherent narrative, this one was characterized by an intense feeling of being watched. Recalling this sensation, I glanced involuntarily at the cameras once more.

A chill ran down my spine as I wondered if those cameras had somehow been staring at me. Chuckling at my own irrationality, I nonetheless found myself drawn to examine them more closely. For a couple of minutes, nothing unusual occurred, and I began to relax, convinced that my imagination was running wild. Just as I prepared to leave, however, one of the cameras—specifically, a vintage Sony model that my grandfather treasured dearly—suddenly emitted a faint click, its flash briefly illuminating the room.

Stunned, I froze, the eerie incident heightening my already-heightened senses. Although I held a firm belief in science and rejected supernatural explanations, I couldn't help but wonder if the camera had malfunctioned. Being an avid photography enthusiast myself, I was well-versed in camera mechanics and initially dismissed the incident as a mere technical glitch.

Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to review the photos stored within the camera. Eager to see how I looked as a child, I retrieved the camera and navigated its controls. To my surprise, it was functioning properly, and there were indeed images stored within.

Resting my head on the bedding, I began scrolling through the photographs. One recent image, featuring my dazed expression, elicited a self-deprecating laugh before I promptly deleted it. As I delved deeper into the archive, I encountered pictures of my younger self, marked by youthful innocence and acne-riddled skin. Reflecting on the fact that these were all captured by my grandfather, a bittersweet sense of nostalgia washed over me.

Continuing my journey through memory lane, I noticed that some of the older photographs had faint shadows in the top right corner. Initially dismissing them as specks of dust, I gave the screen a thorough wipe, only to realize that the anomalies were embedded in the images themselves. As I progressed further back in time, these shadows grew increasingly pronounced, culminating in a photograph from when I was eight years old that left me screaming in terror.

Frantically tossing the camera aside, I trembled uncontrollably, my entire body chilled by the uncanny encounter. The photo in question depicted not only me but also another child, roughly my age, with fair but indistinct features, clad in black clothing, and gazing directly at the camera with an apparent air of joy. The sheer inexplicability of this apparition sent my heart racing.

No one knew these photographs better than I did; my grandfather always took me to secluded spots for our photo sessions, ensuring that I was the sole subject in each frame. Yet, here was undeniable evidence of a second presence.

Clutching my chest, I felt my heart threaten to leap out of my body. The realization dawned that those shadows I had previously dismissed were not mere photographic errors, but something far more sinister.

If my grandfather had indeed captured this inexplicable entity in the photographs, why hadn't he ever mentioned it? Had he known all along and deliberately withheld the truth to shield me from fear? The chilling thought that this entity might have been lurking beside me for years sent shivers down my spine.

Desperate to calm my nerves, I fumbled for a pack of cigarettes, my hands trembling as I extracted one. Lighting it, I took deep, rapid drags, hoping to alleviate the oppressive fear gripping me. Alas, the nicotine failed to provide much solace.

The room now exuded an oppressive silence, pregnant with an eerie ambiance that suffocated me despite the ongoing clamor outside. The contrast between the room's oppressive stillness and the external cacophony only amplified the sense of dread.

As I chain-smoked, the burning tip of a cigarette accidentally scorched my finger, prompting a pained cry and a reflexive toss of the smoldering butt, which rolled across the floor before coming to a halt. Wincing as I nursed my injured digit, my mind remained preoccupied with the inexplicable events that defied rational explanation. Why had my grandfather chosen to keep this dark secret from me?