DISCLAIMER: The photographer is a short film that I plan to make in the future, however for the fun of it I decided to make a Creepypasta version to it. The Photographer idea did not originate from me but from my friend, DarkStar Productions (YouTube). I just needed to put some credit where it was due.
My mother took me out for a drive today, told me to look my best. It’s not Sunday, nor is it a special holiday, in fact she pulled me out of school. During the car ride I was very worried, my mom wasn’t acting herself. She finally broke when we reached our destination, she unbuckled and turned around in the driver seat to face me, I was in the seat behind the front passenger.
“I am truly sorry Arron, but today we are going to a funeral.”
My heart sank, I knew who’s it was, grandads. I wasn’t too sad, I really never met him. According to my family I was very close with him when I was a toddler and young kid, but I guess after we moved to a bigger city, I stopped visiting. I have little to no memories of him, so for me, this was another funeral to just stand and look down at. However I knew what my mother felt, it was her father in law, and they were very close. Her real dad died long ago in the Afghanistan war, and when my father left us and disappeared, he was all we had left.
The funeral was solemn, and a trumpet played a taps solo. The car ride home was filled with tears, so I took over and drove the rest of the way home, after all I was 17. However the day wasn’t over yet. We were to meet with an attorney and a cop.
According to the cops, my grandfather was murdered. They can’t say how or why, although they’ve justified that he was cut at the throat multiple times with a sharp blade. The attorney stated that in his will I was left things personally. Two items, a scrap book of the old photos we had taken together, and the camera we took them with. I began to choke up, looking at just the few photos on the first page. My mother was left with some of his rentals as well as money to help get through college.
When we arrived at home my mother hid herself in her room, I assume to cry. I began to look at the photos. They were neatly organized in chronological order. I flipped through the many pages. Around half way through I stopped, the memories, the feelings, they came rushing back and all too fast, so I took a break and looked to the camera.
I lifted the camera out of its bag and looked at it, it was an old Polaroid. It wasn’t too hard to figure out and so I took it and went outside. My backyard was the gateway to a national forest, perfect for a picture. It’s a scenery I’ve taken a photo of multiple times for my photos class. One snap of the Polaroid and it printed. I quickly hid it in my jacket pocket and walked back inside. I laid it in a dark corner of the room, just then my mother called, so I walked out. A sudden breeze filled the room, it sent shivers and an eerie feeling of being watched, I looked around and found I hadn’t closed the door all the way, so I shut it and went to my mother.
She had called me for dinner, so we ate, then I went back to my camera room, and found my photo. It wasn’t too bad for a polaroid. I put it under the magnifying glass to take a look at the shades in the trees, to see how it was with color contrast, and I noticed something, there was a figure. It was small and frail, not very noticeable. There were several hiking tracks but none that came this close to my fence. I looked out the door and didn’t see anyone out there, odd. I went to go put the photo in the book at the very end, next to one of me and my grandfather playing with huge Lego bricks in the back yard of his house, when I noticed it to had a figure in the back, but more space and see through. I began to flip back through the pages and noticed that it first appeared a tiny spectral of clear haziness, like heat waves on a hot road. Then as the pictures progressed it gained more color, more shape, however it was always small, and very far away.
I had to see this phenomenon for myself, so I took to the backyard with the camera again and took another polaroid. I hid it in my jacket for a bit, then took it out. It was gone, there was no figure. My door to the photo room had creaked open from behind me, and I took on a paralyzing feeling, the cold breeze purposefully running down my spine. I turned around, nothing. I slowly raised the camera and took a photo, again I hid it in my jacket.
After a minute I took it out, and jumped in complete shock, the photo fell to the grassy floor and so did I. The figure decided not to be shy anymore and took up the portrait style. It was a she, a lone girl in a straight jacket. Her hair was stark black and long, her hair covered her right eye while the other was wide, and it seemed it had no eyelids, simply an empty black void with an eye in the middle. She was smiling, a wide smile, and her skin was still attached at some parts to her lips, her teeth, at least the ones I could see, were sharp and jagged. Her head was cocked like a lost puppy, but in a sinister manner. I looked up but could not see her where the photo was taken. I took another photo but I was running for the forest. After a minute under the jacket I took it out, she was chasing me, and right on my a*s. Her arms were outstretched, her nails longer than the visco girls at school, and they were rotting, the sleeves to the straight jacket were ripped and her long deep red tongue was falling outside of one of the holes in her crooked smile.
I took another photo whilst running, however I hit a tree and fell over. My body began to cool, and my spine shivering with fright. I looked up only to see a mirage in the area in which I assumed this woman would be standing over me. I waved around and hit something solid even though I could not see it. I felt a hand with long fingers grasp around my arm and yank me forward bending me in half, then a strong force sending me back into the tree. I almost blacked out but managed to stay awake. I sat there in horrible fear. And for a long time nothing happened, so naturally I took another photo to see what was going on.
She was standing there, smiling. For an hour all she did was smile. I was too afraid to move, so I continued to take photos, it looked as if she never moved, no indication of breathing or anything. I slowly began to rise and reached out, and grabbed something, and unfortunately I grabbed the no no area, I guess this ticked her off and I was sent back into the tree. I woke up hardly breathing, with multiple lacerations on my chest and neck. I tried to stand but was to weak. Then that feeling came again, she was watching me. I took another photo, and this time she was sitting down, head tilted staring at me. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the dumbest thing that came to mind, and motioned for her to come to me. The air suddenly grew cold, she was close, very close. I then motioned to stand up, and with a strong force I was lifted high into the air then gently set down, I was able to walk, and I felt an arm grasp around my waste, and my right arm rest upon a shoulder, she was walking me home. I entered the house where the police were waiting. I was immediately sent to the hospital for my wounds.
It has now been 57 days since the funeral, and I haven’t seen her at all, nor felt her presence. I know she killed my grandfather, the police said my markings matched my grandads. Why did she do that? Why was I left alive? Why did she help me home? And most importantly, where did she go? My wounds have fully healed and left nothing but scars. I use my camera everyday, whenever I feel a chill I always snap a photo to see if she’s around. I need to find her. If any of you spot her, or feel that oh so watchful, cold eye, please let me know, it’s her, and I have questions that need answering.