The Photograph

The Photograph

A Short Story By G.S.Vasu Kumar

Raghu was a photographer by profession. There was a time when he was busy and made good money. Now, many days had passed since he had clicked the last picture. Also he started spending the money which he had put aside for his retirement. He waited eagerly in his studio from morning to night, for customers to step into his studio. But they always preferred his competitors, as they had better cameras and equipment as compared to him. He still had outdated Kodak reel camera with flash.

One evening, when he was about to close his shop, a stranger appeared before him.

‘I need you to take a picture of a woman.’ He said.

‘Alright,’ Raghu said with a smile on his face.

They reached an old mansion which was located in some deserted place. The stranger opened the main door.

‘I forgot to tell you one thing,’ He said, ‘the woman whose picture you are going to take is now dead!’

‘It doesn't matter to me,’ Raghu said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘as long as I’m paid for the job.’

‘I would prefer to stay outside and smoke,’ He said, ‘Please go straight to the stairs. The stairs would lead you to the room on the first floor. She is waiting for you over there.’

‘Waiting for me?’ Raghu thought.

‘One more thing….’ He said.

‘And what is it?’ Raghu asked, somewhat irritated.

‘Her eyes are open. I tried to close them, but had no luck.’

‘No problem,’ Raghu said, walking towards the stairs.

Raghu climbed the stairs. When he entered the room on the first floor, he was quite surprised to see no one other than the coffin In the middle of the empty room. There was a chair near the window, and the wind was blowing the curtains inside from the open window. A chill went down his spine when he saw her face for the first time. Her eyes seemed to be glaring at him. She was aged about fifty years or so. The easiest thing to do would be to take her picture while she is lying still in the coffin. But he thought otherwise. He dragged the chair towards the coffin. Then lifted her body gently from the coffin and placed her on the chair.

He walked a few a steps backwards. Suddenly, the corpse fell down on the floor with a big thud. His heart almost skipped a beat in fear. He started lifting the corpse from the floor, when the stranger entered the room.

‘What the hell are you trying to do?’ He cried, rather annoyed.

‘I am trying to take her picture.’ He replied.

‘You could have taken it from her coffin, isn’t it?’ He asked.

‘Well, I thought it would be better from the chair,’ He said, ‘Please give me a hand!’

‘Alright, make it fast!’ He said, helping him.

‘Do you mind holding her back while I take her picture?’ He asked.

‘Alright, make it fast!’

Raghu clicked her picture. Then they placed the corpse back into the coffin. The stranger paid him.

‘Should I come and deliver it to you here?’

‘No, I would come and pick it up!’

Raghu was pleased as he got work after a long time. He went straight to his studio to develop the negative.  In the dark room, when he washed the film and looked at the picture, he had shock of his life.  The dead lady in the photograph had a crooked grin on her face.  She seemed very much alive in the photograph.

‘How is it possible?’  He asked himself, scratching his head in disbelief.

He was sure that he had seen no expressions on her face. Then how did his camera capture the image in this way. He rushed back to the old mansion in the deserted place. By now, it had become dark and eerie. He could only hear the sound of crickets coming from the bushes nearby. 

He reached the main door of the mansion and knocked on the door thrice. But there was no response. When he was about to knock for the third time…the door opened by itself. It was pitch dark inside. He took out his lighter and flicked it on. In the flicker of light, he saw that it was deserted inside…with cobwebs and dust. It was unlike what he had seen when he had come with the stranger earlier in the evening. 

He started climbing up the stairs. His steps made crackling noise which seemed to echo from all corners. The wind blew off the flame of his lighter. He flicked it on…but the wind blew it off again..His heart started to beat fast as he reached the room on the first floor.

He flicked on his lighter once again, as he opened the door of the room. The room was empty. The wind was blowing inside through the open window. He walked towards the middle of the room. He was now sweating in fear. He knelled down and tried to find the imprint of the coffin on the floor. But there was none. He stood up and found her standing in front of him. She had a wicked grin on her face. He wanted to scream for help. But he couldn't. He dropped the lighter in fear and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he only saw the window curtains blowing towards him.

‘It’s just my imagination…she is dead!’ He told himself, walking towards the open window. He glanced outside the window and saw a cemetery at some distance. He rushed downstairs, out of the mansion and rushed towards the cemetery.

He woke up the cemetery keeper from his deep slumber. He showed him the picture of the woman, asked him whether they buried her in the cemetery?

‘Alas! Where did you get this picture?’ The Cemetery Keeper asked him, rather shocked and puzzled.

‘I had taken the picture this evening!’ Raghu said, scared at his expression, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Come with me!’ He said, taking him inside the cemetery…towards a grave, which seemed quite old.

‘The woman in the picture had passed away ninety seven years back. There is a legend that her husband and he corpse appears in the old mansion on every full moon night. He goes in search of a photographer to take the picture of his dead wife….’ He said.

‘Then what happens?’ Raghu asked, with fear in his eyes.

‘The photographer would get the curse once he clicks her picture…and...’

‘And?’

‘And he would soon die in mysterious circumstance.’ He said.

‘Is there no way out of this curse?’

‘Burn the photograph!’

Raghu flicked on his lighter, set the envelope on fire and let it slide down.

Raghu reached his apartment which was in the seventh floor. When he unlocked his apartment, entered inside, he found a brown envelope lying on the floor. He knelled down and picked it up with trembling fingers. He pulled out the contents of the brown envelope. He was shocked to see the photograph of the woman, which he had burnt sometime back in the cemetery.

‘How did it come back again?’ He asked himself.

‘Raghuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..’ said a female voice, from the corner of the hall.

‘Who is it?’ He asked, peering at the dark hall, before him. He tried to switch on the lights. But there was no power.

‘It’s me, Raghu! Do you think you could get out of the curse by just burning my photograph?’

He took out his lighter and flicked it on. In the dim light, he saw her seated on his rocking chair in the corner of the room. She had the same wicked grin on her face.

‘Now, I want you to join my group of photographers.’ She said, snapping her finger.

Many photographers appeared before her with cameras in their hands. They started walking towards him.

‘No, no, please don’t come near me…please..’ He cried, walking backwards.

‘Say ‘CHEESEEEEEEE!’ She cried, grinning aloud.

They all clicked their cameras at the same time. The flash lights from their cameras almost blinded him. He covered his face with his hands, tumbled on a can, lost his balance, and fell out of the window breaking the glass.

Next morning, his neighbors found his body lying on the ground with a pool of blood under him. His fingers were holding firmly a brown envelope.