Ghost Camera (3 page)

Bree reached over and mussed Jenine’s hair. “Oh, babe, that’s inescapable. If I curled up into a defeated little ball just because people didn’t like me—”

“How could anyone not like you?” Jenine laughed.

Bree mussed her hair harder.

Jenine sat up and pulled her knees under her chin. “Do you think we should show someone?”

Bree didn’t answer straight away, but stared at the corner opposite her, where the woman had been standing in the photograph. “Who would you show it to?”

“Ghost hunters? They’re real, not just on TV, right?”

“Sure. Anything can be a job, just as long as you can find someone who’ll pay you.”

“So we could take the pictures to one of them. Or maybe a photography expert? Or what about a journalist?”

Bree laughed. “Wouldn’t they just call it a hoax? We live in a world of Photoshop, babe. Anything can be faked.”

“So what if we got fresh film and gave them a live demonstration? That’d be pretty hard to argue with.”

Bree sucked on her teeth. “Yeah. Maybe. You want to be famous?”

“No.” Jenine paused, reached down and patted the cat at her side. “No, I mean—no. I guess I just… I want it to be someone else’s problem.”

“Yeah. So do I.”

They both turned to look at the corner, examining the neat plaster and trimming. Jenine wondered if the woman with the crooked knees still stood there.

“I still have some contacts in the photography business,” Bree said. “Someone will probably be able to rustle up some Polaroids. I don’t think there are many around anymore, but we’ll only need a few.”

Jenine was the first to look away from the corner of the room. “Do you think ours is the only camera that does this?”

“Ours?” Bree laughed. “It’s your camera, babe. Don’t lump me in with your problems.”

“Be serious. What do you think?”

“I think… well, it’s got to be a one-in-a-million—maybe one-in-a-billion—chance that it is. I don’t think this is the only one.”

“We might be able to find something about it online, then.”

“The majestic Google will answer our every question.”

“Come on, Bree. I’m trying to be serious.”

Bree snickered. “I am, I am. Google knows everything. Just type in ‘my camera takes pictures of ghosts, how do I make it stop, please,’ and it’ll answer you.”

Jenine threw her pillow at Bree, but she couldn’t stop herself from joining in the laughter. For a few brief moments, she imagined she was in middle school again, carefree and safe at a sleepover at Bree’s place.

Jenine woke shortly after nine in the morning. By the state of the kitchen and living room, she guessed Bree had already been up for several hours. She pulled herself to her feet, kicking aside stray cushions and chip bags.

She found Bree in the spare room, practicing Pilates in a space she’d cleared in the floor. She was puffing and sweating and had her game face on.

Jenine shook her head and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “Don’t you ever slow down?”

“Life’s too short to go slow.” Bree contorted her body into a pose that looked neither comfortable nor healthy. “Come, grasshopper, sit, and I will show you the wonders of early morning exercise.”

“I’m good. Don’t you need to be at work?”

“It’s a Saturday.”

“So? You always work on Saturdays.”

Bree shook her short mane out of her eyes as she rolled onto her back and began pumping her legs. “Decided I’d prefer to keep my weekends to myself. I called Nina. She doesn’t mind picking up the extra shifts.”

Jenine sat down on the floor and pulled her legs in under her. “You’re doing this so you can stay with me, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was going to play the role of the anonymous martyr, but if you must spoil my fun—yes.”

“Don’t, Bree, really. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Who says this is for you, doll?” Bree let out a huge puff of air and pulled herself into a sitting position. Jenine had always thought Pilates was a gentle, delicate sort of exercise, but Bree’s regime was significantly more taxing and aggressive than she had imagined. “If you want the pure and honest truth, I’m not so thrilled about this ghost stuff, either. You saw that gal in my shop. Hell, I don’t want to be sitting around there all day with just her for company.”

Jenine smiled. “Thanks, Bree.”

“I mean it. If I had to choose between spending the day with you and a ghastly, hideous being from another plane, you’d win. Just barely, though.” She winked and began folding up the blanket she’d been exercising on. “Got any plans for today?”

“Legal reading. But I don’t think I’ll get far with that.”

“Good, because I called one of my contacts, and he’s got a few packs of Polaroid film he’ll sell us. Give me a minute to shower and we can go get them.”

They took Bree’s car, a tiny pink thing with ads for her floristry plastered across the doors. Bree’s phone rang not long after they left the suburbs.

“Should we answer that?” Jenine asked the second time it played the Kpop ringtone.

“Nope.” Bree’s face could have been made out of granite.

“Is… is it Travis?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Jenine stared at the ringing phone as it flashed inside Bree’s bag.

Bree and Travis had argued before, sometimes having huge screaming matches, but they’d always made up quickly. Travis would come around with a bunch of flowers he’d stolen from the neighbour’s garden or bring tickets for an indie band, and Bree would keep up the pretence of anger for two minutes, tops. Their most recent spat was different, though. Bree was really, truly mad at him in a way Jenine had never seen before.

“Have you spoken to him since yesterday?”

“Yep. Don’t ask.” Bree turned the radio on and grinned. “Oh man, I love this song.”

That put a stop to the conversation for the rest of the hour drive.

They arrived at a house with a garden choked with weeds, an empty, crooked birdbath, and peeling paint. Piles of dead, rotting vegetation sat in the corner of the yard.

“This is it?” Jenine asked.

“Looks like it.” Bree was in high spirits as she bounded out of the car and up the driveway.

The transaction took less than a minute. An aged, balding man answeredF the door, and he seemed genuinely happy to see Bree. He handed over an envelope in exchange for a handful of cash then waved them off.

They sat in the car while Jenine opened the packet and fit the ten Polaroids into the camera.

“We’d better test it,” Bree suggested. “Take a photo of the house. It looks ancient, and I’ll bet there’s a pile of spirits hanging around.”

Jenine aimed the camera and clicked the button. Bree took the Polaroid that it spat out and tucked it into the glove box before the light could damage it. “Want to stop somewhere on the way home?” she asked as she put the car into gear.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. The beach. A park. Disneyland.”

“Disneyland?” Jenine laughed. “As if I could afford the ticket. We can’t all be rich like you.”

Bree scoffed, but her face was serious. “It’s cool. I’ll shout you.”

“What? Absolutely not.”

Bree pursed her lips but didn’t push it.

Jenine stared out the window at the houses speeding by. The fresh, hot day had just enough breeze to stop it from being unbearably warm. The weather was too nice to spend the day indoors, but Jenine suspected that wasn’t why Bree had suggested they stop somewhere.

“You really don’t want to talk to Travis, do you?”

Bree considered her answer carefully. “No. I think we might be over this time.”

“Because of the prank?”

“No.” Bree shook her head, and even though she was smiling, tears gathered in her eyes. “No, no, this was just a… a culmination, I guess.”

Jenine waited, letting the silence stretch out as a gentle encouragement to continue.

Bree wiped her eyes, smudging her makeup. “He called me this morning, before you woke up. I… said some stuff I shouldn’t have. He blew up. Started dragging up all these things I’d thought we were over. Old stuff. I got mad. He called me crazy. Said I’m a psycho. That I’m ruining his life.” She fell silent, dragging in thick gulps of air. Her mascara was smearing, and her fingers twitched on the wheel from agitation.

Jenine tried to say something helpful, but her mind was blank. She managed to mumble, “I don’t think you’re a psycho.”

Bree laughed and rubbed at her eyes. “You’re alright, babe. You know that? You’re alright. Let’s go somewhere. You pick.”

They ended up taking a detour to a seaside park. Bree stopped the car under a tree and stretched, rotating her shoulders to loosen them. “You’re lucky I bring an emergency picnic kit in the back of my car.”

“Seriously?” Jenine squirmed to look behind her. “Where do you even keep it?”

“Where the spare tire should be. Hey, did you want to check the photo before we get out?”

Jenine opened the glove box and pulled out the square card. One part of her expected to see ghosts milling about the building as they had been at her home. The other part expected the photo to be empty, just a boring, aged house in a boring, aged suburb.

What was actually in the picture made her shudder. A woman, all pale greys and blacks, was pressed up against the car window. Her hands were splayed against the glass, ending not in fingernails, but in yellowed claws. Thin hair floated about her wrinkled face, and her white, sightless eyes stared intently. Her mouth was open wide in a silent scream, much wider than it ever could have opened in life, and the blackness inside seemed to go on forever.

Bree grimaced. “Euch. Lovely. I guess at least the camera works.”

“Right,” she replied automatically, staring at the woman’s dress, which looked incredibly familiar. Her mind turned back to the very first photo she’d taken with the camera. A woman with a shock of white hair had been standing beside the cake table, wearing a dress with a very similar floral print.
She couldn’t possibly be the same woman, could she?

Bree got out of the car and stalked to the boot. “Give me a hand, won’t you?” she yelled, wrestling her picnic basket out.

Jenine shoved the photo back into the glove box then turned to open the door. She froze. Two hand prints had been left on the glass.
Surely it couldn’t be…?

Bree called her again, and Jenine scooted out of the car as quickly as her feet could move her.

Bree had been surprisingly resourceful when setting up her emergency picnic basket, which was stocked with canned soup, packet biscuits and long-life fruit juice. Jenine couldn’t help but imagine it was intended to double as supplies for an apocalypse.

The large park was shady, and one side overlooked the ocean. They found a tree in a relatively empty corner and unpacked the basket. Bree had brought every type of cutlery imaginable except for a can opener, so they ate the biscuits and drank the juice while watching a group of children play tag at the other side of the park.

“This is nice,” Jenine said to break the silence. “We haven’t done this for ages.”

“I know. You’re always too busy with the law books.”

Jenine choked on her biscuit. “What? When have I ever turned down a chance to hang out? You’re the one who spends all day in your store.”

“You hardly ever visit me, either.” Bree sighed, throwing herself backwards onto the grass. “You think you’re too good for me now that you’re getting your big ol’ lawyer degree.”

Jenine took a second to realise her friend was teasing. She laughed. “Solicitor. And you know I love you.”

“You skipped my last birthday party!”

“Left early,” she corrected. “I stayed as long as I could. You know I hate crowds.”

“You didn’t notice when I got my hair cut.”

“I did, too!”

“Nearly two weeks after the event, babe.” Bree laughed and poked Jenine’s thigh. “I swear, you’re worse than Travis.”

Jenine couldn’t stop herself from pouting. “Fine. You got me. I’m a terrible human being and you’re the reincarnation of Buddha.”

Bree grinned as she rolled onto her stomach. “Don’t sulk. I can’t help it if I’m perfect in every single way.”

“And very humble, to boot.”

“You know it.”

Jenine gazed at the families who were slowly filling up the park for lunchtime. She found herself thinking about their futures, wondering how many of the couples would still be together in twenty years, which of them would die prematurely, and how many would still be talking to each other in a decade.
Half, maybe?

“We’re good friends, aren’t we?” she asked Bree.

“The best.”

“I wish we could keep doing this forever.”

“Who says we can’t?” Bree sat up and wrapped an arm around Jenine’s shoulder. “It’s not like I’d let something silly like mortality get in the way of our friendship.”

“I was being serious.”

“Okay.” Bree kicked her feet out in front of herself. “Maybe we won’t always be together. Maybe you’ll get that cool job in the big city. Maybe I’ll start a new floristry in Antarctica. But I’d like to think that we’re the kind of friends who could meet up one day when we’re eighty and talk like we’d just seen each other yesterday.”

Jenine rested her head on Bree’s shoulder and smiled. Bree seemed to have a knack for verbalising exactly what Jenine needed to hear. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind whipping through the branches above them and the shrieking children in the play area. She felt comfortable. Safe.

An ice-cold finger grazed Jenine’s neck. She jerked forward and clamped her hand over where she’d been touched.

“What’s up?” Bree asked.

Jenine swivelled around, but there was nothing behind her except the tree. “I thought - I thought I felt something.”

“Insect, probably.”

Jenine kept her hand clamped over the back of her neck. Her skin tingled as though she’d been zapped with a low-voltage electric current. “Do you want to stay much longer?”

“Nah,” Bree said. “It’s about time we got going. You mind if I stay with you again tonight?”

“That would be nice.” She helped Bree pack her picnic basket and shove it into the boot. The sun was hot and the air smelled of summer, but she couldn’t stop shivering, even after she got into the overheated car.

Bree got into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over. Jenine reached out a hand to stop her. “Hang on. I want to try something.”

She pulled the camera out of the glove box, aimed it at the tree they’d been sitting under, and took a photo.

“Ready to go?”

Jenine tucked the undeveloped Polaroid into her pocket. “Sure.”

“I’ll pick up some clothes from my place on the way home,” Bree said as she exited the freeway. “Your stuff doesn’t fit me properly, anyway.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault you’re a bean-pole,” Bree teased. “I’ll grab my order forms while I’m there. I can use this weekend to make a list of everything I’m running low on.”