"The Fourth Photo"

It was the kind of rainy Sunday that pushed people into antique shops for warmth, nostalgia, or shelter. For Ava, it was all three.

She wandered aimlessly through the narrow aisles of Hollow & Finch, a shop that smelled of lavender oil and wet wood. Her fingers brushed over dusty globes, rusted brooches, and books swollen from time. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular—until she saw the camera.

It was an old Kodak Retina, polished but aged, perched between a cracked porcelain doll and a tarnished music box. A hand-written tag dangled from its strap:
“Still works. $18. Comes with one roll.”

She picked it up. It was heavier than she expected, solid in her hands. There was something comforting about its weight. The roll was already loaded.

“Yours if you want it,” the old shopkeeper said from behind the counter, eyes gleaming as if the camera was glad to be chosen.

The First Photo
Later that afternoon, Ava stood outside her apartment building and took the first photo: the street bathed in drizzle, cars glistening under the overcast sky.

When the photo developed later that evening—yes, she still had an old developer kit from her photography phase in college—there was someone in the frame.

A man. Standing across the street. Pale, thin, dressed in black. His eyes were looking straight at the camera. Straight at her.

But she swore—he hadn’t been there.

She stared at the photo, heart thudding. Probably just someone she hadn't noticed. The street had been quiet, but not abandoned. She convinced herself it was a mistake of attention. A trick of the moment.

The Second Photo
The next day, she took a photo of her living room. The soft couch, her fern, a book she’d left open. She took it mostly to test the camera’s focus.

When the photo developed, the man was there again—this time in her apartment, standing by the window. Same dark clothes. Same blank expression. Only now, a second figure stood behind him.

A woman. Hair long and tangled. She looked half-faded, like she’d been caught mid-step into the world.

Ava dropped the photo. Her breath came in short bursts. She checked the room. Empty. The door was locked. Her windows were latched. Her apartment was silent, aside from the sound of her blood rushing.

She didn’t sleep that night.

The Third Photo
The third picture was a dare to herself. Prove it’s nothing, she told herself. Just a faulty roll. Some double-exposure glitch.

She took a photo of the café she visited daily, while it bustled with strangers. People, noise, movement.

But when she developed the image, she felt cold seep into her spine.

There they were again—the man, the woman, and now a child between them, maybe five or six years old. All of them sharper now. Less faded. The child’s eyes were impossibly wide. All three of them looked at her.

They weren’t part of the crowd. They stood apart, untouched by light or angle. As if they were from a different layer of reality entirely.

The Fourth Photo
Ava decided to throw the camera away.

She stuffed it into the back of her closet, beneath shoeboxes and forgotten scarves. But as night fell, she felt it—the pull. Not a sound. Not a voice. Just the knowing.

She retrieved it.

Just one more photo, she thought. Then she’d burn the roll. Smash the camera if needed.

She turned the lens on herself, in the mirror. Hands shaking, she clicked the shutter.

Developing the fourth photo was excruciating. She watched as the image came to life in the chemical bath.

There she was—centered in the frame.

And behind her, four figures.

The man.

The woman.

The child.

And someone new—her. Another Ava, identical but grinning wide, too wide, eyes glossy and black.

The real Ava stepped back from the sink, her hands trembling.

The photo was still wet when she dropped it. As it hit the floor, the light in the bathroom flickered. The air turned heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

She looked into the mirror.

The other Ava was still smiling.

Aftermath
They found the apartment door locked from the inside. The windows shut. No signs of struggle.

The only oddity was a photo left behind on the table. It showed a woman standing in front of a mirror, surrounded by shadows.

The police didn’t know who developed it. Or why, in the far right corner, a fifth figure seemed to be just forming.

As if someone else was about to enter the frame.