Chapter Text
A camera.
Hidden beneath the feet of the park bench, brooding in the darkness of the midnight skies. Its lens cracked just slightly at the edges, and the black metal was ice to the touch. Dew clung to its surface, quiet and glistening, reflecting the dim lights of Blackwell Academy like worn-out stars. It had been there for hours - or maybe days. Forgotten, or lost. Waiting for someone to retrieve it.
The skies were empty, the stars twinkling with delicate beauty, it almost felt as if they were guiding you throughout the gentle darkness. The silhouettes of the slender and tall trees were daunting and eerie, but it comforted you in a strange way. A soft breeze brushed past, lifting the sleeve of a jacket and rustling the fallen leaves. Then came the soft scuff of sneakers on concrete.
Your eyes narrowed at the sudden dull sound when your foot had kicked the heavy object, rattling against your shoe. It caught your attention - at first, you had thought of it to be a wild animal, but the solid and rectangular shape drew you to peek under your seat. There was a twisting feeling in your stomach, as if this was a live set-up. It felt like someone, or something , had been watching you, somehow.
You crouched beside the wooden, rusty bench and reached beneath to feel its rectangular shape, and pulled it free. Blackwell Academy was only being lit by the streetlamps that were on its last legs, flickering every minute or so. There was something giving you the shivers down your spine, and you took it as a sign to flee.
Your feet began to move on their own, unsteady and rushed. Your eyes were fixated at the foreign object in your hands, turning the object over and having a brief inspection at it. It seemed like one of the newer models, but it was scratched along the edges, the kind that looked like it had seen things - used, weathered, but still just as mysterious. The screen was black, lifeless, but the battery indicator flickered for a second when you brushed your thumb over the power button. Then, silence again.
Your breath was caught in your throat.
The night air was biting now, the cold crawling through the seams of your hoodie. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the empty campus grounds. Nothing. No footsteps. No chatter. Just the occasional creak of tree branches in the wind, and the low, distant hum of electricity bleeding from the night lights.
You passed a flickering lamp and caught your reflection in its dull glass case - distorted and stretched, your face was noticeably pale. You didn’t stop walking, but your fingers tightened around the cool metal of the camera.
Recently, life at Blackwell has become plain and usual. Every class was predictable and the same, the chatter around campus has been just as ordinary, and even security has become loose with curfews. It almost felt like an awakening, something to distract you from the creeping sense that nothing was ever going to change.
You held the camera in both hands the whole walk back, your fingers numb from the cold metal pressing against your palms. You didn’t really want to look at it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let it go either. It was tempting you with its glare. It felt wrong to put it down. Like if you did, it might disappear, and the suspense was eating you alive.
Up ahead, the dormitory doors stood lit by a low overhead bulb, its glow buzzing with a faint, insect-like hum. The building itself was old, cracks were crawling up the walls like veins.
Once you cautiously swung the door open, its warm arm air hit you in a wave - faintly sweet, scented with laundry detergent and cheap floral room sprays. The usual dorm noise was missing. Most girls were likely asleep, or buried in their headphones and homework. The hallway was still, carpet muffling your steps as you made your way down the corridor.
Your room was near the end, tucked beside the stairwell. You opened the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind you with a gentle, yet rushed gesture.
The room was small and comforting. Two posters, one crooked. A string of fairy lights you never turned on anymore. Your desk. Your sketchbook. The slight crack in the ceiling you always said you’d paint over. All of it looked the same. But the moment you sat down on your bed, its blankets caving beneath your bottom, the camera made you feel as if it didn’t belong here.
But even as the safety of the room settled around you, the weight of the camera in your hands felt heavier now.
You flipped it over in your hands, thumb hovering over the power button. You hesitated for a moment if this was right. After all, it wasn’t your camera, though you wished to own one just like it.
It clicked to life. The dark screen was illuminated with a white, blinding logo that lit up your dark room. There was nothing to be heard other than your faint breathing and the dim hum of the digital camera.
479 photos.
The last taken two nights ago.
You hesitated before selecting “View.”
The screen loaded, a faint whine from inside the camera.
The gallery appeared - thumbnails gradually loading across the screen. The photos were eerie and lonely. They felt cold and bitter. An empty barnyard, weathered and worn. Trees in late autumn, brittle and ghostlike. The dark corners of campus, just capturing the torturous atmosphere. Always from a distance. Always quiet.
Strange, there weren’t any photos of people featured.
You scrolled slowly.
Then you froze.
An image caught your eye. Out of all of the photos you had scrolled through, this was the only one that featured a person.
You pressed on the image, zooming in and seeing the image in its full, horrifying glory - you instantly regretted it. Your mouth went dry and a cold sweat clung to your back. It was a photo of you, only from afar. You recognized the moment instantly, you were doing math homework on the benches in the school courtyard. It was that one time you forced yourself out of your room, hoping that a change of scenery might help you focus. Now, somehow, you were seeing yourself from the outside - captured like a stranger in your own life. You could not deny that it was you in that picture.
Your stomach turned.
The horror was rushing through your bloodstream and you couldn’t help yourself from scrolling to the next image.
This time, it was your reflection in a hallway window. You were walking past it. Headphones in with your hands buried in your pockets and a scowl etched across your face. The shot was framed with unsettling precision. It had a strange beauty to it, almost cinematic, but there was something hollow beneath the surface - something lonely, almost ghastly.
You had never noticed anyone there. The eeriness made you shiver and you instinctively inspected your surroundings, even if there was nothing in the darkness.
And then the worst one.
You, asleep.
In your bed, arms tucked under your pillow. The room bathed in the gentle, awakening light of the sun peeking through your blinds. The angle was high. It had been taken from inside the room .
Your whole body tensed.
You never left the door open. Ever.
Your breath came shallow now, heartbeat pounding behind your ears and in your throat. You stared at the screen, but your eyes didn’t want to believe it.
Your hands trembled uncontrollably and you couldn't handle seeing another picture, maybe worse.
And just as you reached to shut the camera off - the shutter clicked on its own. Saving photo... flashed across the screen, and a new image appeared without you even realising.
The display pulsed once, then went still - quiet, expectant, as if it were waiting for you to do something. You weren’t sure what to do, but you could definitely feel the terrified agony rising up your throat.
That night, you were restless, tossing left and right in bed. You had left the camera hidden inside your closet, hoping it wouldn't see the day of light, shunned from the world. You weren’t sure if you were afraid of whoever was behind that camera or if you were afraid of them finding out that you had their camera.
You were in the middle of life drawing class, but you couldn’t get your mind off of what you had seen the night before. You could feel yourself dozing off from how little you slept and how much you were thinking about everything.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Kate’s face twisted in worry as she took the seat opposite to yours on the square table.
“Oh… yeah, I guess you’re right.” You hadn’t realised how dark the circles under your eyes had become. You rubbed at the malleable skin beneath your eyes in attempts to soothe the twitch in your eyes. You really did look worse for wear.
Your phone buzzed, and you jumped. It woke you up to the real world.
You immediately reached into your pocket to search for the device before bringing it to your view, relieved to see a message from Warren. You opened it, almost desperate for something normal.
Warren: Hey, you okay? You looked pretty out of it today.
Warren: Let me know if you need a study break!
You stared at the screen, almost chuckling at the idea of a study break to cheer you up. He was so dorky. But even if it was Warren, you couldn’t talk to anyone about this. Not yet. You had no answers. Just questions. Too many. Though you were grateful for Warren’s kindness, you just weren’t ready to explain anything.
You decided it was better to leave him on read just this one time. Sorry Warren. You really couldn’t find the words to kindly explain the insanity that was in the works in your mind.
You put the phone down, face down, like that would help you forget the message or the guilt. anxiety crawling up your spine.
Kate was still watching you.
"You sure you're okay?" She asked, lowering her voice, like she was afraid the wrong tone might push you over the edge. She had empathy written all over her face.
You nodded almost too quickly. "Yeah. Just... didn't sleep. That’s all."
She didn’t buy it. Her pencil hovered over her sketchbook, untouched - you could tell her attention was still unwavering from you. The model at the front of the class had already shifted poses, but neither of you had drawn a single line.
“Look,” she said gently, her eyes leaving her page. “If something’s going on, you can tell me. Or not. But don’t go keeping it all to yourself, okay?”
You managed a half-smile, just enough to ease the weight in her eyes. “Thanks. I mean it.”
Kate nodded and turned back to her sketchbook, finally putting her pencil to the paper. You tried to follow suit, but your hand couldn’t stay steady. Every shadow, every form you tried to draw looked distorted, warped, like your eyes couldn’t focus and your mind was torturing you alive.
Eventually, class ended, and you packed your stuff slower than usual, waiting for most people to clear out. Kate gave you another heavy look before bidding her goodbyes to leave for her next class - the worry was painted all over her doe eyes, but you really couldn’t tell her yet.
How were you supposed to tell somebody, “Hey, I found a camera on the ground with some really strange pictures of me that a potential stalker might have taken”?
Between periods, you walked a little slower than usual, hung back in the hallways and just let the crowd carry you. It was easier that way, letting the noise around you drown out everything else. It made you feel less alienated, like you were hiding from the person taking the photos.
By lunchtime, you were halfway through your sandwich before you realised you hadn’t really spoken to anyone all day.
Warren sank onto the bench next to you - the same one where the photo had been taken. You weren’t sure why you had even chosen to sit here again, but there was something drawing you towards it. It almost felt like you were on autopilot, like you were somehow pulled to this exact spot without even thinking about it.
“You’re acting weird. You didn’t even respond to my text.”
You gave him a half-smile. “Sorry. I’ve just been thinking a lot.”
That was an understatement.
He didn’t seem at all convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back against the bench, pulling out his phone. “Well, if you ever need a distraction, you know where to find me. Maybe we can go to the new drive-in movie or something? I heard that it’s a real thriller .”
The offer was casual, but the way he said it made you pause. Maybe it was the way he said we, or maybe it was the kindness behind it. Though he was smug about his pun.
"Maybe," you replied, not really sure if you were agreeing because you wanted to, or just because it felt like the easy thing to say.
You appreciated his offer, but a part of you couldn’t help but wish you could just talk to him about everything. You didn’t want to drag him into it, though. It felt too strange, too personal. You weren’t even sure you understood what was going on in your own head.
It was ridiculous how much space the whole thing was taking up in your brain. You didn’t even know their name.
The rest of lunch passed in a blur. You found yourself half-listening to Warren recount his day, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the camera again. It was like it was following you around, lingering in the back of your mind no matter how hard you tried to push it away.
You passed a few students on the way back, their voices were too loud, and their laughter was almost irritating, but you didn’t bother to think anything about it. The world felt distant, like you were a spectator, and not really a part of the game.
By the time you reached the dorm, you felt drained - physically and mentally. You stood in front of your door for a moment, hand hovering over the handle - all you wanted was to escape from your own thoughts.
“Max! I know you were the one that stole Nate’s camera! Give it back already!” Huh?
You didn't mean to eavesdrop or to be nosy, but your ears couldn't help but perk up at the sound of Victoria’s agitated voice.
“Gosh, Victoria. I didn’t take anything!” Max’s voice sounded exhausted and frankly sick of Victoria’s nonsense. Whatever patience they had for each other had clearly burned out long ago.
“He’s seriously freaking out about it!”
So that camera… was it Nathan Prescott's camera? No way, you really couldn't believe it.
You stood frozen for a moment. Nathan Prescott . The name repeated endlessly through your thoughts. You had never interacted with him but he always carried an aggressive aura around school, and his reputation was too heavy to ignore. He was infamous around school as a spoiled rotten rich kid. You really didn’t want to believe it belonged to him, anyone but him.
You couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine. Nathan was always... off . A little too intense, and too unpredictable - but this? This felt like something darker. Something dangerous. Especially that one picture where it was shot inside of your room.
You felt the door handle grow colder beneath your fingers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open it just yet. Instead, you leaned against the door, trying to make sense of everything. Victoria’s frustration echoed through the hall again.
“You know something, Max. Just admit it!” Victoria’s voice was sharp, slicing through your thoughts like glass. She wasn’t just annoyed. She was furious and desperate.
The last thing you wanted was to get involved in whatever weird drama was unfolding between him and everyone else. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.
“I'm serious! I wouldn't touch anything of that freak’s!” Max was defending herself with innocence painted on her pained eyes.
Max and Victoria stood a few feet apart from each other, in a stand-off. All the colour was drained off of Max's face, she was as pale as a newly painted wall. But Victoria's face on the other hand, was fiery red, accentuated by her rosy blush. She was practically vibrating with anger - her arms crossed tight and lips curled in a sneer with her sharp, snake, cold eyes.
Luckily though, none of them noticed you - you stood still like a mannequin at the end of the hallway, clearly eavesdropping.
Your eyes darted between them - knowing that you were the one hiding the camera, but you were too afraid to say it out loud. You kept your face neutral as best as you could, trying to hide the sudden heat that crept up your neck. Because you knew exactly where the camera was.
It was in your room. You didn’t even know why you had taken it. At the time, it had felt like instinct and curiosity. But now you were living with your own consequences, like a bomb that was about to implode any second from now.
Because while they were busy accusing each other, they had no idea the truth was standing right in front of them. And you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it hidden.
You finally pushed their presence out of your mind and twisted the door open, slipping inside your room and shutting it gently behind you. The familiar warmth of the space calmed you a little. Your belongings from home, your warm bed, your band posters lazily taped to the walls - it was comforting.
You dropped your bag to the floor and let yourself sink onto the bed, exhaling a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.
You peeled off your hoodie, and couldn’t help glancing at the camera again - it hadn’t moved, of course. It was still sitting right where you had left it. But somehow, its presence in your room was so much heavier, it was like a dark smoke highlighting how much it didn't belong here. There were so many unanswered questions. But you weren't sure if you even wanted the answers.
Nathan Prescott.
If it really was his, you couldn’t imagine why he’d taken the photos the way he did. There was a softness in some of the shots. They didn’t feel threatening, but they did feel intentional, and a little too personal.
It didn’t make sense at all. He was the type to show off expensive things, not lose them so obliviously. And definitely not the type to take quiet, candid photos of a person - especially not ones that felt as thoughtful and observant. Those pictures didn’t look like they were taken by someone in a rush or just messing around.
But then again, you didn’t know Nathan. Not really . No one did.
Shaking it off, you pulled yourself away from the thought, and moved to the dormitory bathroom.
The water came on cool, then gradually warmer. You stood under the spray, letting it hit your back, your shoulders, and your face, warming your chilled, bare skin. Your eyes shut and you let yourself exist without thinking or questioning who took the photos, or why, or what you were supposed to do next.
The sound of water rushing around you made it easier to be still, and to let go of reality temporarily.
You stayed longer than usual. Not because you needed to, but because you didn’t want to face reality again just yet.
When enough time had passed and your fingers had become wrinkled, you turned the handles, halting the flow. You briefly dried your skin and hair with an old towel you had brought from home and got dressed with your pyjamas that still smelt of lavender laundry detergent.
You slid the shower curtains in one swift motion and stepped out, your towel, toiletries and worn clothes in hand.
“Oh, I didn't expect to run into you here. Haven't seen you in a while.” Your eyes wandered up to the sweet voice, it was Dana - she sounded and looked exhausted which you could relate with. “Hey Dana, you've been busy?” You were glad to see a familiar and kind face tonight, Dana’s presence always made you feel welcomed and appreciated.
“Yeah, I've just been busy with cheerleading practice.” She huffed, her back puffing out as she leaned over the sink. The water piled in her hands before she splashed it over her face. “How about you?” She asked, eyes shut as she scrubbed them to remove the eyeliner.
You hesitated, lost in your own thoughts. Part of you wanted to tell her everything, but part of you thought it’d be better to brush it off with a white lie about assignments or classes. You bit your lip, eyes glued to the ground. Dana must’ve picked up on your silence, because she cracked one eye open, catching your anxious expression in the mirror’s reflection.
Dana dried hands on her small, pink face towel, watching you from the corner of her eye. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she offered, softly, her voice gentler now, like she didn’t want to startle you. “But… you seem like you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
You offered a weak smile, something in between apology and appreciation. “It’s nothing serious. Just been stuck in my own head lately.”
That wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t the full story.
Dana didn’t press. She never did, and that was something you appreciated about her. She simply nodded, patting her face dry with the towel. “I hear you. This place can feel like it's moving too fast, even when nothing's really happening.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, nodding faintly. It was comforting to hear someone say it out loud.
“Well, if you ever wanna rant, you know where my door is. I’ve got snacks, a speaker, and way too many playlists I’d love to force someone to listen to.”
That made you smile a little. “Thanks. That actually sounds kind of perfect.”
She grinned, reaching for her moisturiser. “I’m serious. Come by sometime. You’ve been MIA lately.”
“I know,” you replied softly, heading toward the door. “I’ll stop by soon.”
The conversation had helped. Dana always had a way of making things feel a little lighter, even when she didn’t know what was in your mind.
Once you made it back to your room, wrapped in soft clothes and a towel around your head, something in you felt just a little more at ease.
You curled up on the bed, pulling the blankets over your legs and sank into the mattress, your hair damp against the pillowcase. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow from your desk lamp, shadows stretching lazily along the walls. The air still smelled faintly of soap and steam, and for the first time today, you finally felt at peace - or rather too exhausted to question anymore.
The camera was still there.
You looked at it for a long time. But tonight, you let it be.
You didn’t need all the answers right now. Just enough to pause and breathe.
You checked your phone. Your eyes briefly scanned over the notifications, a few texts from a group chat with the nerds of your math class, mostly memes and someone complaining about a group project. One from Kate asking if you were okay, and another from Warren again.
Warren: Still no word from you. Did I lose you to mysterious artistic brooding or something?
You smiled, even if it was faint. You typed back slowly, debating each word before sending:
You: sorry, been stuck in my head all day. but i’m okay.
You hovered your thumb over the next message, debating if you should say more. You didn’t. Not yet. You pressed send before placing your phone on your bedside table with a gentle wooden thud.
You pulled the towel from your hair and ran your fingers through it slowly, letting it air-dry as you lay on your side. The sheets smelled faintly of your perfume, and your pillow was cool beneath your cheek.
It was tempting to open the camera again, to scroll through the photos one more time and convince yourself that maybe, somehow, you’d imagined it all. That the look on your face in those photos wasn’t so… vulnerable.
But no. You knew what you saw. And tonight, you didn’t want to pick at that wound again.
You turned off the lamp, pulled the blankets up over your shoulders, and stared at the ceiling for a while before letting your eyes flutter closed.
Maybe tomorrow, you’d find out for sure who the camera belonged to. Maybe you’d even ask Max or… no, not Victoria. That was a headache you weren’t ready for. But Warren, maybe. He’d listen, even if he didn’t understand.