Mens rea

Polaroids

(Prelude 2.0)

Anna blinked to see if she was dreaming or whether it was reality.

" well I can't sleep now, or I'll be having those nightmares again."

She was breathing heavily when the doorbell rang. She opened the door and resting on the door mat was a parcel, wrapped in brown parchment paper.

" well, finally you are here."

She lifted the package and placed it on the dining table. She opened it and found a case made from cherry wood. The front was labeled with golden engraving, "why a Raven like a writing desk? ".

" is this some kinda joke?!?...", she said while unwrapping the box.

. " what the.. hell is this? I...I... never ordered this."

She opened the case. It was filled with newspaper clippings. They were very old, all of different printing presses but held a very astonishing similarity:

the headlines started with the same letter "P".

Her mind began spinning stories about it . She has seen about a dozen of movies about how unclaimed objects cause hell lot of trouble and the consequences of keeping the box with herself began flashing before her eyes, as if she was watching a bioscope. She searched for her phone and dialed the number of the parcel service.

Nobody picked up.

"damn it."

She picked the case and was just about to throw it when she saw the photographs that were printed in the cuttings.

" what the...?"

Her senses started playing a game of hide and seek with her as she was experiencing small waves of dizziness and paranoia surging through her body. The photographs were all black and white, but the colors must have drained to give it a sepia effect. They comprised of a picture of laborers from a make shift kind of construction site, a photo of a large boiler which exploded and made the casualties count soar, a photo of little trade union meeting , and several other snapshots. The Polaroids made her uncomfortable. It was not due to the disgusting moldy smell of the paper which resembled that they must have been kept in damp conditions, but, the reason was right before her eyes.

The off-white faces in the photographs were ghastly.

The eyes and the mouth were missing in each of them. Instead of those there was morbid hollowness. A void . A diabolical emptiness. It looked as if something was lurking out in those depths, something that was always there but hidden in the folds of time, something that is creeping closer, and closer, and closer , something that can not be stopped, something that is hungry.

Anna wrapped the case in the cover and ran outside.

She threw it in the dustbin. It was dark outside and she was thinking who would do that to pictures of people?

But her question was left unanswered, or was it hiding in those Polaroids?