Posed 2/2

A Supernatural Story

That night, after my work was complete, I was blindfolded and driven back to the studio. Time passed and daylight broke, and all the while I thought of nothing but the surreal situation I had found myself in. I'd been paid as promised, so I tried to push it to the back of my mind and think only of how I would source my next clients. I wanted to move on from it as quickly as possible.

Until late that afternoon.

While I swept the studio, I was interrupted by the presence of something. A feeling of someone looming - of an

imminent threat - was impossible to shake. I continued to sweep when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement beyond the window.

To my horror, Conrad Campbell and the brute were heading towards me. They looked serious, stressed. Conrad's once slicked-back hair was just messy enough to make this change in appearance noticeable. No longer did he have the charm of someone who had made a name and a living as a professional conman. To make a living that way, one will undoubtedly make enemies along the way. Charisma may be one of his traits, but reports say he's got another side to him.

It wasn't a side I wanted to see.

I went for the door as fast as I could, for the key to lock myself inside to buy a moment to think. The last people I wanted in my place of business were Conrad Campbell and his bodyguard.

But the brute was ready for me, expectant. He darted, faster than I thought possible for a man of his stature, and barged through the door with such power I was knocked to the very floor I had been sweeping.

I still held the sweeping brush and brandished it at him.

Unfazed, he snatched it from my grasp and snapped it. Any ideas I'd had of running or fighting were eradicated when he pressed the splintered end of the broom handle against my throat.

Behind him, I heard the studio door close and the scrape of the lock sliding across. Trapped and outnumbered, I had no choice but to submit.

‘We took precautions,’ Conrad began while removing his gloves, slow and methodical. He and the brute lifted me by my underarms into a seat.

I was not free from danger by any means, but it was a relief that the pointed shard of wood was no longer against my throat. I touched the spot where it made contact and swallowed.

‘How did you find him? And what possessed you to do such a thing?’

I couldn't help but wonder just how mad Conrad Campbell was. ‘Sorry, I don't follow.’

‘My driver, the man who picked you up and dropped you off yesterday,’ said Conrad. He looked at me as though that information would help me understand. ‘Well? How did you find his lodging house?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Lies!’ Conrad hissed. ‘My driver was found murdered this morning. You must be the murderer.’

‘Murdered? By me? You're very much mistaken. I belong on the right side of the law, not on the wrong side with the cutthroats.’ My voice wavered, and I was starting to shake.

‘I didn't say he had his throat cut.’

‘It's a figure of speech, Mr. Campbell.’

‘Unfortunately for you, we did find him with his throat cut. You've as good as confessed.’

The brute was on me in an instant, wooden shard pressed against my throat again.

‘You're going to pay for the inconvenience you've caused me.’ He produced a hip flask and took a long pull. ‘Funny, I thought I'd paid you well enough to keep you from making stupid decisions.’

‘Conrad, please! How would I possibly know where your driver was staying? I was escorted from here to the photoshoot and back again with a blindfold on. I don't know the location of the photoshoot, or where your driver was staying.’

‘Look!’ Conrad brandished a photograph of his driver, post-mortem. The throat was cut, and his pipe lay beside him in the pool of blood surrounding his body. The body was posed with his hands behind his head and legs outstretched as if relaxing in the sun. ‘This photograph was left on his chest.’ He took another sip from the flask, clearly struggling to comprehend what had happened.

‘Did you vet the talent properly? Was he murdered and robbed?’ I instantly regretted asking that. The brute thrust his fist into my abdomen, knocking the wind from my lungs. He let me drop to my hands and knees, where I drew in some much-needed breath.

‘Nothing was taken. You and your subjects were selected because you were in need of financial support. All of you were from different parts of the city, most of which were from the dankest crevices within this excuse of a city. You were all paid as promised, alleviating your immediate financial worries.’

He was right. My immediate financial worry was alleviated. ‘If nothing was taken, then what has been gained?’

‘You are going to tell me that. I will find out why you did what you did before I leave.’

It was then that we were interrupted by a constable on patrol. ‘What's going on in there?’ It was obvious to him I was in trouble. The brute was still armed with the broken handle, and I was still on the floor.

The constable tried the door, but it rattled in its frame. He fumbled for his whistle and managed to blow it once.

The brute had dropped his weapon and crossed the room. He unlocked the door and dragged the constable in. He held the constable’s collar and delivered two huge headbutts to his nose which knocked him unconscious. ‘Time to go, Boss,’ he said, hoisting the lifeless man over his shoulder, leaving the shop and disappearing around the corner.

‘You've not seen the last of us,’ snarled Conrad before he too fled the scene.

The next day, as morning broke, I considered going down and opening the studio. However, it was no longer safe for me. If I were to open up, I would literally be putting myself in the shop window, advertising myself to the enemy.

How I was going to find a way to move on from this now, I knew not. I was certain that my studio would be being watched. I dare not fiddle with the curtains to sneak a look outside; if I disrupt them, it will be obvious that I am hiding in the room above my studio. The thought of rationing my provisions so I didn't have to leave crossed my mind.

As I sat on the floor under the window, I heard a gentle tap on the glass of the door downstairs. I'd locked it, I knew that. It didn't stop me from worrying how easy it would be for Conrad Campbell to gain entry if he so desired. Another tap. Louder this time.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard someone try to open the door. The lock did its job. Both halves of the broken brush were propped in the corner, so I grabbed the half that I had been threatened with. Better than nothing. I peered through the doorway and across the studio space to glimpse who was outside. It was a lady. I knew her. I did not expect to see this lady again. One of the ladies from the photoshoot. She looked dreadful.

‘Hold on,’ I called as I crossed the room. ‘Whatever has happened?’ I asked when I let her in. ‘Are you unwell? Here, sit.’

‘It's all gone wrong since you took the photograph,’ she said.

‘Do you need some water?’

She nodded and gulped it all down. ‘All my food has turned bad. Fresh food should last a day, should it not? I had to use some of the money from the photoshoot to buy more yesterday. I woke up today and it's all gone off. I think we did a bad thing, and now I'm cursed. Are you cursed too, Mr?’

I thought she might become hysterical unless I could calm her nerves. ‘I apologise for this,’ I gestured at the makeshift weapon and set it down on the table next to a box of random camera equipment. ‘I wasn't expecting visitors, you spooked me.’ The broom handle probably spooked her as well. I couldn't confess that I felt cursed with the thought of Conrad returning at any moment. ‘I haven't eaten much, to be honest. Not much of a cook. More water?’

‘I thought having the photograph taken was an opportunity to change my life. Take the money and better myself, you know?’

I sympathised with her. My rent was taken care of with the payment from taking those photographs. I thought I had the chance to get ahead for once as well. ‘I do,’ I said, exhaling slowly.

‘Has nothing strange happened to you since you took the photographs?’

‘Nothing of note,’ I lied.

‘It's strange about my food, but that's not all,’ she said. ‘I didn't come here to tell you I'm hungry.’

‘No? Well, do tell me, and I'll help as best as I can.’

No sooner had I offered my help did I hear the door to the studio open once more. Conrad entered in a panic, his hair askew, a layer of sweat and grime covering his forehead, and he wore the same suit as he had on the previous two days, now covered in dirt. His stubble made him look far less important than he looked when I first laid my eyes upon him.

‘Don't lie to me again,’ he spat, itching his chin. He clearly wasn't used to going so long without visiting the barber. ‘First my driver, now my bodyguard.’

He flung something at my feet, and I flinched. I realised it wasn't a weapon, that it was, in fact, a photograph. Kneeling, I scooped it up and saw another horrific murder scene. The brute's throat was cut deep from ear to ear. He was posed in the same fashion as Conrad's driver had been.

The lady leaned over to look at the photograph. She gasped, clamped a hand over her mouth, and averted her gaze. I let go of the photograph and watched it drift to the floor.

Conrad acknowledged her for the first time. ‘Was this your doing? Yes, now it all makes sense. You must be that witch that escaped her hanging.’

‘No! No! That’s not me!’

‘Silence, witch! We can't let her say another word or she'll use her black magic to have us spend the rest of our days drooling down our chins, you see. Quick, gag her.’

‘No!’ she shouted.

‘No, Conrad. You're responsible for those deaths for all we know,’ I said.

‘Argh!’ said Conrad. ‘You're both in it together.’ He lunged for me.

I hurled myself sideways to avoid his attack but cracked my hip on the corner of the table. The broom handle rolled to the edge of the table and began to fall.

Conrad came forward. He slipped on the photograph and pitched headfirst to the ground. He let out a guttural cry and remained on the floor.

I applied pressure to my hip after the collision with the corner of the table.

Conrad lay motionless. Then what had happened dawned on me. He had landed on the broom handle. It had pierced through his stomach and protruded through his back. He had been impaled.

The woman pulled out a photograph. Her eyes flicked between the photograph and the lifeless body of Conrad Campbell.

‘I’m awfully glad to have a witness to what happened here. We should probably notify the constabulary.’

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I said I didn't come here to tell you I was hungry. I came to show you this.’ She handed the photograph to me, and what I saw was simply impossible: a photograph of a man, facedown, impaled.