Mystery Photographer part 2.
She placed the phone on the table next to her drink.
She stared suspiciously at the phone. Someone had taken her phone and gone through it to extract the number. The same someone who took the picture with her camera. This was beginning to be more than unsettling. The message wasn't threatening admittedly, indeed you could say it was quite sweet. The fact however that she had been asleep whilst this person had used her phone was most troubling.
She had never thought of creating a password for her phone but now she picked it up gingerly and accessed the settings. She created and ingeniously complex password, only to instantly forget it. She eventually recalled it, then changed it to a more memorable version. She deleted the message and checked her photos. The set of photos by the mystery photographer were well composed, carefully taken and quite artistic in their own freakish, disturbing way. She considered deleting them too but for some reason, kept them.
Her favourite spot, retreat, viewpoint suddenly was not so. Yes admittedly it was a popular location but she had always gone there to find peace and space. She finished her drink, paid the blue haired waitress and left the cafe. The light was fading in the town as shops began to twinkle in the late afternoon. She walked quickly back to the studio, checking behind and around her as she scurried through the familiar streets.
No more texts.
She assumed it was a man. She assumed he was unknown to her. If it was a friend or acquaintance, she would have had another message by now or she would have recognised the contact. It could be a woman but her instinct said otherwise.
The studio was dark as well as cold. She turned on the strip lighting and put on her apron. The large canvas on the drawing board was her target. She squeezed some paints onto the palette and began applying strokes furiously. A rocky outcrop emerged from the shapes and colours. A still figure lying on the rock formed. She was recreating one of the images. The valley below was still a blur of shapes and blocks of colour. The foreground however was becoming dominated by the relaxed woman on the rocky outcrop. She then added a shadow to the left of the figure. A shadow looming over the prone figure. She worked for three straight hours without stopping. She felt exhausted, frightened, alarmed but most of all determined. She was using the experience to work through the events of the afternoon. To form an understanding of the photographs and text message. To put her anxieties on canvas rather than carry them around in her head.
It was now pitch black outside and the shoe factory was deserted. It was an eerie place at night even without the prospect of her mystery stalker.
She hadn't even checked the time but guessed it must be well into the evening. She tidied up briefly, switched off and locked up. Her car was parked around the corner outside the locked up garages. Half the street was bathed in golden yellow streetlight whilst the other where her car stood, was cloaked in shadow. She got in the car and locked the doors. She was shaking and could feel her pulse racing. She drove through town carefully but trying to not have to stop. She wound her way out of town onto the moor road and back home. The lane up to the farm cottages was pitch black. Next doors front room lights were on but her cottage was barely visible.
She pulled up and got out quickly. She hurried in through the front door into the living room. She turned all the lights on, startling the small black cat curled up on the sofa. A Whisky bottle beckoned. She downed a generous measure of Malt Whisky in two gulps. She coughed as the second gulp went down.
Her phone flashed.
She had a text message.
"I'm sorry if I have upset you. It was not my intention" the message read.
Without thinking she replied.
"What the fuck do you think you are you doing then?"
Her heart was pounding. she put the DAB radio on and turned up the volume to an almost unhealthy level. She then remembered her elderly neighbours tendency to retire to their beds early on.
"I just wanted to take your picture" a message came back.
This time she did not reply. Instead she switch her phone off and hid it under a cushion on the settee.
If it wasn't turned on, how could they get in touch? This was not a well thought out response given that she couldn't use her phone if needed but for tonight, she felt a little less scared. It was like a small child who closes their eyes in the hope that you can't see them.
She stared suspiciously at the phone. Someone had taken her phone and gone through it to extract the number. The same someone who took the picture with her camera. This was beginning to be more than unsettling. The message wasn't threatening admittedly, indeed you could say it was quite sweet. The fact however that she had been asleep whilst this person had used her phone was most troubling.
She had never thought of creating a password for her phone but now she picked it up gingerly and accessed the settings. She created and ingeniously complex password, only to instantly forget it. She eventually recalled it, then changed it to a more memorable version. She deleted the message and checked her photos. The set of photos by the mystery photographer were well composed, carefully taken and quite artistic in their own freakish, disturbing way. She considered deleting them too but for some reason, kept them.
Her favourite spot, retreat, viewpoint suddenly was not so. Yes admittedly it was a popular location but she had always gone there to find peace and space. She finished her drink, paid the blue haired waitress and left the cafe. The light was fading in the town as shops began to twinkle in the late afternoon. She walked quickly back to the studio, checking behind and around her as she scurried through the familiar streets.
No more texts.
She assumed it was a man. She assumed he was unknown to her. If it was a friend or acquaintance, she would have had another message by now or she would have recognised the contact. It could be a woman but her instinct said otherwise.
The studio was dark as well as cold. She turned on the strip lighting and put on her apron. The large canvas on the drawing board was her target. She squeezed some paints onto the palette and began applying strokes furiously. A rocky outcrop emerged from the shapes and colours. A still figure lying on the rock formed. She was recreating one of the images. The valley below was still a blur of shapes and blocks of colour. The foreground however was becoming dominated by the relaxed woman on the rocky outcrop. She then added a shadow to the left of the figure. A shadow looming over the prone figure. She worked for three straight hours without stopping. She felt exhausted, frightened, alarmed but most of all determined. She was using the experience to work through the events of the afternoon. To form an understanding of the photographs and text message. To put her anxieties on canvas rather than carry them around in her head.
It was now pitch black outside and the shoe factory was deserted. It was an eerie place at night even without the prospect of her mystery stalker.
She hadn't even checked the time but guessed it must be well into the evening. She tidied up briefly, switched off and locked up. Her car was parked around the corner outside the locked up garages. Half the street was bathed in golden yellow streetlight whilst the other where her car stood, was cloaked in shadow. She got in the car and locked the doors. She was shaking and could feel her pulse racing. She drove through town carefully but trying to not have to stop. She wound her way out of town onto the moor road and back home. The lane up to the farm cottages was pitch black. Next doors front room lights were on but her cottage was barely visible.
She pulled up and got out quickly. She hurried in through the front door into the living room. She turned all the lights on, startling the small black cat curled up on the sofa. A Whisky bottle beckoned. She downed a generous measure of Malt Whisky in two gulps. She coughed as the second gulp went down.
Her phone flashed.
She had a text message.
"I'm sorry if I have upset you. It was not my intention" the message read.
Without thinking she replied.
"What the fuck do you think you are you doing then?"
Her heart was pounding. she put the DAB radio on and turned up the volume to an almost unhealthy level. She then remembered her elderly neighbours tendency to retire to their beds early on.
"I just wanted to take your picture" a message came back.
This time she did not reply. Instead she switch her phone off and hid it under a cushion on the settee.
If it wasn't turned on, how could they get in touch? This was not a well thought out response given that she couldn't use her phone if needed but for tonight, she felt a little less scared. It was like a small child who closes their eyes in the hope that you can't see them.
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