The following two accounts are documents that editors mysteriously found deep in the photopigs archives. It doesn’t seem as though they were distributed for public consumption, that they were merely journal logs by former contributors, but newspaper practices of the time are virtually unrecognizable and it’s difficult to tell. Either way, we have reproduced them digitally for the interest of our viewers.
Depending on the audience response, editors may investigate these leads further, especially as there appears to be some missing files.
Great North Woods Mystery
by B.C. Wilkes
I was just the guy with some photos. I was nothing special. Just a journalist with a trail-cam. Just the guy with the ghost pictures. I didn’t even take the photos. The trail-cam was automatic and I stumbled upon the ghosts.
This wasn’t really my scene– it was only coincidence that I found something intriguing in the Great North Woods. Hell, I hadn’t even lived in this area in over 15 years. I had no idea why the townsfolk invited me to the [REDACTED] City Hall, but it didn’t take long to find out.
Livestock were brutally maimed, killed, gored on fence posts. Coops torn from their concrete foundation and thrown aside. It was finally when Belle– the blue-ribbon horse that the Wynn family brought to the Minnesota State Fair every year– was killed. That’s when they called me.
I remember the first time I stepped into those woods. I noticed nothing the first day. Specifically, that—nothingness. Spring was dawning, yet the trees were silent, aside from a hollow breeze that clung to the arboreal landscape. The last attack was weeks ago. The Platts’ dog was found disemboweled 30 feet in the air in a millennium-aged oak tree, twenty yards from their home. The whole town sat constantly on edge.
Some evenings when I traversed through the foliage and brambles, a hard smell of copper and ozone stuck in my nose. I felt like I was being watched, despite the dull vacancy of the forest. People said that the crying of bobcats wailed through the night, but this didn’t seem like a bobcat to me.
When I heard the screams myself, I knew. It was deeper. It had a voice, emotion. It almost sounded human.
On my twelfth night in the woods, March 24th 2015, I finally saw it.
I had barely stepped in from the edge of the dirt road when the keen and intense copper hit me like a wave, followed by a lingering smell of ozone which stuck to the walls of my sinuses. I pulled my camera up and straightened the holster of my .357. Not that I expected it would do me any good. I pointed my flashlight around to a fallen tree and saw movement at the edge of the light.
Large, quick movement.
The shadows rustled and moved towards me with a lucid swiftness.
The air hung thickly as I pulled my camera to my eye and clicked, trembling, in rapid succession– shaking and fiercely backpedaling.
My flashlight fizzled out.
My camera died.
A short hiss came through the trees as the darkness sank into me.
I sat in the nothingness, breathing. I could hear the shadow’s cool, rapid breaths just yards in front of me. Luminescent eyes stayed fixed on me.
It was still and quiet, again.
The figure turned. I heard the swift sounds of twigs and branches snapping as it dashed away from me. A shrill howl broke through the desolate air.
I was alone.
Occultist discovers spirit photography technique
by Lady Rosemary Tinker
“The thing about dead people is, they don’t know they are dead.”
Miss Anna Stillington sat across from me in her studio. She is at the forefront of an exciting new development in the world of occultism, using photographic equipment to capture images of spirits.
“It’s simple really,” she explained. “Put out something they were attached to in life and the manifestation gets just a touch stronger. Not always enough to see, but enough that our plates can. We darken the room to lengthen the exposure, giving time for the energy to imprint on the negative.”
She pointed to a flute across the room. “Musicians don’t let go easily and precious metals like silver have a curious property that holds spirits to them.”
She darkened the room and set up the camera. I waited as she went through the process of taking the picture, setting the negative image on the glass plate and developing it. This image was the result:
“I saw no hint of ghost during any of that and, something is definitely there!” I exclaimed.
She set up another demonstration, trying to see if her childhood pet Fuzzmuzzle would manifest for a bowl of milk. Sadly, the spirit of her beloved pet seems to have turned her noise up at it.
“Perhaps I should have tried tuna,” she said.
Another of the members showed up just then, a Miss Ramilda. “Perhaps we can get a picture of the ghost following Miss Tinker here,” she said as she laid out some nice tea for us.
“Following me?” I asked.
“Miss Ramilda is one of our sensitives,” Miss Stillington explained. “Did you not know you have your own ghost? Has no one pointed it out to you?”
“No, I … this is my first time meeting occultists and mediums. I just got this job you see, covering spirit photography, cryptozoology and the like.”
“Well now, let’s make your spirit a nice cuppa and see what happens.” Ramilda said. “Jasmine and lemon, I bet that will work for your ghostie.”
“Ramilda has a knack for choosing the right tea!” Miss Stillington said excitedly.
I sat there and drank black tea and crunched ginger biscuits as everything was set up. Sure enough, the picture showed more than the tea and the table:
“I know that lace!” I exclaimed. I made a dress for my doll out of materials from my Mother’s scrap bag. “I don’t know whose dress it was. It was very old.”
“Well, this is the start of a mystery.”
That’s where the page ends and there is none other in the file. I plan to keep searching the archives for this and any other articles from Rosemary Tinker. The old personnel files say she worked here for a good twenty years, but I can’t find her works in our old newsletter. I just need to keep searching.
What say you, loyal reader, do these files merit the allocation of resources for an investigation?