The Girl with the Magic Camera

WRITING PROMPT: If the title of the story is "The girl with a magical camera", what is the story about? Who is the girl? Where does the camera come from? Write your story.

~O~O~O~

Part Three

Deeta sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the camera on top of her dresser. The brown casing has faded but bore no scratch or marking. There were two dials at the top and a small red button on the left corner. Its lens and flash stared back at her, as if it were studying her too. 
'Who is she?' it seemed to ask. 'Who owned you?' Deeta she asked back. She checked the camera from top to bottom, there was no indication to whom the camera belonged. The chest provided no further clues either. 


Over dinner, she had asked her father if he had the name of the owner of the camera. He didn't. It was an anonymous donation. When asked if he could describe the person who dropped off the camera at the auction. He couldn't. According to the seller, it was already there when they were getting ready for the auction. Only a note was left. The owner, whoever it was, wanted to give it away. 
"But since no one else seems interested in it, we bought it." Her mom said.
"Probably because it looks ancient." her brother said. "Well it does." he added when their mother raised an eyebrow at him.
"It does seem too old. What made you buy it?" Deeta asked. "It's not your usual trinkets."
"Well," he father started, wiping his face with a napkin,"When you were young, you had a strange habit of collecting old photographs. Your mom and I thought the camera might spark back your interest in photography." her father explained.
"I don't know." her brother said, examining the camera. "Not exactly the kind of camera aspiring photographers lug around. Do they still have films for this kind of old thing?"
Deeta took the camera from her brother. "I'll look that up later." she replied, finishing her dinner and excusing herself.

She went back to her room. She placed the camera beside her laptop and searched the internet. She read the brand and model out loud while typing the words on her laptop. Clicking on an online manual, she found out that the camera is collapsible, able to fit into a small bag when folded. She tried it out, admiring how compact it was. "Let's see. Film cartridges." she murmured to herself. She followed the steps on how to check for the film cartridge but the camera had none. 'Do they even sell films for this anymore?' she thought, looking at the empty cartridge slot. She returned to her laptop and searched for places to buy a film cartridge. She read through everything. But article after article, they all say the same thing; the manufacturers had discontinued making the film cartridges. There were still some who sold them but at prices that will cost her an arm and leg. 'Probably even a kidney too.' she sighed. Disappointed, she slumped back on her chair and crossed her arms. 'So what use are you without any film?' she asked, picking up the camera again. "Such a shame to not be able to use it after all the mystery." she said. 
She looked through the viewfinder, pretending to take a picture. She aimed at her bed and pressed the red shutter button. She heard a click and dropped the camera to the carpeted floor. A picture was coming out of the slot. She waited as the picture slowly revealed itself: it was her bed as she saw through the the viewfinder.
Her eyes were wide like saucers as her face turned pallid. She wanted to scream but her lips and mouth were dry. A lump formed in her throat. Slowly, she backed away from the camera, as if it was a lion ready to pounce on her. Her heart beat rapidly, her hand lost all color and warmth.  Fear and confusion swirled in her mind. 'There was no film! I checked! It was empty!' yelled her head.

She grabbed a shirt from her dresser and threw it over the camera before jumping to her bed. Though the camera was covered by the shirt, a tiny piece of the picture slipped under it. She took long deep breaths to calm herself down. 'Maybe I looked at the manual wrong. Maybe there really was film inside that slot.' But deep inside she knew the there was no cartridge in that slot. It was empty, like boarding school at the end of term. 
"So why did a bloody picture come out of it?" she asked aloud, half-hoping someone will answer. But her room remained silent. Though still scared, she managed to climb down her bed. Her feet trembled with each step. With her hand shaking, she reached for the camera. She let the picture fall to the floor. She opened the camera again. Clear as day. The cartridge was empty, only air taking up its hollow slot. The counter at the bottom showed '9'. An eerie thought occurred to her. If she remembered the manual correctly, it meant there are nine more shots remaining. She peered through the viewfinder again. This time she aimed at the lamp on her bedside table. She heard the same click and few seconds later, another picture was coming out of the picture slot. Deeta checked the picture counter. She stood still as stone, eyes frozen at the camera. The number switched to '8'. 

Disclaimer: All photo credits go to respective owners.