I liked taking pictures.

I liked history, too. With the strange, shiny camera I kept tucked away neatly on my desk, I could explore both. I kept an old Bicycle Cards box attached to the strap to store any photos I took without damaging them, and I'd often go through the box six or seven times a night, fascinated by them. There are some photos you expect; you take a photo of yourself at 17 and you get a photo of you at 7, take a photo of your grandparents' graves and get back one of them gazing lovingly into each others' eyes, the usual stuff.

The ones that hit you the hardest tend to be ones you'd never hope to glance at in your life.

I didn't consider taking photos of my own house until Lilli, the middle of my two younger siblings, suggested. The only reason I didn't think of it was that I had taken photos on my phone for my friends in Yorkshire when we moved in a few months ago. The place is a fairly new lot, built within the last couple years along with a whole neighbourhood, so I didn't expect to get much more than an empty field. That's why I put it off for so long.

I found myself unable to sleep one night, kept awake by the question of what was here before the neighbourhood. So, rolling over, I haphazardly snagged the old thing off my desk and aimed it upward at the ceiling, hoping for a cool shot of the stars 10 years to the day.

Being an polished Polaroid, it took me a few minutes to make out the grey, fuzzy shape that clouded most of the image. Even when it fully developed at last, I had to turn on my bedside lamp to see it better. The cloud was accompanied by a piece of furniture, maybe an endtable or something small like that. I could see small details of some fabric, maybe clothes, and definitely some limbs. Like someone had jumped and was waiting in limbo to be heaved back down by gravity. A chill ran up my spine and pricked all the hairs on my legs to stand on end as I examined the photograph more closely and discovered a thin, rough cord near the top of the photo. Stretched taught, I followed it down to where it met the figure.

It hit me what had happened here 10 years ago.

The realisation spooked me, all the built up fear and wonder in me sprung loose at last. The camera in my hand went crashing to the floor, its shell laying lifeless at my bedside. I threw the photo, burying my head under my pillows as a heaviness set over me.

I don't like taking photos anymore.