After the Cabin by Amy Cross Page B

who isn't gonna be found if a team goes to check.” He clicks a few tabs on the screen. “A type of person who only shows up on these things. You can recognize them, they just look kinda different on the screen, and if someone goes to look for them in person, they don't see anything at all. I don't know what's going on, and I don't intend on finding out, but if you ask me there's something that shows up from time to time. People who don't belong, who just stand or walk slowly, people who...” Another pause, and there's a hint of fear in his eyes. “If I was a more dramatic man,” he adds finally, “I'd be inclined to think that every so often ghosts do show up on these videos. But so long as they're out there and not in here with me, that's not really my problem, is it?”
    Taking the USB drive from the computer, he hands it to me.
    “I put a couple of extra files on there,” he adds. “Make of them what you will.”
     
    ***
     
    She's just standing there. Not really doing anything, not reacting to the world around her, just standing in the middle of the street at 4am, ignoring a few passing drunks and, in turn, being ignored by them.
    I wait for her to move, but the video just keeps on playing, showing the view from a CCTV camera in the center of town. According to the time stamp in the bottom left corner, this footage was recorded about three months ago. The quality is much better than the shot from the walkway, and I can see the faraway expression in the woman's eyes. Leaning closer to the screen, I try to get a better look at her face, but suddenly she turns and stares directly at the camera and then a fraction of a second later she's gone.
    I rewind, but it's clear that she simply disappeared in the space between one frame and the next.
    Checking the file information, I find a link to a news site. When I click through, I read a story about a woman named Deborah Moore who was knocked down and killed by a drunk driver in that same street in December 2011. I scroll down until I find a photo of Deborah, and I can instantly tell that it's the same woman from the video. At least, the resemblance is striking, but I still can't quite believe that the video is real. There has to be some kind of trickery, or it's a coincidence, or maybe a set-up. Spotting an I.P. address attached to the file, I copy it and then paste it into a browser.
    Sure enough, my laptop displays what appears to be a live feed from the same camera in the main street, the one that showed the strange woman on the recording. I watch as a couple of people wander past, and it's clear that they're oblivious to the fact that they're being caught on camera. I know I should stop looking, but I quickly pull up the footage from the walkway again and locate the I.P. address. Sure enough, when I paste it into my browser, I'm immediately shown a live feed of the walkway.
    It's almost as if the whole town is being watched, and most of the images are freely available to watch online. Sure, some of the cameras I check turned out to be password-protected, but most are just left open. I can't help sitting and watching the feed from the walkway, staring at the screen as I wait for some sign of movement. After an hour or so, with no-one having appeared in the shot, I pull up the old recording showing myself and the mysterious figure. Despite a few efforts with online tools, I'm not able to get a better image of the person I met that night, so I can't be sure whether it was Matt or Jennifer. Not that it could be Jennifer, but still... I keep working, trying to tweak the image, and I only stop when I see the morning sun rising outside. Checking my watch, I find that somehow I've managed to spend the entire night obsessing over these images. It's 6am now, and I'm due at work in ninety minutes.
    I have to hurry a little, but I manage to get out the door in time. When I get to the hotel, however, the first thing I notice is a police car parked outside.

Nine
     
    “So the