By John Young
In the corner of the attic of his recently deceased mother’s house an ancient dusty cardboard box attracts Harry’s attention. Faint lettering on the box spells out the word ‘Photographs’.
He finds the eerily tinted photograph of long dead Uncle Colin whose scary, staring eyes were always looking at him when he was a toddler.
“My God!!” Harry exclaims, gazing dumbfounded at the identical image of a younger version of himself.
As he moves around the attic Harry thinks about genetics. He glances frequently at the photograph propped against the box. He chuckles. Uncle Colin’s eyes seem to follow him.
“I like spooky stuff, the boundary areas between ‘normal’ and odd experience. I write to express what ‘bubbles up’ from … well, I don’t know where.” – the writer