A Ghost

{This was another short exercise for the creative writing course I'm taking. We had to write a story inspired by some old pictures provided by the teacher. Unfortunately, I can't find the picture I chose online, so I hope the story works on its own as well.}

Masha was certain that the hand had not been there when the picture was taken.

No one else dared give an opinion. It was hard to be sure; taking that picture had been a hectic process.

Young Alexei, the photograph’s subject, hadn’t helped. He was quite afraid and spent most of the afternoon crying and trying to rip off his miniature uniform.

The camera was a foreign, scary object to him with its ogling brass lens, its creaking bellows, and the spectacular explosions of magnesium. Without mentioning the mustachioed photographer who disappeared behind the black curtain like a bad imitation of Masha’s peek-a-boo game.

They were lucky to get one decent photograph of him — haunted or not.

How Masha shrieked when she saw the picture. They must have heard her all the way to Saint Petersburg.

“My poor boy! My poor boy!”

The count tried to calm her, but she refused to listen.

“Some ghost came for his soul! My poor boy!” she cried. “We almost lost him to the DEVIL!” And so on. She was completely hysterical. It went on for days.

Masha even had her idea about whose ghost it was:

The picture had been taken in an unused room in the South wing, where one of the count’s great aunts had hanged herself over half-a-century ago. Masha imagined the camera had managed to capture an image of the great aunt’s hand, back from the dead, trying to snatch her little boy away.

To be honest, in the photograph, it looks like that hand is trying to make sure little Alexei doesn’t fall off the table he’s standing on. Besides, it’s so pale, it could be just a trick of the light — more like the ghost of a hand than the hand of a ghost. Someone could’ve simply painted it in.

The count and his family moved out of the dacha before winter. It had become impossible for Masha to live there anymore, and she made sure everyone knew it.

Meanwhile, rumors that the house was haunted began to spread through the country.

So that’s how I managed to buy the dacha for such a low price.

But come, now, let’s continue our visit. Would you like to see the South wing?