February 18, 2026

Negative Space
by Jennifer Peaslee

A subtle supernatural horror story that explores perception, denial, and the terrifying power of what goes unseen. 

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.



​I approached the one-hour photo counter and waited for the cashier to make his way to me. It was Sunday morning, early enough that I had avoided the June heat, and the store was fairly empty. 
“Picking up or dropping off?” he asked. 
“Picking up. James Woodward.” 
“Gotcha. One second.” 
The cashier rifled through some containers on his side of the counter until he picked out a thick red packet full of developed 35mm photographs.
“Something wrong?” I asked, seeing him pause. 
“Ah, I’m sorry to tell you, but I think the film was messed up. You can take a look at the pictures and see if you still want them. I’ll discount them if you do.” 
I took the packet from him, disappointed. These were photos of Kayla’s and my vacation to San Francisco. I showed her the restaurant where I met her mother. Well, the restaurant was now a convenience store, but I think she appreciated the gesture all the same. Teenagers can be difficult to read. 
Flipping through the photos, I could see what the cashier meant. Each one had a dark, blurry mass hovering over the same spot, near the top left corner. It wasn’t too distracting, though. There were still beautiful landscape shots of the sea and the mountains. Kayla had requested I take a snapshot of her at practically every location we visited, so she had plenty of shots to choose from and could block out the spot with a frame. 
“Yeah, I’ll take ‘em,” I told the guy. He rang them up with a 25% discount, which I thought was a pretty good deal. While I was out, I bought some party supplies and another camera for Kayla’s sweet sixteen that was fast approaching. I wanted to make a big production out of it, like I knew her mom would have. It had been four years since we lost Lisa in a car crash, and while it hadn’t gotten easier, we had fallen into a rhythm. 
When I got home, I handed the pictures to Kayla, who was watching reruns of The X-Files, and told her about the defect.
“Did it ruin any of my pictures?” she asked, rifling through them without waiting for an answer. “Nope, I still look super cute. Thanks, Dad!” 
“Of course. Let me know if you need any frames.”
She had already resumed watching TV. 

###

“Happy birthday, kiddo!” I beamed late Saturday morning after Kayla made her way downstairs. Per her request, a birthday brunch awaited her: French toast, bacon, eggs, the whole nine. 
Kayla scrunched up her nose. “Dad, you don’t have to call me ‘kiddo.’ I am not a kid. Especially now.”
“You’ll always be my kid,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t matter how old you get. Eat up!” I handed her a plate with a hefty serving of everything.
“Thanks, Dad.” Kayla put the plate down on the table and hugged me. “I love you.”
A lump grew in my throat. “Love you, too, kiddo. Let me get a picture of you.” 
She made a goofy face for the camera. With her shoulder-length auburn hair and hazel eyes, she looked so much like her mother. 
After brunch, I handed over her gift. She unwrapped the small box with the same eagerness she had shown as a little girl. I snapped another picture as she lifted a necklace. 
“Oh, wow,” murmured Kayla.
It was Lisa’s favorite necklace, a gold heart pendant beset with a cluster of diamonds on a long chain. She wore it nearly every day after her mother gave it to her, and she always intended to gift it to Kayla on her sixteenth birthday, too. 
Kayla immediately put on the necklace, asking me to fasten it. I had to fiddle with the clasp for a second; it was always getting stuck when Lisa wore it. 
“Take another picture of me with it on,” Kayla suggested, and this time smiled in a more traditional pose. 
“What time are your friends getting here?” I asked. 
“Eight o’clock. Hannah might come a little earlier.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have a couple of pizzas delivered around 8:30.” I handed over the camera. “Take lots of pictures!” 
“I will,” she promised. 

###

A few weeks after Kayla’s birthday, she returned the Kodak to me. I promised to develop it that weekend so she could make copies for her friends. But when I picked up the photos, I was told again that a developing error had affected each one. 
Trying to hide my annoyance, I flipped through the pictures. In the same place as last time, there was a dark smudge. It wasn’t identical, though. This one was bigger and looked more defined, less like a blob.
I frowned. That made no sense. I looked at the negatives, holding them up to the fluorescent lights. The negatives seemed fine, though maybe it was just hard to spot the defect. 
“Are you sure your photo machine is clean?” I asked the cashier, a different guy than last time. “No offense, it’s just that this has happened twice in a row.”
“We wipe it down every night,” he said. “I haven’t seen any other photos with those marks. Sorry.” 
“That’s alright,” I said. I paid for the photos (this cashier didn’t offer me a discount) and left, hoping Kayla wouldn’t be upset.
Of course, I have a great kid. Kayla barely shrugged when she looked at the photos.
“It actually looks kinda cool, like a ghost,” she said. 
“Still,” I said. “Let me know which ones you want copies of. I’ll get the negatives developed somewhere else next weekend, so you should be good.”

###

When I went to pick up the copies, I was told the same thing: each photo was flawed. 
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, looking at the photos. If I hadn’t gone to a different store, I would have thought I was being pranked. This time, the photos looked like they had been double-exposed with a person. A sudden chill struck me—it looked even more like a ghost than before.
This was getting ridiculous. I purchased another disposable camera right there and took random pictures in the parking lot until the roll was filled, then took it back inside to be developed.
“Um, do you want to wait for it?” the bewildered cashier asked. I glanced at her nametag. Caroline. “I can page you when it’s done.”
“Yes, please.”
About an hour later, I heard my name over the speakers and rushed to the photo counter. Caroline was waiting for me with a set of photos, still warm from the printer. 
“How did you do this?”  she asked, sounding interested. 
I looked at the photos and nearly dropped them. Each picture had a ghostly figure, clearly humanoid. I squinted my eyes. It looked like the figure had an arm raised, pointing at the camera. I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at the negatives. They were normal. 
“Develop them again, please,” I said shakily, handing the negatives back to Caroline. 
“Again? All of them? Same size?”
“Yes. And yes. I’ll wait here.” 
###
 Another hour later, I looked over the new photos with Caroline, her face pinched with fear. The figure was there. Clearer. Human. Raising a finger and pointing it toward the camera. Mouth open in a wail. 
“I think you may be haunted,” Caroline said in a hushed tone. I almost laughed; it sounded so absurd. But the proof was there. 
I looked at Caroline. “Do you sell those new, uh, disposable digital cameras here?” 
“Yeah. They’re right there.” She pointed to a display behind me. 
I looked at the package. I had never used one of these. The package promised “Picture Preview” and “Delete” features that “Lets you retake shots!” 
Caroline rang me up. I tore open the packaging right there and turned on the camera. 
“May I?” I asked, raising the camera.
“Um,” she said. “I’d rather you didn’t. Not of me, I mean. I don’t want to see a ghost hanging over my shoulder.”
“Fair enough.” 
I took a photo of a counter display instead. Looking at the image preview, I breathed a sigh of relief. No ghostly specter haunted the screen. I considered switching to digital and ignoring what I had seen in those other photos. 
To be safe, I took another twenty or so random shots and asked Caroline to develop the prints and CD. I couldn’t see the pictures as she processed them, but I saw her face fall when she looked at the printed results.
“You’re kidding,” I protested. 
She shook her head, not looking me in the eye, and thrust the photos at me. A pit of dread grew in my stomach as I looked through them. The figure was clearer. Clear enough that I could start to make out details, like the necklace she wore. A necklace I recognized, because I gave it to my daughter only weeks ago.

###

I paid for an armful of cameras and rushed out of the store. Why was an image of my daughter haunting our photos? Was it a message from the future, warning me of some terrible fate? I couldn’t stop staring at the figure’s face. It wasn’t defined enough that I could make out my daughter’s exact features, but the resemblance was clear. Her mouth was open in a scream. What did it mean? 
There was only one way to find out, and that was to develop more photos. I sat in my car, taking a picture of the steering wheel over and over until all the cameras except one were full. 
My BlackBerry rang as I was striding back toward the store.
“Dad? Where are you?” 
“Sorry, honey. I’m still out shopping.” 
“Oh. What are we doing for dinner?”
“There’s some leftover lasagne in the fridge. Or you could make a frozen pizza.” 
“Okaaaay.” 
“I’ll be home soon. Love you, honey.”
“You too.”
“No. No way,” said Caroline as she saw me approach. 
“Caroline, please listen to me. That’s my daughter in those photos. I know it is, because of the necklace she’s wearing. And every time I develop a set of photos, her image gets clearer. I have to know why. I have to.” I dumped the cameras on the counter.
Caroline bit her lip. Her eyes looked terrified. 
I continued to press my case. “This has nothing to do with you, you’re safe, I promise. Whatever’s happening, it’s happening to my family. You can help my family, Caroline, please.”
That seemed to work. She exhaled heavily. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll develop them.” 
“How long will this take?”
She looked down at the pile of cameras on the counter, then looked dolefully at some customers who had just approached. “Uh, we’re closing soon. It’ll have to be tomorrow. You can leave your number, and I’ll make sure someone calls you when they’re finished.” 
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I understood. It wasn’t up to this hourly worker to keep the store open late for my plight. I wrote down my number on a scrap of paper and left Caroline to do her work. 
###
I waited in tense anticipation all the next morning, a Sunday. I knew the store opened at 8 AM. By noon, I was pacing. 
“Dad, you’re acting really weird,” Kayla told me, munching on a bowl of cereal. I smiled weakly. 
Half an hour later, I called the store to ask about my photos. 
“Oh yeah, those are ready,” the voice on the phone said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “They’re so creepy! You did a good job on the effects.” 
“Thanks,” I mumbled and hung up. I called out to Kayla, “I’m going to the store. You’re not going anywhere, are you?” 
“No, I’m having a lazy Sunday,” she called back. “Please don’t tell me you have a million chores for me.”
“Not today, kiddo. Just stay put.” And I was out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I was at the photo counter, pretending to the cashier—not Caroline—that I had created the ghostly effect for a contest. As soon as I paid for the photos, I tore through them. As I had suspected, each set held an image more pronounced than the last. But as the image became clearer, I realized it wasn’t Kayla in the pictures. 
It was Lisa, with a look of terror on her face. Mouth stretched open in an unspoken plea. One hand pointed at the camera lens; the other clutched her necklace. The necklace that now hung around my precious daughter’s neck. 

###

I sped home, desperate to get back to Kayla. I didn’t know what was wrong with the necklace, but it was clear that my wife was trying to warn me about it. 
As I drove, I thought about my wife’s family. Lisa, dead in a car crash. Her mother, lost to cancer before forty. Both of them had worn the necklace. Was I crazy? Or was it coming for Kayla next? 
When I got home, I burst through the door. “Kayla! Where are you?”
“In here, Dad,” she called from the den. “What’s up?”
“Um,” I panted. I had gotten myself so worked up on the way home that I hadn’t even considered what to tell my daughter. Sweetie, your mother is haunting us through photographs, trying to warn us about her necklace. That would go over well. 
I walked into the den. Kayla looked at me expectantly.
“I was wondering,” I said slowly, “if…well…you know your necklace?”
“Um, yeah.”
I thought quickly. “That clasp has always been a little sticky. I could get it put on a new chain with a better clasp.”
“Yeah? You wouldn’t mind? Because my hair keeps getting stuck in this one, too.” 
“Absolutely.” I smiled in relief. “And it might be nice to add onto it. We could add a pearl gemstone in the middle to signify your birth month.”
Kayla’s hand flew to her necklace. I tried not to flinch. 
“Yeah? Don’t you think Mom would have wanted me to keep it the same, though?” 
“No,” I said. “I think she would have wanted you to make it your own.”
“That does sound pretty,” Kayla said with hesitation. “It wouldn’t be too expensive?”
I laughed in relief. “No, it would be fine. I can take it to a jeweler. Why don’t you give it to me, and I’ll take it somewhere right now?” 
“Right now? Wow, Dad. Calm down.” Kayla smiled to show she was teasing. “Can you unclasp it for me?”
I felt like my hands were shaking as I did so. Once it was safely in my possession, I went and flipped through the phone book to find a custom jeweler. 

###
​
“It’ll take at least a month,” the jeweler told me. “Possibly six weeks. Do you want to leave the original with me for reference?”
“No,” I practically shouted, then regretted my sharp tone. “It’s, um, very important to me. I’d like to keep it. Can you take photos for reference?” 
“Of course, if you prefer,” the jeweler said politely, if a little coldly. 
The whole thing was expensive, but any price was worth it. 
While the jeweler made a copy, I tried to destroy the original. Gold is a difficult metal to destroy. Cursed gold, I would find, is impossible.
Using a pair of wire cutters I kept in the garage, I tried cutting the chain into pieces. It wouldn’t cut. I went at it with a blowtorch; it glowed red hot but didn’t melt. Growing desperate, I took a large hammer to it and smashed it on my work table. It retained its shape. 
I buried it in the backyard. The next morning, it was back on my dresser. 
By the time I got a phone call from the jeweler that the copy was ready, I still hadn’t figured out how to destroy the damn thing. I considered giving it away, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of passing on the curse to someone else. Lisa wouldn’t want that either, I knew. 
Kayla was thrilled with the look of the new necklace and never had any idea that she wasn’t wearing the original. I felt satisfied that, at the very least, I succeeded in keeping my daughter safe.
With no better ideas in mind, I put on the necklace. Once around my neck, I knew this was the only answer. The necklace could take my life, but it would be safe from anyone else. 
I still had one camera left from my last purchase. I took a photo of myself, then took the camera to the store. I told the cashier there would only be one photo on the roll. 
When I picked up the photo, I smiled to see it. There was my beautiful wife, no longer wearing the necklace and no longer wailing, but standing behind me with her hand on my shoulder and a smile on her face.

                                                                        💀💀💀

Bio: Jennifer Peaslee (she/her) is a dark fiction writer with an affinity for fairy tales and folklore. She lives in Atlanta with her cat, Trouble, and runs bleedingtypewriter.page, a community for new and emerging writers.
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