Click, Click, Clatter, Clunk. 

In school, I was called the Polaroid Kid - shortened as P.K.

Everywhere I went, I took my old-fashioned Polaroid camera. Homecoming, dances,  graduation: the district click of my camera was always there, ingraining the moment forever into the material of the polaroid. 

I never got to be the one in the spotlight. My attempt to become a basketball star in Freshman year predictably ended in humiliation. Besides sports, I was not talented enough to become an artist or an engineer, or a scientist. All I had was just a mere interest, not a talent. That was why I remained a quiet, unknown kid in the school. 

When I finally graduated high school, I figured the next four years of college would be more of the same: me and my camera, not quite a societal outcast, but not quite a “normie” either.  

On the first day of the summer before college, I was lying on my bed, delicately cleaning my old camera. After polishing the camera, I had nothing left to do. The next time I opened my eyelids, I heard a familiar noise. 

Click, Click, Clatter, Clunk. 

A photo was slowly printing from my camera, sitting innocently on the desk. My heart started thudding against my ribs, every inch of my skin prickling with goosebumps as I stared. How had that happened? After a few agonizing moments, I slowly approached and picked up the photo. 

I felt the color drain from my face. The photo was of me, lying on the bathroom floor, a large bruise on the side of my head. When was this taken? I hastily put the photo down, my entire body shaking.

I barely slept the rest of the night, unable to even glance at the photo on my desk. It was still sitting there when the sun finally rose, and I hurried towards the bathroom without even glancing at it. 

Looking into the mirror, I faced myself with dark circles under my eyes and dull-looking skin. Sighing, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. 

I was reaching for the bathroom handle when I slipped. Everything went black for a moment, and then I was . . . lying on the floor of the bathroom, bashed my head into the sink. My temple was throbbing, and I could practically feel the purplish bruise starting to form where my head made contact with the porcelain. 

Exactly the same thing happened as what I saw in the photo that was printed. At that instant, a doorbell rang. 

“Hi, I’m Erin, my family and I just moved next door, and momma wanted me to say hello! Here you go!” A little girl, only about five years old, with orangish-brown hair was standing in front of me, handing me a strawberry-flavored lollipop. Her hair looked like autumn leaves, reflected by the sunshine. 

Trying to maintain some semblance of calm, I thanked her with a forced smile, watching the girl skip away happily into the morning sunshine. 

After Erin was gone, I silently gazed down at the lollipop, dumbfounded. I was desperately trying to understand all of it- the photo, falling down in the bathroom, and every single detail. My head was still throbbing from the injury, and I couldn’t avoid spending the whole day in a complete daze. When night fell, I knew that there wasn’t any chance of me sleeping.

Midnight approached once again. 

Click, Click, Clatter, Clunk. 

My heart nearly stopped beating. Exhaling deeply, my trembling hands grasped the polaroid, and I gazed down at the freshly-printed photo. This time, I wasn’t in it. Instead, there was a girl with orangish-brown hair. Erin. 

But who was the man next to her?

In the photo, a strange man was leading Erin away from her house. The figure’s face was blurred, unrecognizable. It was hard to see Erin’s expression too, but the girl had the body language of someone who was frightened. I stared at the photo for a long time, but before I knew it, the exhaustion from the previous night claimed me, and I fell asleep.

I woke with a start early the next morning, my mind dazed and disoriented at the burning sunlight coming through the window. I saw Mr. Green, Erin’s father, wearing a gray suit, heading out from the green roof house. He looked busy. 

The events of the previous night flashed through my mind. Who’s the man in the photo? Erin’s babysitter, or her relative? I had no idea, but I fought down the fear rising in my chest. It was probably a relative, I assured myself. 

It was a peaceful day. Settling down in my room to play games, I was able to calm myself, and the events of the last two nights were nearly forgotten. Until I heard the screaming. In alarm, I ran to the window, watching in horror as the Green family was crying and wailing in their front yard.

“Erin!! Where are you??” 

At that moment, the polaroid swept through my head. ‘A man taking Erin…’ The scene in the photo came to reality just like what happened to me in the bathroom. The polaroid was actually printing the photos that forecast the future. With this realization, my hands trembled.  

If I had paid more attention to the photo and gotten help right away, would that little girl have been taken? I felt sick to my stomach.

That night, another photo was printed. Click, Click, Clatter, Clunk. 

I retrieved the photo breathlessly. I was frozen for a moment. 

This time, Erin was locked up in a dark, cramped room. Her hands were bound with rope, and her eyes were terrified. 

Next to Erin, there was a huge table with all sorts of mechanical tools scattered around. My best guess: an auto mechanic. I searched through the internet to find out all the auto mechanics. Fortunately, there were only five auto mechanics in the town. As much as it panicked me to think about what could happen if I waited, I knew that I needed to wait for another photo from the camera. 

Biting my nails, I checked on the phone, looked at the polaroid, checked on the phone again, and finally heard the sound. 

Click, Click, Clatter, Clunk. 

I hastily retrieved the photo. Erin was still locked up in the storage. But, the scene was slightly changed. I could see a car, painted red, parked in the storage. I looked closely at the photo. A red car...with a small scratch...license plate starting with number two...The car looked shockingly familiar. 

I dashed down the stairs and headed to the garage. There was the exact same car. It was my dad’s. What is happening? Dad couldn’t have done this . . . could he? 

I had no choice but to ask. 

“Dad, have you had any issue with your car recently?” I asked casually. 

“How did you know? That old junk is making a lot of trouble. I’m planning to visit the repair shop tomorrow,” dad replied while devouring a bowl of corn soup. 

There was a ‘click’ in my mind. Mystery resolved. It was like a chance given by God if there is one. Pretending like there’s nothing wrong going on, I told my dad that I would go to the repair shop with him. 

I’m brittle. When I arrived at the auto mechanic, I quickly took a look at the garage. I looked exactly the same as what I saw in the photo. Blowing a whistle, I glanced at the mechanic; he was an old man who seemed very kind. That made me shiver for a second. I secretly called the police. And it’s obvious what happened afterward. 

Case closed. The crime was committed by a man who lost his daughter a few years ago. His days were miserable after then, and when he first saw Erin, all he could think about was his own daughter. 

For the first time, I was the one in the spotlight. I was mentioned in the town newspaper as a hero who saved a little girl from danger. But, I didn’t care about all the recognition. 

What really touched my heart was Erin’s teary smile I saw right after she was rescued. I was so glad that she was safe. Her smile was back on her face. That was all I cared about. On the same day, I threw my old polaroid away.