Flash forward to a year later. My mom had gotten into photography (her current vocation), and my family had discovered the magic of digital photography. My mind was blown when I got my first camera: it seemed like such a leap from the disposable ones I had used all of my life, and being able to double-check my pictures on the screen seemed like such a luxury. I went crazy with that camera when I first got it.
My family had just happened to find ourselves in Midway that summer (which is only about forty five minutes outside of Savannah), and as we ate out lunch in a restaurant we found off of the road, I suddenly remembered the ghost tour I had gone on the previous summer, and the story of the cemetery full of the deceased children. I suggested we stop by on the way out of town, and my parents, in no hurry to get back hoe, agreed that that might be fun, so after asking for some directions, we pulled in front of the crumbling wall of the boneyard.
I really hadn't expected anything to happen. I have always found cemeteries to be hauntingly beautiful, not scary, and with my new toy, my only intentions were to get some photographs of the old graves. As my family went off one way, I wandered, all of the way back in the cemetery, snapping away. There was a row that I paused in front of, and began to walk. I was idly admiring the headstones, when suddenly, I came across one that I liked especially well. It was old, but unlike the others, this one had roses carved into the epitaph. Her name had been Louisa, and she had died when she was only seventeen.
I raised the camera to my right eye (My mom had warned me to never keep the screen and use it as a viewfinder, or else my battery would drain faster.), I focused the picture, and click. There was a slight whirring sound as the shot was taken, and the camera processed the image. I lowered the camera from my face, and automatically pressed the PLAY button to review the picture. However, when it appeared, I found that the image was too blurry, even though I had tried really, really carefully to keep my hands still. With a frown, I tried again, and got the same result. This repeated for about seven shots, and I was getting frustrated, because all of my other photos that I had taken that day had come out crystal clear, and I was positive that I hadn't been moving the camera.
I found my mom, who was photographing herself, and told her that something must have been wrong with my camera, because every single picture was coming out blurry. To show her, I aimed the camera at the nearest tombstone, and snapped a shot, but this time, when I pulled it up o the screen, the image looked perfect. Surprised, I tried again, and again, it was a beautiful shot.
I apologized, and walked away, thinking that maybe it had just been a temporary fluke. I still really wanted a picture of Louisa's grave, though, so I retraced my steps back to the rose-imprinted stone, and once more, I aimed and shot.
I shouldn't have been so upset to find that the pictures were blurry again.
By this point, I was starting to get a weird feeling...I knew that something was off, and my intuition was very strongly telling me that it wasn't my camera. On a whim, I went back to the first blurry picture, and began to scroll through each one after it, examining each picture with a different curiosity. When I got to one in particular, I froze, and my eyes widened at what I was looking at.
Was this Louisa's ghost, or another girl lost in the graves, who had just become a ghostly presence? Was she one of the yellow fever victims? Did she realize what the device was that I was holding in my hand, and is that why she's smiling?
It has remained one of the coolest experiences of my life, and it was something that I just wanted to share! She certainly looks like she wants to make her presence known!
Amy
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