On the right night of the right moon, when the veil between the worlds is thin, you can step inside a photograph. Go from here, to there. It was an old tale, shared over campfires and at the end of wakes. Uncle Jack told it best. Sem smiled, remembering his gentle voice.
His sister’s version was dramatic. Of course.
“Watch where you stand, they’re snatchers!” she warned. “Stay near photos of people you like. Better to be grabbed by the good ones, and not the meanies.”
Sem looked up at the waxing gibbous moon. Behind him, Jack’s memorial picture shimmered.
His sister’s version was dramatic. Of course.
“Watch where you stand, they’re snatchers!” she warned. “Stay near photos of people you like. Better to be grabbed by the good ones, and not the meanies.”
Sem looked up at the waxing gibbous moon. Behind him, Jack’s memorial picture shimmered.
