Black gloved hands snipped a pair of long plastic tongs impatiently. The room was filled with a deep red light which made it increasingly hard to see no matter how much your eyes attempted to adjust. The tongs ever so gently clamped the side of a developing photo which was floating in a chemical bath. The photograph was gingerly lifted where it was pegged above the tray.

There were several long lines of photographs all hanging up to develop, each one in different stages of processing. Most of the photos were of picturesque landscapes. Rolling hills, close ups of tree's bark which were in the process of peeling. In some of the photos there was a female figure posing for the camera.

The tongs clamped a few more times causing the soft plastic clicking to echo around the room. 'Whoa, there are so many photos. Way more than I imagined,' a young sounding male voice hushed.

A large male was the one holding the tongs, he gently laid the implement down on a nearby table. 'You would be surprised how many people get photos developed these days.' The two of them stood in the darkness their features obscured by the filtered light. One figure was taller, broader his posture straight and his presence imposing. The other figure much smaller, that of a young teen. His shoulders slightly hunched.

'Why?'

The other male shrugged his shoulders. 'Some people see it as a whole process, it feels more intimate for them as a photographer. They may not have the ability to develop them, so they come to us.' The man picked up another photograph pinning it up. The younger man's eyes watched intently as the older man continued to speak. 'Some habits die hard.'.

The younger man scrutinised some of the photos, 'She comes up a lot in this set.' He remarked. The older man looked towards the photos and offered another shrug, 'looks like she was his wife maybe?' The younger one took another step forward pressing his hands on the desk in front of him using it to balance himself. He investigated a couple of the photographs as if inspecting them waiting for a hidden message to come alive and smack him in the face.

The other man let out a huff, 'you will learn not to look into them too much trust me.'

'Have you ever developed something weird?' The younger mans eyes fixed onto his mentor. This question seemed to stump the other man. He let the silence hang in the air uncomfortably for a few beats before finally letting out a long-exhausted breath.

'I guess there are some you could cal weird. I don't see them all that often to really care. I once had this fellow, an odd bloke he was. He said he was a photographer and he enjoyed wildlife photography. Fine we me I thought. He said he would typically develop them himself but that he was travelling and wanted to have this set developed. Just to make sure he captured everything he wanted. That isn't too strange however, when I started to develop the images, I noticed that every single one of them were what appears to be roadkill.' The younger man physically cringed at the idea.

'Now look,' he continued, 'I am not one to judge but this bloke he had a strange attitude about him and every single one of those photos were a mangled mess. You could hardly tell what you were looking at, it was all a dark brown muddy collection of flesh and fur.' There was a moment of silence as the younger man tried to comprehend what was just said.

'Did you end up telling anyone?' The question caused a laugh from the other man. He shook his head. 'Nah mate, coppers up here have more to worry about than some weirdo photographer who thinks he's onto the next best thing.' There was another beat of silence between the two men. The stifling hot room seemed to suck the moisture out of the air.

'I've had people hand me film and they will swear on their life they captured something weird.' The other man suddenly continued. He said the words as if he were trying to put ait quotes around them. 'That happens a lot out here. Especially when you head more into the bush.' The younger man perked up for a moment.

'I've heard of that before. From my mum, when we used to live on the farm. We were so removed from everyone; it was peaceful but sometimes there was a strange feeling. Mum would go out into the back paddock for a few hours because she swore, she saw something. The dogs taking off at her side. Never saw nothing though.'

The older man mused, 'isolation can do that to people.' He gestured to the photographs in front of them.

Taking the prompt, the younger man grabbed a photo that was lazily bobbing near him. He pinned it up, his eyes lased focused on the face in front of him, the same woman across the set of photos. This time the woman was looking over her shoulder, her long hair caught in the wind. The scenery behind her blurred and dark as if she was caught whilst cars rushed past.