“Her name was Vanessa Peterson, and she haunts this very darkroom!” He exclaimed, annoyed at Allison’s lack of response.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” She said calmly.  “They are the fevered workings of untidy minds.” Then resumed making her contact sheets. That was early in the semester when she was certain that the class would be an easy ‘A.’

Now, she figured,  she would be lucky to barely pass with a ‘B+.’ She considered her professor to be a ‘poet.’ Anyone who was not a scientist was ascribed that epithet in her mind. She knew this was why she wasn’t getting an effortless ‘A’ in a touchy-feely class like photography. As the semester wore one, the class became a millstone about her neck. She’d soared through all of her science and math requirements, and only the electives remained. She had only three weeks to complete her photo essays and raise her present ‘C.’ Allison was sure that a ‘B+’ wouldn’t endanger her scholarship. But she chaffed at the notion of getting the first ‘B’ she’d gotten in her life from a poet who believed in ghosts.

Once the trays were set up in the sink, she peeled a piece of matte photographic paper from the box she’d place on the counter earlier. She didn’t even bother with exposing the paper under the enlarger. She knew that when Vanessa wanted to communicate, no matter what negatives Allison wanted to print, Vanessa’s images would be the only ones that developed.

“Of course, I feel bad about murdering her, but she was going to tell the police that I killed the guy in cold blood. If I got arrested for murder, I’d definitely lose my scholarship. I might not even be able to finish school. Why did you send me there? Did you know what was going to happen? Will I get caught?” Allison watched as the silver on the photo paper clumped and an image formed. With the tongs, she transferred the paper to the finishing tray and then into the water bath. This was the hardest part, waiting the process. As the moments passed, Allison pondered her journey to this point. When she got her extra job as a data entry technician, they assigned her to second shift. With classes all day and her first job, the only time she’d have to devote to the darkroom was late night after her shift had ended. The library annex and the darkroom would be empty then. She’d admitted that she preferred having the space to herself rather than being elbow to elbow with the other students. More than a few times she’d accidently been touched by the other women. She was mortified by the contact, but she’d learned several years ago how to control the tendency to have outbursts when she was touched by strangers. Although there was no danger of it happening again during her late-night sessions, she had still felt a presence; someone staring at her in the half-light of the photo lab. She only felt it when she was developing prints. Allison had actually been afraid to turn around and see what was watching her so intently. Despite herself, one night she called out Vanessa’s name. Immediately embarrassed, she upbraided herself and returned to her work. But then it happened. The photo paper she’d drawn from the water bath showed a beautiful young woman staring directly into the camera with her head thrown back mid-laugh, her long neck arched. It made Allison ache as she gazed at the picture. It took her a moment to realize that she hadn’t taken the photo. Never in her life had she accepted anything so unquestioningly when she whispered, “Vanessa, is this you?” The next print out of the water bath stunned and then saddened Allison. The photo was black and white but the pool of blood around Vanessa’s head was vivid against her light-colored hair. The face that had caused Allison to swell with desire in the previous photo now looked grotesque. Her wide-open eyes pierced the camera lens, and her mouth was frozen in an oblique ‘O.’ It was evident that she’d died in agony. Allison looked away. She’d had only three more photos to develop that night. She put the next exposed sheet into the tray of developer, waited, and let her curiosity lead her. Allison questioned the entity, “Who killed you? Did you know him or was he a stranger who surprised you here?”