BrisaStory Original · Ghost Story

The Last Photo Was Taken Tomorrow

The camera cost me RM40.

That should have been the first warning.

It was sitting inside a glass cabinet between an MP3 player and three Nokia phones at a second-hand electronics shop. Silver. Scratched. Canon. 2007.

Exactly the kind of camera people were suddenly buying again because apparently we had collectively decided that terrible flash was more romantic than whatever our phones were doing.

The shopkeeper watched me turn it over.

“Still works.”

“How much?”

“Forty.”

I laughed.

He did not.

The battery somehow still had charge. When I turned it on, the lens pushed itself outward with a tiny mechanical whine. The screen flickered.

46 photos.

“Someone forgot to delete these,” I said.

The shopkeeper looked away.

I should have noticed that too.

The camera had been waiting in the glass cabinet like it knew who would buy it.

The first 45 photos were normal

I looked through them on the train home. A birthday cake. A cat sleeping on a sofa. Someone’s mother beside a Christmas tree. Blurry fireworks. A plate of noodles. A teenage boy taking a mirror selfie with hair that could only have existed between 2007 and 2010.

Nothing creepy.

Actually, it felt intimate. Someone’s forgotten life sitting inside a camera nobody wanted anymore.

Then I reached photo 46.

It showed my bedroom.

Not a bedroom like mine. My bedroom. My black desk, my chair, the stupid lamp I bought because TikTok convinced me warm lighting would improve my life, my blue shirt over the chair and the takeaway cup beside my laptop.

I zoomed in.

The timestamp said 05 OCT 2026, 02:14.

I checked my phone.

October 4. 11:38 p.m.

There was an obvious explanation. The camera date was wrong. Someone had similar furniture. Coincidences only become frightening when your brain arranges them into a story.

So I went home, put the camera on my desk and deliberately moved the blue shirt from the chair to the bed.

Then I looked at photo 46 again.

The shirt was on the bed.

I dropped the camera. The screen stayed on.

Photo 46.

Same bedroom. Same timestamp. Different shirt.

Before you continue

What would you do?

• Throw the camera away.
• Delete the photo.
• Stay awake until 2:14 a.m.
• Obviously keep investigating because survival instincts are optional.

I chose the fourth one.

At 12:41 a.m., I placed a bottle on the desk. The bottle appeared in the photo. I removed it. The bottle disappeared.

I opened the curtains. In the photograph, the curtains opened.

The picture was not showing the future exactly. It was showing my bedroom at 2:14 a.m. tomorrow, but updating whenever I changed something now.

Like the future was waiting.

The person in the mirror

At 1:03 a.m., I noticed the mirror beside my bedroom door. Most of it was hidden by darkness, but not all of it.

There was someone reflected in the bottom corner.

Bare feet.

I looked behind me.

Nothing.

I zoomed further into the photo. The person was standing just outside my bedroom.

The first time I saw her, she was only a reflection. That was the version of the story I wanted to believe.

I locked the door.

In the picture, the door was closed.

Good.

Then the image flickered.

The door was open.

At 1:27 a.m., I called my friend. No answer. I sent him the video I had made of the camera screen.

me: bro call me NOW

The message showed delivered. Then he started typing. Stopped. Started again.

where did u get that camera

I called him immediately.

“Don’t use it.”

“What?”

“Don’t take a picture with it.”

“I haven’t.”

There was silence.

Then he said, “Check the old photos again.”