The Conduit Chapter 1: The Speed Graphic
- mark-french1
- May 22
- 16 min read
Updated: Oct 4
North Bay, ON: 2023
Tiffany Sellers raced down the street calling after the last bus that would take her home. She waved her hands trying hard to hold on to the loose leaf sheets that threatened to leave her grasp in the wake of exhaust fumes.
The bus gained speed and an errant Ruffles bag tumbled down the sidewalk. She slowed, her flip flops slapping the pavement as her hope for getting home on time merged with afternoon traffic.
“Ah shit,” she said, doubling over to catch her breath.
As she stood she met the glance of an elderly man walking a terrier. Tiffany realized she was still in the middle of the sidewalk. “Sorry.” she said as she moved aside.
He nodded.
She looked again at the bus as it became a white speck in the distance, as if staring at it would somehow summon it back. Resigned that she would either have to walk or wait forty-five minutes for the next bus, Tiffany stuffed her papers inside her backpack, adjusted it, and started moving along the sidewalk toward home.
Cassells Street was a main vein of the city, so at least she wasn’t that stranded.
Still pretty stupid to miss the bus. You had to stop and take pictures of that flower bed.
The community garden was starting to bloom and there was a beautiful Iris that her iPhone just couldn’t seem to capture the essence of. Tiffany begged her dad for a new model before the school year started, embarrassed at her already obsolete model 13 Plus. Dad had just looked at her. He ran a hand through his white beard and simply stated. “It’s not in the cards TiTi.” Which is what he always said instead of “I can’t afford that TiTi.”
Her bag started to pinch her shoulder blades and dig into her collar bone. She dragged her feet. Why was it so hot already? It was only the start of April. Tiffany huffed and tried again to shift her load to a more comfortable position. Failing that, she slipped the backpack off, unzipped it with a groan of annoyance, and rearranged the contents to try and ease her burden. Sweat dropped from her forehead. Her hair felt like a weight. She rolled a hair tie from her wrist and made a ponytail. She knew her hair must look like a frizzy mess, but she didn’t care. She felt like she was going to burst into flames.
The hum of a nearby AC unit dronned into her thoughts. She glanced in its direction. Her eyes settled on the vibrant colours of a white canvass sign stretched above a storefront door. A man with a chin beard stood on a tiny island with a telescope held to his eye. The eye bulged out of the other end to take in a treasure chest that was directly in front of him. The sign read P.J’s Treasure Hunt “Why does he need the telescope then, if the chest is right in front of him?” Tiffany said. Truth be told she didn’t much care what the answer was as long as the air conditioning was on and no one got mad at her for wearing a backpack inside.
She pushed through the door and was mercifully met by a blast of icy air. It cooled her temper and relieved her aching feet. Her iPhone let out a birdsong trill as she entered. It was Dad asking if she was still on for dinner tomorrow. She laced her fingers behind the phone and used her thumbs to type out a quick reply, brown furrowing as she hit send only to find a send error appear underneath. She glanced around P.J’s treasure hunt. A tin monkey toy with crashing symbols regarded her from a shelf, Cheshire Cat grin faded from time. It was surrounded by other dusty toys from her grandpa’s age. She looked closer at the grey cinder block walls, maybe the building was old, did lead paint block cell signals? debated leaving, imagining that this was the first thread of a story that ended up on Forensic Files, but she was just starting to feel like a human again. Tiffany couldn’t bear the thought of going out into the wave of heat again. Plus she was a sucker for a good thrift, and this place, creepy monkey aside, looked like a good place to score.
She meandered through the isles running her hands along the metal shelves, or pulling at the fringe of a leather jacket. She moved through the musty waft of air as dust motes glided through the beams of sun spilling through the windows, landing in slashes of light on the floor. Tiffany inhaled the smell and smiled. It smelled like a Second Hand Shop, a proper one. Nothing like the sanitized cloy of the ‘vintage’ stores she’d been into during her last trip to Toronto. A cut off denim vest for sixty dollars? Gimme a break.
She turned down and aisle and stopped short. Her eyes wide with surprise as they crawled over the black lifeless lense that stared back at her. Though the glassy darkness seemed to regard her as she walked toward it. She felt pulled, the compulsion of a good find worming want into her psyche. Any concern for price was destroyed and replaced by the images of where she would put the piece when she got home. How she would look wielding it. The floorboards creaked. As she got closer Tiffany could see the telltale signs of wear and tear. She moved a few smaller models aside to take in the one that caught her eye, which seemed almost stuffed to the back of the shelf. She almost missed an honest to God Press camera that was actually used. She couldn't imagine what kind of sights and stories went along with it. She placed her hands on her hips, regarding it. Tiffany couldn’t believe she was actually looking at a genuine Speed Graphic camera. She ran her thumb across the nameplate and felt the electric charge of history pass through her like a current. She got goosebumps. A shiver worked its way up her spine and passed her shoulders. The camera was heavy. She grunted as she peered through the viewfinder. She locked eyes with a woman staring at her. Tiffany gasped and set the camera down like it was on fire.
“You’ve got a good eye,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry I–” Tiffany searched for the words, unsure why her heart was racing as fast as it was. She felt flushed, like she was caught watching porn in class instead of just looking through an old camera lens, I mean isn’t that what they were for? “I couldn’t help myself– she offered in her too-small voice. The woman nodded, her earrings dancing at the end of their small chains and the many necklaces she wore jingled off each other like wind chimes.
“That’s a camera with a history right there. Bulky thing though. You sure you don’t want something newer? I’ve got some Nikons I can show you, a few Canons too. Kids your age love Canon, makes them feel like a real photographer.”
“Oh no I-I really can’t get anything like that,” Tiffany said. “I’m a photography student see, and I missed the bus home, and well it’s so nice and cool in here that I wanted to stop in just to get cooled off, but then there was a lot of cool stuff in here and I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to look. I’ve still got a long way to go, but I guess if I stay in here a little longer I probably could catch the next bus considering it’s,” she checked her wrist watch, “almost quarter to five."
This seemed to perk the woman up. Until that point she had been regarding Tiffany with a kind of dismissive exasperation.
“Say, that’s a real Timex.” She said stabbing a finger at Tiffany. “You’ve got a type Missy. The 50’s is your decade. The woman scrutinised Tiffany for a moment longer, her eyes almost squeezed shut behind the thick plastic glasses. She puckered her lips slightly in contemplation. She threw back the sleeve of her airy purple kimono and extended a hand tipped with blood red press on nails “Petunia Jane Carter. Proprietor and head of sales.”
Tiffany grinned, wiping her palm on her denim shorts before shaking. “You’re P.J,” she said.
Petunia bowed low enough to show off the matching purple headband that ran across her mushroom grey hair. “The one and only. Listen Missy, I’ll level with you. That camera hasn’t been fired up in decades. If you’re a serious photographer, you might want to go with something a little newer. My Grandad would call something like that Speed Graphic a wall hanger, Nice to look at, but ultimately useless.”
Tiffany looked at the hunk of metal and glass in her hands. Unwanted. Forgotten. Dismissed. She saw the bus speeding away from her. Somebody saw her; she was sure of it. Nobody cared to say anything. She met Petunia’s eyes. Usually being caught in a stare like that would be enough to wither Tiffany into submission, but she stood firm. Too much had been taken from her, she would not yield the camera. “Thank you for the warning, but I’d like to take my chances with it.
Petunia Jane Carter regarded Tiffany for a beat before sighing, resigned. “Oh what the hell, I’m a sucker for an authentic thrifter.” She snatched the camera from the countertop and spoke over her shoulder as she moved to a small room behind the counter area.
Tiffany looked at the collection of pearls and watches in the glass display case and had a few moments to take in the cash register that looked like it might have processed the first transaction in an old west saloon.
Petunia came out with an armload of canisters and laid them on the table, blowing an errant thread of bangs that had come loose from her head band. “Developing fluid and some trays that came with that camera. I even loaded the film for you. I’ll give you the works for ohh, let’s say forty-five bucks. One day only”
Tiffany’s eyes bulged from her head and her jaw hung. “For real?” She was reaching for her cell phone even as her rational mind was setting off warning bells that she didn’t have the money for this, not if she wanted to save for textbooks next semester. “I’ll figure it out.” she muttered under her breath. Tiffany opened her cell phone case and produced two twenties and a wrinkled five from her emergency cash stash.
Petunia stared at the money. Her eyes locked on Tiffany's briefly. For a moment Tiffany thought she saw the raw pleading panic of someone who was scared for her life. It reminded her of the look some of her Final Girls had as the killer seemed to have them backed into a corner. It was extremely out of place on the second hand shop owner in front of her. She took a step back reflexively, her fear of ending up on a cold case murder program returning. Petunia seemed to catch herself and shook her head slightly. Sorry Missy, old-timers moment.” She slid the camera and bag of gear across the counter.
Tiffany was almost vibrating with excitement as she hoisted the camera from the counter. “I don’t believe it, you totally made my day. I can’t wait to show my class,” She said. Tiffany centered Petunia in the frame. “Maybe you can be my first subject,” she continued. Without hesitating, she pressed the shutter and the camera clicked quietly.
Petunia froze. Her eyes wide in shock. She tried to recover by tidying up a few small knick knacks that had been strewn about in the transaction. She rubbed absently at the skin above her right eyebrow as she did so, adjusting her headband slightly.
Tiffany glanced at her from behind the camera, a quizzical look painted across her features until it cleared with realization and she gasped. “Omigod,” she uttered the sentence so closely together the words blended into one expression of sorrow “I am so sorry. I didn’t even ask your consent. I’m sorry I just– I just got carried away. My dad is always telling me to hold my horses. How do I?” She began fiddling with the back of the camera. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but all rational thought had left her.
Petunia held up a hand. Her purple kimono sliding up her arm to reveal a wrist covered in bengal bracelets that knocked into each other nervously. “Hey, hey it’s ok kid don’t worry about it. I hope everything works out for you with this stuff, I really do. Final sale,” She said as she wrote out a handbill and gave Tiffany her copy.
Tiffany took the bill from her, eyes on the floor. “Yeah. ok.” she said. She felt like the buzzing excitement of the moment had been punctured by her stupidity, why hadn’t she just asked P.J. if she could take her picture? She was always doing things like that. She didn’t know it would be final sale, either.
You couldn’t afford the thing in the first place, spent money reserved for school, and now you made it awkward. Her thoughts berated her. Just go now before you make an even bigger idiot out of yourself. “Well. thanks anyway, sorry again.”
Petunia waved her off. She grinned, showing a row of straight and brilliantly white veneers. “Hey, don’t worry about it Missy, keep that spark. Come back and visit me soon” Tiffany nodded but couldn’t avoid noticing how the beads of sweat popped on P.J.’s forehead, despite the AC.
#
By the time she walked through the door of the big white house on McPhail street Tiffany was soaked with sweat again, her feet ached, and she was in no mood to be met by the twangy wail of country music coming from the JBL speaker in the living room, and the raucous giggles from the rest of her house mates. Jayla and Karen were sitting on the floor in the living room serenading each other along with the music, their makeup bags between them and Jayla’s straightener plugged in, even though Tiffany had told her it would likely burn a hole in the carpet if she kept it on the floor. They barely looked at her.
Tiffany had seen many Friday nights start like this and knew if she could endure a few hours of drinking games and country music then she would mercifully have the house to herself while the rest of the girls went to the bar to drink their faces off.
Julie was in the kitchen when Tiffany walked in. She was dressed in a denim skirt and white tank top. She was swaying her hips to the music while pouring a drink and microwaving leftovers. She jumped a little when she saw Tiffany in the doorway, letting out a small scream, but then smiled. “Holy shit Tiff, you almost gave me a heart attack. Where have you been?”
“I missed the bus.” Tiffany replied, then seeing Julie eye her shopping bag she held it up so she could get a better view. “I did some thrifting on the way home, thought why not, you know? I was late anyway.”
“For sure, why not?” Julie answered, taking a drink from a solo cup. She stood a moment longer, the silence stretching into awkward territory.
“Are you guys having a party?” Tiffany tried to come off as non-chalant, but the question still held a barb of accusation. The walk had done nothing but allow Tiffany to seethe at how much of a total idiot she was and she was pissed off.
“We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.” Julie smiled and Tiffany felt her shoulders drop. She returned the smile, enjoying the warmth of it. Julie was really the only one in the house who paid any mind to Tiffany, and even then it was a feast or famine of when she did. Jayla never really bothered to get to know Tiffany, Karen neither. Both of them were friends from Gravenhurst whose parents had arranged to rent this place for the semester. Julie was taking nursing with them but had only met them during the weeks leading up to frosh. Tiffany was only able to get in with them because the girl they wanted to live with backed out at the last minute, choosing to go with her second choice of schooling. It was Tiffany’s dad who showed her the ad on Kijiji.
“Why not TiTi? Give it a try, immerse yourself in your subjects the way Jane Goodall did. It’ll give you the slice of life and realism so absent from photography today.” Her dad was always saying weird stuff like that, like who was Jane Goodall?
Tiffany felt bad. She knew she should take the opportunity to get to know Julie in this moment, but she was too sore and too tired to think much further beyond getting something to eat and waiting out the storm of bad karaoke and cheap wine in her room.
Julie made two more drinks, vodka redbull for Jayla and boxed white wine for Karen. Holding all three by the rim she tried to shimmy by Tiffany who moved in the same direction she did, then the opposite. The girls did this awkward dance two more times before Tiffany laughed nervously and pointed out that they looked like they were dancing. Julie smiled tightly and edged past her.
Tiffany shook her head as she headed down the hallway to her room. “‘Looks like we’re dancing?’ So stupid.”
#
Night descended on the city as stars above winked into view and the streetlights below illuminated the barely populated streets. In the apartment above her shop, Petunia Jane Carter sat at her kitchen table frowning into a tea mug. She shifted in her chair trying to catch the beams from the overhead light. A king size Canadian Goose smoldered in a glass ashtray while a candle flickered in the breeze coming in from the open window. She shifted the mug and rotated it, using a number 2 pencil to move a few errant leaves. Her brow furrowed in concentration, Petunia took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled half heartedly aiming for the window. She stabbed the butt out and reached for the pack automatically. “Come on, don’t tell me that.” she muttered, setting the mug down. She picked up a translucent purple lighter and watched the fluid slosh lazily from side to side as she rolled her thumb over the striker. The lighter sparked but didn’t catch.
“God damn it.” She uttered around her smoke. She struck the lighter again, shaking it afterward as it produced yet another spark with no flame. “Come on. Fucking thing,” She shook it again rolling her thumb across the striker rapidly until she wore a little cross-thatched pattern into the meat of it. Finally the lighter caught and she cupped it to the end of her smoke and took a drag. The blinds tapped gently against the window frame and she rose from her seat to close them fully. Her eyes lingered on the black tea leaves as she tried to read anything different than the glaringly obvious.
“It was just a camera,” she told herself as she moved to the window. “It’s nothing, an object. All that other stuff is a ghost story made up to scare people. Probably a cautionary tale to ward women off from becoming spinsters. Lot of good it did you. Chill out Petunia, you got nothing to worry about.” She looked out the window as she tugged the cord to lower the blinds.
A stick-thin man was standing in the pool of light thrown by a nearby street light. He wore a suit that looked like it would be at home in her shop. His hands were clasped behind his back and his chest was thrust out slightly so she could get a good look of the withering daisy in his lapel. He was staring right at her.
She blinked and his image shifted to the transparent spectre of a ghostly reflection in the window. He grinned at her, an act so full of malice it was almost a physical presence in the small apartment. Petunia gasped and let the cord slip through her hand. They crashed to the sill and began swaying in the breeze more violently as the wind picked up. Petunia spun. Her apartment was empty. Nothing moved except for the swaying candle flame on the kitchen table.
She crossed the expanse in four long strides, heading for the bathroom, stubbing her cigarette out as she passed the ashtray.
The tap squeaked as she ran the cold water. She splashed it across her face and met her eyes in the mirror. She adjusted the polyester headband in her hair, purple, her power colour. She rolled her shoulders in the matching kimono, the long sleeves billowing around her mole-strewn arms. Petunia sniffed, wiping her face with a plush maroon towel. She felt more herself as she strode back into the combined living and dining room.
“I’m not afraid of you. You aren’t real. And even if you were real, you’re a runty little shit with mommy issues. I’m not afraid of you, get it?” She spoke to the empty apartment as if expecting an answer. When she didn’t get one she snatched the pack of smokes from the table and fished one out. She looked at the candle, but the wind had blown it out. She cast an eye at the window once more but switched thoughts before she could linger on if the little man in the suit was still out there under the light. Petunia walked into the kitchen and turned the gas element on. It barked out several rapid clicks as Petunia leaned down, king size cigarette dangling from her mouth, head cocked to the side so she could get a clean light from the gas flame when it caught. The burner kept on clicking to the point that Petunia shut it off, muttering curse words under her breath. She turned it again and the clicking started for a few moments before a small flame caught. She huffed to herself and looked around the apartment. “Stupid thing.”
As she leaned down she could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks and that primal fear of fire uncoiled itself from somewhere in her hind brain and whispered caution. She shuffled coser and craned her neck. The tip of her smoke almost brushing the flame. She shuffled closer still.
After an investigation, the fire marshall would call it a freak accident. Some kind of backup that expelled at that direct moment.
The small flame flared. Petunia heard the sizzle of flesh and smelled burning hair. Her headband and kimono caught instantly as flame burned half her cigarette to ash and engulfed Petunia Jane Carter in flames that fused the melting fabric to her exposed skin. She screamed and attempted to fall to the ground and roll herself out, but the pain was unbearable and she instead collapsed, wailing as corners of her vision started turning as black as burnt paper.
Her shrieks carried out the window and into the unseasonable hot spring night. By the time paramedics arrived Petunia lay dead on her floor. She lay in a patch of carpet that had burned away to expose the hardwood flooring beneath, which was singed but thankfully didn’t catch. The paramedics pronounced her dead on the scene, neither one of them forgetting the look of absolute terror that twisted what features she had left into a death mask of pure horror.
#
Tiffany set the camera up on her bedside table. She fell asleep looking at it and tracing the contours of it with her eyes until they became heavy. Now as she slept in the light of her sound machine with its soft red glow, she rolled over during a particularly fitful part of her sleep, away from the Speed Graphic. The lens seemed to regard her coldly in the darkness. The numbers on her bedside clock ticked a minute past midnight and as they did a single, thick, drop of blood fell from the top of the lens and collected in the bottom of the rim before spilling over and travelling down the rest of the camera.
If you like this story, you may also like my collection of digital fiction. See the links below
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