News Days

"Is there any sound?" Scully was less immersed in the projected film than she thought she would be. The small yellowish square on the bare painted wall was little more than a grainy blur.

"I'm sorry," said Kovelski. "We couldn't afford the sound microphone." He stopped the small film projector with its clicking and clattering reels. He unclipped the top reel, tightened the film on the disc and replaced it in position. "Wait a second. I'll try to make it darker."

Scully sat with a second mug of coffee losing patience. The setting up of the archaic projector had been endearing for a few minutes. It became less exciting when the wall-plug had to be changed, and also when the dusty bulb had to be replaced. All the time, Kovelski kept repeating "Wait a second" with a sort of urgency that implied his only guest might flee at any moment. Scully felt she might very well do that.

Kovelski disappeared into the hall and flipped off all the light switches. Ironically, for a town that was still in darkness at midday, the light from the street lamp and the crescent moon diffused in with little difficulty. The little apartment became a little darker as the sound of a heavy curtain was drawn in the hallway.

"You know, Sir?" Scully called out quietly, "the film has been on a lot of news reports. I know the general picture."

Kovelksi appeared back in the doorway, and stood there a little taken aback. "How many minutes?"

Scully turned and smiled, trying to be friendly and reassuring. "I have a video tape back at the guest house. My colleagues in Washington put it together for me. There are three local news reports with excerpts, and that documentary from the cable station. The documentary has most of the footage. Then there's a section which is just the complete footage. About three minutes. I don't know where that came from."

"Three minutes?" he mused, stepping forward to switch on the projector again. "That's what I gave the police after Walter disappeared. Two minutes thirty seven of footage. Plus some black frames from when I left the lens cover on at the start. About three minutes would be right. Then they gave the smaller clips to the news stations years later."

Kovelski strung the loose end of the film back thru the projector and wound it carefully onto the reception reel. He seemed to take an age and had to wind on a large amount of the film to get the tension right. "Those cartridges in the cine-camera only lasted about five minutes. At least the ones my Dad could afford."

Politely Scully watched the slightly sharper images on the wall as the film finally got going. She made a few notes, but it was exactly the piece of footage she remembered.

:::

The holder of the camera is at the edge of the lake on a sandy strip of beach. The view of the mountains opposite, covered in green trees, blurs in and out of focus. The surface of the lake is calm and blue. About a minute in to the amateur pointing and focusing, a small dark point is seen plowing thru the ripples on the surface. The camera focus is so poor and the object is so distant that the shape could be the nose of a seal or the crown of a large catfish. (Even the FBI blow-ups show only a blur.) As the shape passes out of sight behind the trees the camera is run forward to the edge of the water, but nothing more is seen. The film ends.

:::

"Can I take this? Just for tonight. It might help me to look over some of the frames." She had her hand on the film. For a second it felt like it might have some importance to her.

"Sorry. No," he replied. "I should have taken the money I've been offered over the years for that film. I could have retired somewhere warmer. Now, I just have the value of holding the film. People, monster enthusiasts, they just record what they want off the cable channel, take a picture of me in the street. The only way for me to make any money is to go to one of these things that Vern sets up. He gets the tourists up at the airport in the Summer, puts up a tent thing, a marquee, lays on a buffet for thirty dollars and lets me talk to the customers for about half an hour. I wave the film around and we show a ridiculous new videotape of me pointing at the original spot where I took the camera and holding a piece of wood that I had to say was part of Walter's boat. Vern tells them they can't get that footage anywhere else and they all seem pretty happy. It all seems a little stupid to me, but thankfully nobody asks that. I get to eat from the buffet and I make a hundred dollars." He shrugged.

Scully thought briefly about the film and the sideshow. There was nothing really that interested her here. Nothing at all suggested that this film, and indeed the disappearance, where in any way related to the current attacks on animals.

"I'll be on my way then," she said. "You should think of writing a book, Mr Kovelski. Even just what you've said to me is worth putting in print."

He nodded. "Not a bad idea. Vern has always promised to write it up for me. He has a way with words. But he's too busy right now. Too much money in the realtor's. Too much time looking after the family."

Scully put on her heavy coat and turned to leave. "When did you get the film back from the police? I know that evidence can circulate for a long time. Sometimes it gets lost. They must have made copies for the news too. I'm surprised you got it back at all."

Kovelski nodded sadly. "Oh, you've got it right there. I never saw the film again. They never got back to me at all. The film I gave them was my own copy. One I made in my own dark room."

"You're lucky you made the three minute copy of the film," said Scully.

"I don't really think of that film as lucky," he sighed. It was clearly all still too much for him. "Taking that cine-camera down to the lake was one of the worst ideas I ever had."

Scully left. She was already wondering what was on the remaining minutes of the film.