Challenge prompt: This is one of many old photos and artefacts that were brought to a small museum about military history. Strange things are happening at the museum, including patrons swearing that people inside this photo are moving.

The scream startled the other visitors to the once small railway station, now converted to a military museum. When they found the source, there was another round of loud voices, calling for help as they gathered around the woman on the floor.

"Get back. Make room." The stocky little man went down on one knee beside the woman and felt for a pulse. "I think she's just fainted. Help me get her to that chair."

One man and a younger boy assisted in lifting the woman and guiding her to a seat by the door.

"Here's a water bottle, might help her." A lady handed over her plastic container, and then stood with an arm about the woman's shoulder.

"She's awake! Try some of this, ma'am."

"Oh, dear . . ." The voice was weak and shaky. "What- I think I fainted."

"Believe you did. Did you hurt yourself at all?"

"I don't think so." She rubbed her elbow and straightened her dress. "Oh! I remember! I was looking in that case over there with the medals and photographs . . ." She brought her hand to her mouth.

"Yes? What about it?" Everyone turned and looked at the case she had pointed to.

"They- they moved."

******

"That was a strange one, George. She must have hurt herself more than she thought."

"Not according to the hospital. I called to check, don't need lawsuits cuttin' into my savings."

"You think she'd sue?"

"Who knows what people will do. I don't think it's likely. I mean, I did all I could for her. Apologies, and running her to the hospital and all. Who knows."

"So what was it all about anyway? Something moved in the display case?"

George gave his old friend a bleak look and wet his lips. "Andy, we've been friends for a long time--"

"Most of our lives, George."

"Right. Well have you ever had reason to doubt my word on- on things?"

Andy laughed. "Only on your prowess with women."

"Okay, that aside. Have you ever . . .?

"Ever what, George? What's wrong?"

"Come on out front, I want to show you something."

The two old friends left the office and went into the station museum. George led the way over to the display case the woman had referred to.

"This is what frightened her." George said.

"What?" Andy looked through the glass top at the array of war medals and old photographs.

"See the picture there on the left of the men in combat gear?"

"Yeah. They're members of the Black Watch. That was in Normandy."

"Verrières Ridge, to be precise. That one," George pointed, that's the father of the man who used to be the station master here before they closed this station."

"Harry Staines! Is that Harry?"

"Yep."

"Okay, so- so what- what about it?"

George looked at his friend and suddenly felt foolish about what he wanted to say.

"George, what the hell is wrong?" Andy held his hands out, questioning.

"The woman told me she saw him move."

"Saw who? Harry! George--"

"I know, I know. It's crazy, but . . ." George wiped his face. "I've seen it too."

"Oh, George." Andy leaned on the case and looked down at the photo. "This place is getting to you. Moving photographs? C'mon now."

"Truth, Andy. I swear it. I've seen it twice."

If doubt had an expression, it was on his friend's face at that moment. "George- what exactly did you see?"

"It was after closing one night, about a month ago."

******

George White stopped tallying the day's take and set his pen down. The noise from the museum room startled him. He moved silently out of the office and stood a moment, the light from the office behind him casting dark shadows. A small gasp escaped his lips as he caught sight of the figure standing near the museum entrance.

"Who are you? What are you doing in here, we're closed?"

The figure didn't speak, just walked slowly to an old photograph on the wall and stared.

"Listen, I'm closed and you had better leave before I call the police."

The figure turned and walked toward him. When it got closer, out of the shadows, George frowned, and braced himself on the door frame. He recognized the uniform and the beret with the Red Hackle, from the photos in his display. His knees weakened and his mouth fell open, as he stared at the man before him.

"Ha- Ha- Harry . . . St- Staines."

The figure's eyes closed in a slow blink and just gave a slight nod, before turning and disappearing back into the shadows. George panted a breath or two, then turned and snapped on the museum lights. Nothing. He walked toward the picture on the wall; glancing at the young man is his railway uniform, proudly pointing to the station behind him.

George stepped slowly toward the display case and looked at the photograph. The men were all standing by the jeep as always, and Harry was holding his cigarette, leaning by the front wheel - only his face held a warm, pleased looking smile. George gaped, as the smile faded and the head gave a slight nod. He blinked and looked again. The photo appeared as it always had, nothing had changed.

******

Andy gave his friend an incredulous look and scratched his head. "That's some story, George."

"It's the truth, so help me."

"Sure you weren't tippling back there and had maybe a little too much?"

"I know what it sounds like, and I know you don't believe a word, so let's call it a night and leave it at that."

"Will you be alright alone?" Andy teased, as he was shoved gently toward the door.

"Good night, Andy."

George locked the door and went to his office, as he shut out the lights; he cast a final glance toward the display case. When his phone rang, he jerked so hard it hurt.

"White's Military Museum, can I help you?"

"Mr. White, it's Gladys Staines - the lady you helped today." His breathing stopped and he stared at the wall. "Mr. White?"

"Yes, hello." His voice was gravelly and he had to clear his throat.

"I wanted to call and thank you for what you did, and what you've done. I didn't get a chance earlier."

"What I did- I don't understand?"

"The display you have of the Royal Highland Regiment. That was my husband's father's regiment. And when I looked at his photograph, I- well I guess my imagination got the best of me. I actually thought he waved to me. That's when I screamed and made a fool of myself, passing out."

"I had no idea he was your father-in-law. I knew your husband John, before he passed."

"Well, I can only say thank you again for such a wonderful tribute. John was crushed when his father was killed in the war. He felt so badly that he didn't get to praise him for his duty. I know he would be thrilled if he could see what you have done."

George brushed away the compliment, saying it was something he was happy to have been able to do, to honour the local men who gave their country, their service, and their lives. The call ended and he hung up slowly. How strange it all was that the wife was so affected by the photo of her husband's father - a man who, George was afraid to admit, visited him just a short time ago.

He wandered back out into the museum, turning on the lights and going to the display case. He looked at the picture, studying the group. They appeared as they always did, and he shook his head, giving a small chuckle over his thoughts. He headed back to the office, pausing to look at the picture of John Staines in front of the old railway station.

"Your dad was here to say hi, John," he smiled - then his face froze.

The figure in the picture came to attention and offered George a military salute, mouthing the words, thank you.

END

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