Imagine you’re out with some friends, going camping or something else that requires you to be out in the wilderness in the dark.
Let’s say you, or someone in your group, has brought along a camera and tripod and decides that now would be a good time to take a long-exposure shot of the milky way at night. He or she or you – let’s say it’s you – take your sweet time setting up the tripod and camera and get everything ready to go. You set the exposure and f-stop and all that and hit the shutter while your friends chat a little ways off from you. The shutter opens and light starts trickling in. You walk over to your group of friends who seem to be wrapping up a conversation about an odd coppery smell. The conversation drifts to a few other topics over the course of the next minute or so.
The shutter clicks closed again and you meander back over to the camera. After it’s finished processing the input, you take a look at the image to see how it came out. It looks pretty well, maybe a tad overexposed, maybe the star trails are a little longer or shorter than you would have liked, so you decide to try again. Something towards the bottom of the image catches your attention just as the image disappears from view, so you switch back to the photo as soon as the camera is able. You’re not sure what you saw, or if you even saw anything, but your heart has already started to beat a little faster. You zoom in on the bottom of the image and, sure enough, there’s something there. It looks like eyes, so you zoom in a little further.
It is eyes, two of them. There’s a faint silhouette around them, but it’s not human. It’s standing on two legs, but it’s not human. It’s looking right at you and it’s clearly not human.
That’s it, though; that’s all the further I’ve gotten with that idea. I don’t know where to take it from here.