WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
"David. David Sawyer."
HOW OLD ARE YOU?
"Forty four years old, as of this year."
WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE?
"I am a photographer. A former journalist and international correspondent for a big Boston news agency. I've been around the world, covering many different stories, about war, famine, pestilence and death, and of life, love, prosperity and glory. I spent the last twenty or so years of my life writing stories to go with the pictures I've taken and the things that I've seen and experienced for myself. You spend as much time as I have behind a lens, you learn to live with a camera in every aspect of your daily life. A camera lens and my laptop were my best friends during those twenty odd years and when I retired, I left a great big gaping hole in that news agency's office. I've learned since then that there hasn't been a new photojournalist in my office since."
"I started this line of work when I was young. Cameras interested me in my teens and I always sent in my pictures to our local newspaper's photography contest that they held every few months. Only won first place once and that's when I knew I had a knack for it. For a while, I bummed around a few places, sending in my photos and building a resume that I could use, and finally my local news company took me in to see what I could do behind a keyboard. The years flew by, I left the small-town newspaper gig and went to Boston to work. By that time, I had enough under my belt to consider myself a photojournalist, but some part of me wanted more. It wanted adventure and travel and so when I got a job at a big Boston news agency, I jumped on the chance to be an international correspondent after showing off my resume. That's how I got to travel to war-torn third-world countries to document starving children, African prairies to take pictures of lions, I even managed to photograph the aftermath of that bombing at the Boston Marathon."
"But the years weren't kind. Work got to me, as did every other sordid, tragic story I was sent to cover. And after about twenty years of just enduring all of it, I knew I had to leave. Otherwise I was gonna go crazy. After I retired as a professional journalist, I took up photography again, my old hat. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."
"I like to live my life from moment to moment, contrary to what most people do at my age. Always looking for that next adventure, although nowadays 'adventure' in my book means a flight across the country to take pictures of some supposedly 'haunted' house or something else. Still, at least I like to live my life slightly dangerously, less so than my job was."
"I started this line of work when I was young. Cameras interested me in my teens and I always sent in my pictures to our local newspaper's photography contest that they held every few months. Only won first place once and that's when I knew I had a knack for it. For a while, I bummed around a few places, sending in my photos and building a resume that I could use, and finally my local news company took me in to see what I could do behind a keyboard. The years flew by, I left the small-town newspaper gig and went to Boston to work. By that time, I had enough under my belt to consider myself a photojournalist, but some part of me wanted more. It wanted adventure and travel and so when I got a job at a big Boston news agency, I jumped on the chance to be an international correspondent after showing off my resume. That's how I got to travel to war-torn third-world countries to document starving children, African prairies to take pictures of lions, I even managed to photograph the aftermath of that bombing at the Boston Marathon."
"But the years weren't kind. Work got to me, as did every other sordid, tragic story I was sent to cover. And after about twenty years of just enduring all of it, I knew I had to leave. Otherwise I was gonna go crazy. After I retired as a professional journalist, I took up photography again, my old hat. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."
"I like to live my life from moment to moment, contrary to what most people do at my age. Always looking for that next adventure, although nowadays 'adventure' in my book means a flight across the country to take pictures of some supposedly 'haunted' house or something else. Still, at least I like to live my life slightly dangerously, less so than my job was."
HOW ARE YOU BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
"I always carry my camera on a strap around my neck. I've also got a brown leather satchel that has my other essentials, lenses and water and whatnot. I like to wear this black leather biker jacket too, fur-lined. Keeps me warm."
WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING YOU? HOW DO SEE YOURSELF?
"I... I'm not sure, I've never been asked this question before. I guess I'm a sort of...calm person? I like to socialise with others, y'know, talk about stuff we like and whatnot, but I'm not much of an outgoing type. I can talk for long hours about subjects we both like, but don't expect me to start the conversation myself. If a stranger first meets me, I guess they'll see the gruff, worn exterior and think I'm some sorta guy who's seen a lot, and frankly they wouldn't be wrong. But I'm just a man that did his job until the job made me quit, so now I'm an average man, not a globe-trotting photojournalist any more."
WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? WHERE DO YOU FEEL AT HOME?
"I was born in Arlington, Massachusetts, to a pair of loving, doting parents that never thought I'd grow up to be a journalist. I moved to Boston after I scored my big news gig and that's where I've lived ever since. I feel most at home behind the lens of my camera, capturing pictures and telling stories through still images. To be able to show someone the story of a life, or the emotions in a scene through pictures...that's the greatest pleasure."
WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE?
"Gee, I've never been asked that question before. Truth be told, there weren't a lot of people in my life after my folks passed on and I got into journalism as a career. I would probably say... Jeffrey Nolan, my editor. He was like a brother to me, up until I resigned. We still talk regularly and I like to send him the best snaps of my overseas trips from time to time. And there's also Ian Malcolm, my co-writer and proof-reader. We were office buddies, basically brothers at that point. I wrote the stories, he helped me make sure they weren't abject shit on paper."
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE YOUR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
"My strengths, they probably lie in observation, analysis and creativity. I know how to handle a camera, how to frame a shot. How to read people, watching for their emotional tells, knowing when is the perfect moment to push the shutter and capture a frame for eternity. I know how to write well enough to encapsulate a story, to tell the reader what is going on with a specific picture, yet leaving enough gaps for them to fill in the blanks. Alongside that, I... I haven't done anything athletic in a while, but I'm hardy enough to survive the occasional sprint or hike."
WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
"I have many. Years in the life as a journalist covering the worst that humanity has to offer has left me rather emotionally traumatised. Some therapists I've seen have diagnosed it as a milder form of PTSD, and I believe them. After all the work I've done in documenting the human story, how much can one mind take? I baulk at loud noises, don't feel much pain or revulsion at viewing particularly gruesome things...saddening as it may be, I've had to fortify my mind against my own emotion at times purely so I could capture those of others. To show to the world what suffering exists."
"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."
"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."
IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
"Out of the blue, huh? Well, maybe the ability to freeze time? To be able to catch every shot, in the millisecond that it happens, without missing a single heartbeat or movement. To be able to frame the perfect shot without having to compromise on quality or be constrained by time. But right now, I have to settle for this weird... Well, I call it my Sixth Sense. It's a weird vibe for the supernatural that I have. I guess it's part and parcel of my journey into the supernatural world. But whenever I step into a place that's supposedly haunted, this Sixth Sense of mine comes to life like a radar for ghosts. I can't detect exact locations but this Sense leads me to places that have high concentrations of...stuff. Paranormal stuff."
SHOW US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WORK.
"Well uh, I've got a small story from a town I visited a few months ago. It was a story that led me to you guys and it was in a town called Duskwick."
"I always thought that town was quaint. Even after all that nonsense with the dragonflies. But...what struck me then was how unnerving it became, once you realised what laid beneath the surface of such a quaint little town."
"I always thought that town was quaint. Even after all that nonsense with the dragonflies. But...what struck me then was how unnerving it became, once you realised what laid beneath the surface of such a quaint little town."
With a big mug of coffee by his side, David sat in a corner of the diner, idly tapping away at his Macbook as he processed a folder of photos he'd taken of the countryside surrounding the quaint little town. His camera laid next to his mug and underneath that sat a single missing persons poster. A plate stacked with pancakes and bacon sat nearly untouched on the other side of his laptop. The hubbub in the diner was rather quiet, given the time of day, and as he took a swig of his strong, black coffee, he took in the familiar small-town sights and sounds. It was comforting, very homely and warm. Felt like safety, even though he knew he was here for the complete opposite of that.
David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.
He just couldn't resist.
As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.
Zzsh-click.
As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.
Ugh.
He plugged his camera into his laptop and got to work trying to fix the problem, watching over the top of his Macbook as the drama unfolded in front of him. There was some hubbub going on about a missing child. A small, young girl, whose photo was up on the diner's noticeboard. A small town like that had such a thing in their central diner so residents could see what was going on; events, bake sales and forest treks, stuff like that. Her poster was one of the fliers that uppity young man had torn off and some of the townspeople were getting upset. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him.
Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.
Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.
The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. The picture was...strange. An old, worn-looking Polaroid of the same blue dragonfly he'd taken a picture of from his seat. Same angle, same light, same...
"...dragonfly."
Things got out of hand very fast after that. Vines began growing from the closed (and locked) bathroom door that absorbed one of the diner's staff. David helped a few others break into the bathroom, only to find the girl missing and the single toilet stall a portal into a different place. A mirrored version of the same town he'd just been in. The events had been a blur and David hadn't been able to remember most of it after he'd entered the strange mirror realm, but he'd escaped. Alive and intact, with a camera full of photos of a place that wasn't supposed to exist anywhere. It wasn't long after he found his car and made his way back home that the Sunday Group contacted him.
David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.
He just couldn't resist.
As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.
Zzsh-click.
As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.
Ugh.
He plugged his camera into his laptop and got to work trying to fix the problem, watching over the top of his Macbook as the drama unfolded in front of him. There was some hubbub going on about a missing child. A small, young girl, whose photo was up on the diner's noticeboard. A small town like that had such a thing in their central diner so residents could see what was going on; events, bake sales and forest treks, stuff like that. Her poster was one of the fliers that uppity young man had torn off and some of the townspeople were getting upset. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him.
Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.
Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.
The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. The picture was...strange. An old, worn-looking Polaroid of the same blue dragonfly he'd taken a picture of from his seat. Same angle, same light, same...
"...dragonfly."
Things got out of hand very fast after that. Vines began growing from the closed (and locked) bathroom door that absorbed one of the diner's staff. David helped a few others break into the bathroom, only to find the girl missing and the single toilet stall a portal into a different place. A mirrored version of the same town he'd just been in. The events had been a blur and David hadn't been able to remember most of it after he'd entered the strange mirror realm, but he'd escaped. Alive and intact, with a camera full of photos of a place that wasn't supposed to exist anywhere. It wasn't long after he found his car and made his way back home that the Sunday Group contacted him.
"...and that's kinda how you guys found me. I'd share more, but my memory of Duskwick is really hazy and I wouldn't be able to explain the context of most of the photos I shot in there. But...I'm sure you guys will figure out what happened there. Eventually."
