Late last night, walking the beachfront promenade at Lee-on-Solent, I passed an empty playground. A row of swings stood still, except for one that moved, as though with its own agency. The wind was too light to explain it, and if it were simply the wind, why would only one swing move while the one beside it remained perfectly still?

I stood watching, my eyes searching the darkness, my mind asking what I was really seeing. Was this motion some projection of mine, a traumatic memory resurfacing? Or a TikToker with a string recording a reaction video? Or was it a ghost – the replay of someone else’s memory, a trace of them stuck in time? Or something more sinister, supernatural?

I began recording on my phone, hoping the camera might reveal what the eye could not. Back home, I studied the footage, manipulating the sound, scanning channels for hints. Nothing explained the movement. So I began layering it, using the clip as a base to test how experience shifts when reframed, when the context is altered.

Two versions emerged. In one, I added eerie sound and the figure of a girl who appears afraid. The atmosphere became ominous, threatening. In the other, I introduced a couple walking hand in hand with their dogs, accompanied by piano music. This version spoke less of fear than of loss and reconciliation.

Both share the same swing, but their meaning differs. The unsettling outcome is how easily the footage – and by extension, perception – can be bent by sound, tone, or reference.