Taryn's Camera: Beginnings: Four Haunting Novellas Read online

  Delilah did not stop, however. Instead, as Sarah continued to watch, Delilah was not led but pushed from the window and shoved across the floor and out the bedroom door.

  “Let me go, let me go!” Delilah shrieked over and over again. She resisted against her attacker by digging her tiny feet into the floor and screaming, all while beating her small hands on a person Sarah could not see.

  Sarah jumped to her feet and followed the spectacle, momentarily forgetting her fear and ignoring the rational part of her that told her what she was seeing couldn’t possibly be happening.

  The scent was even stronger in the hallway. In the glow of the moonlight, Sarah could once again see a thick substance on the wall. It streaked down the wallpaper, discoloring it, and puddled below, just like before. Only this time she realized it was not blood at all, but kerosene. And there was a lot of it.

  Delilah, still in front of her, was now being dragged down the hall to the landing at the other end. Sarah watched in horror as the girl was pushed through the wall, through the place where a door had once been.

  And then everything went up in flames.

  Sarah knew the flames weren’t real, knew they’d happened a long time ago and weren’t really there, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from jumping back in defense and covering her head from the outpouring of heat. And, for a second, she really did feel the hotness. The intensity of it bore into her and licked at her feet and hands until she thought she’d scream.

  Just when she thought she really might be on fire and was about to scream from the heat of the flames, it was gone.

  Sarah was once again simply standing in her hallway in the dark, looking at a vacant wall. There was no fire, no kerosene, and no Delilah.

  But she knew she was looking at a murder scene.

  SARAH AND TARYN walked away from the tiny family cemetery and down the hillside together, Taryn’s hand clutched in her aunt’s. She was getting as tall as Sarah. She appreciated that her niece, who would be a teenager in just a couple of short years, still held her hand. In many ways, she was still just an innocent child. Part of Sarah wanted Taryn to stay at the farm house with her, locked away behind their barrier of trees, and keep the outside world away.

  But that wouldn’t have been fair.

  “How old was the little girl, Aunt Sarah?” she asked.

  “Probably about your age,” Sarah replied. “I forget exactly.”

  “Do you think she’ll like the flowers we left? Do you think maybe we ought to have bought them at the store instead of picking the ones from the yard?”

  “I think she will like the ones from the yard,” Sarah replied, giving Taryn’s hand a squeeze. “After all, it used to be her yard, too.”

  “We do that so that they won’t think we forgot them, right?” Taryn asked. “So they know that we still remember them, even though they’re gone?”

  “That’s right,” Sarah nodded.

  “Because even if they’re dead they might be able to look down from Heaven and see us do it anyway, right?” Taryn swung their hands together back and forth in the air.

  “Right,” Sarah laughed. “My, you are chatty today.”

  “I know,” Taryn grinned. “I am just so glad to be here.”

  Sarah thought her niece was growing prettier with each passing year. Her long, curly red hair was similar to her own. Sarah’s had also been tempestuous, never easy to tame with a brush. Taryn’s flew around her shoulders now, wild and free. Her freckled face beamed with the sunshine. She was a breath of fresh air and Sarah felt more alive just being close to her.

  If only I could’ve been a mother, Sarah thought with regret. She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a daughter. Perhaps I should move to Nashville and be closer to her and Mother. Maybe I need my family. Maybe I don’t really need to be living this reclusive lifestyle at my age…

  “I’m gonna run on to the house, okay? I’m really thirsty.”

  Sarah nodded and watched Taryn run ahead of her, her ponytail bouncing in the wind. Taryn had been there only two days and Sarah was already dreading watching her leave. She added so much brightness to the old farm. Taryn knew nothing of what had happened there, of what Sarah had seen. And nothing else had happened since the night she’d seen the fire.

  That next morning, Sarah had stood on the landing and ignored the heaviness in her heart and dread in her stomach. “Julian and Delilah,” she’d declared, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I know the fire was intentional. I know your deaths weren’t accidents. And I am very, very sorry. But you have to let me live in peace here. We can all live together. I don’t mind if you’re here. You just can’t try to kill me again. Or scare me.”

  The lamp on the telephone table had flickered twice, but perhaps it had just been a short. It was an old house, after all.

  And so far they’d left her alone.

  As she watched the sun sink over the trees, Sarah sighed, feeling content for the first time in ages. Had Benjamin Warwick killed the father and daughter? She didn’t know. To be honest, she didn’t know if it mattered. What mattered was that they were finally at peace, that someone finally knew the truth. Sarah wasn’t an investigator–paranormal or otherwise. It wasn’t her job to right wrongs from the past or solve old murder mysteries.

  She was just a retired school principal who wanted to live in her old house in peace, tucked away from the world.

  When she reached the house Sarah paused in the side yard and stood, hands on hips, observing her property. She loved it there. She loved her house, loved her land. And yes, even loved the history behind it. Maybe not the bad stuff, of course, but there was good stuff to appreciate. And she could live with ghosts– if they could find a way to live with her.

  “They just wanted attention, that’s all,” she told herself now. “Just wanted someone to know the truth.”

  Her mother had agreed.

  “There was always a presence there,” she’d told Sarah the night before Taryn flew up. “I always felt responsible for it, like it was mine. Maybe it’s the family heirloom.”

  “I’d rather have a brooch,” Sarah had laughed.

  She didn’t know what made her look up. Taryn had just returned from inside the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. Sarah registered that noise in the back of her mind, but her attention was focused upwards.

  A shadowy figure stood in Sarah’s bedroom window. It wasn’t Delilah. Sarah wasn’t even sure it was human. This was something dark, something bulky– something much too large and foreboding to be a little girl. Even from her position on the ground, Sarah could feel awful black energy radiating from it, could smell the revolting odor it secreted.

  It smelled of hatred, of anger. It reeked of death.

  Sarah recoiled in surprise as a much larger shadow passed overhead and covered the land around her, blotting out the sun.

  That’s when she realized the figure in the window was not only aware of her; it was watching her. Its blazing yellow eyes stared downwards, its penetrating gaze focusing all its attention to the ground. The fear that ran through Sarah was immeasurable. And then…

  The singing beside her.

  Taryn stood by the porch, drink in hand, jumping back and forth as she sang a country song she’d picked up from the radio. The sound was sweet and pure, a stark contrast to the awfulness above.

  The figure wasn’t looking at Sarah at all; it didn’t want Sarah…it wanted Taryn.

  Sarah stiffened in horror as she remembered her question to Stella: why now?

  Why now, indeed.

  It wasn’t over, it wasn’t over at all. It had been waiting for Taryn.

  She’d been wrong, so naive. She hadn’t solved a mystery and made things okay. In fact, she might have even inadvertently opened a door of some kind. She should have talked to Denise’s grandmother, should have learned more, should have packed her bags and gone to Nashville, should never have let Taryn come…

  The figure never removed
its eyes from Taryn. It observed her not just with malicious curiosity but with hunger, a desire that caused Sarah’s blood to turn to ice.

  Taryn continued singing her song, playing her silly game, blissfully unaware of its intense scrutiny and pungent stench.

  Sarah wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth where she stood, trying to hold back the scream building inside her.

  You can’t have her, she shouted in her heart. You stay away! You go away!

  To her dismay, the thing above them seemed to laugh, a sound that only she could hear. Off in the distance, branches splintered and fell to the ground. Dry lightning flashed across the sky.

  “I will stay here forever and protect her,” she whispered. “You and me, this isn’t finished. You won’t follow her. You will stay with me.”

  The lightning stopped and the branches quit falling. For a moment, at least, the air was still again.

  “Aunt Sarah,” Taryn stopped singing and looked over at her aunt, head cocked to the side.

  “Yes?” Sarah managed a thin smile.

  Taryn skipped up to her and grabbed her hand again. The gloominess lifted just a little as the last few rays of sunlight tried to filter through. “Do you think your house is haunted?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah replied, brushing her hand down Taryn’s ponytail and resisting the urge to embrace her tightly. “I’m not sure that I believe in ghosts.”

  Read more about Taryn, a woman who can see the past through her camera, in the Taryn’s Camera series on Amazon.

  www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0159J0P92/

  Pieces

  A companion story to

  Shaker Town,

  Book 4 in Taryn's Camera

  * * *

  Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  Susan Holloway was drunk. Not cutely tipsy or “flushed,” as her dearly-departed mother would've called it, but drunk. She'd had a glass of champagne with the bride-to-be before the ceremony to “calm their nerves” but then the sixty-five year old woman had continued drinking until the bottle was empty. She'd had several more at the reception, which was probably to blame for the mean jitterbug she'd done on the floor with her great-nephew.

  The wedding was still going on, as was her buzz. It had been years since Susan had experienced such a nice, pleasant feeling. She didn't want to ruin it, and possibly lose it, by being around family. So, for the first time in more than three days, she was alone.

  Shaker Village looked different at night. During the day, the expansive state park was historically accurate, but modern. Tourists in their expensive tennis shoes, designer purses, jingling fanny packs, and cell phones cluttered the sidewalks and paths, bringing the current century to litter the past. Although they'd done an excellent job of restoring the village to its heyday and the costumed re-enactors all managed to look the part in their plain clothes and austere Shaker attitudes, you still knew that you were touring a museum.

  At night, though, it was a different story. Battery-powered lights lit up old-fashioned lanterns that lined the sidewalks. The buildings were aglow with similar candles flickering in the windows, like little beacons for the lost. The paths were quiet, peaceful, without the throngs of schoolchildren and elder hostels who frequented the park. Even with the echoes of the country music band filling the air from the other side of the park, you could almost imagine you'd stepped back in time and were amongst the almost-crazy religious cult who'd thrived there in the nineteenth century. Susan didn't realize she'd wandered as far as she had until she saw the glistening mirror of the pond. She'd been there the day before, back when she'd ducked out of rehearsal for a cigarette, and had enjoyed solitude on the bench under the maple tree. She adored her great-nephew and thought his new wife was okay, maybe a little prissy but okay, but sometimes you just needed a break from everyone.

  Now, Susan settled back down on the bench and watched the water. It was black under the night sky and reminded her of the blood she'd leaked during childbirth–by far the goriest thing she'd ever seen in person. She felt a chill run down her arm and shook a little.

  A goose just walked over your grave, she remembered her mother telling her as a child.

  Childhood. That seemed like such a long time ago...her mother had been gone for thirty years.

  She might have been what they now referred to as “advanced age” but she knew what she really was–she was old. And her body knew it, too. Her joints hurt all the damned time now, not only when it was cold or going to rain. Her hair was dry and brittle, when it used to be lush and soft, and her skin hung like little sacks of flour. As straight as she tried to stand, she knew she was stooping a little now and was almost certain she'd shrunk.

  All those years of being healthy, and this is where it got her. It's why she'd decided to take up smoking.

  Kicking off her heels, Susan stretched her feet out in front of her and moaned in contentment as she flexed her toes. Well, at least she still lived alone and had her house. That was something. At least they hadn't committed her to one of those homes– the kind of place where they forced you to wear stupid party hats leis on your birthday and had everyone making macaroni art while Disney movies played in the background.

  Give her a good porno every now and then and a hot toddy. Now that was a party.

  A rustling noise sounded behind her and broke her thoughts. Susan jumped a little, startled. Sure that someone from the wedding had noticed her missing and sent out a search party, she formed her excuse and was about to thrust it into the night air when something made her stop. There was a figure coming towards her– a stooped, hulking figure. Susan had lived too long to be afraid of much but it did cross her mind that she was out there alone, without a soul in the world knowing where she was. The figure didn't pay her any mind, though. He walked right by her, just five feet away, and headed to the pond like she didn't exist. Well, she thought, he's out for a walk himself.

  She watched as he stopped by the water's edge and stared across the distance. She couldn't make out any of his features since his back was to her, but it was obvious he held something in his arms, something it took both hands to grip. She hoped he wasn't planning on littering because she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut about that.

  Ordinarily, she might have called out to him, tried to see if everything was okay. Susan was a little bit of a nosy soul. But something held her back. With his shoulders hunched and his head bent so low he looked...lost. She couldn't be sure, but she thought from the way that his body rocked back and forth he might even be crying.

  The long, dark cloak wrapped around him was the kind the re-enactors wore. Maybe he'd had a hard day at work. But then, the park had been closed for hours. Why was he still there?

  Feeling uneasy now, Susan stood and made to leave. She hadn't even turned around, however, when a strong breeze tugged at her hair and picked up the hem of her dress. “Oh!” she yelped, grappling to hold it down.

  The man vanished.

  SINCE THE WEDDING was essentially serving as a family reunion, they'd reserved a block of rooms at the park for several nights. Susan lived in a nearby town and was only a fifteen-minute drive from home, but everyone had talked her into staying anyway.

  “Be near the family,” they'd coaxed.

  She'd never been particularly close to her family so that part hadn't tempted her. She saw it as free food and a mini vacation, so she'd agreed.

  Susan liked spending time with her son and didn't mind her daughter-in-law. She was the go-getting type, always on the run. Always making things. She was also pregnant; it would be Susan's only grandchild. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.

  Susan didn't want to get old but didn't mind being a granny.

  Della, his wife, was constantly making things she saw in books or on the internet. Susan had never been that kind of mother, hadn’t made anything while her son was growing up, other than her paintings. She'd even had a neighbor sew on her son's Boy Scout patches because she didn't like
threading the needle. Things were different now; she’d changed.

  In the clear light of day the incident at the pond seemed silly. Of course she'd had a lot to drink, her raging headache and tummy troubles were testament to that. And he probably hadn't disappeared at all...if he'd even been there to start with. She was seeing things; that was all.

  She'd managed to stumble back to her room, grateful it wasn't a long walk. Susan’s head was starting to throb and she was feeling sick to her stomach. Her room was in one of the restored buildings, a former “shop,” and was on the first floor. Probably because she was old.

  As she'd placed her key in her door, however, her foot had hit something, something soft. When she looked down she saw a piece of blue linen. She'd picked it up, figuring someone had dropped it, and taken it into her room.

  Now, sitting in the rocking chair by a window overlooking the Centre Family Dwelling, Susan fingered the piece of found fabric and let it gently fall across her lap. It was old– that much was certain. It wasn't likely it came from a tourist. More probable was that it belonged to a museum piece here at the park, although how it had gotten to her room she didn't know.

  Not knowing what else to do with it, Susan placed it on her bureau to keep it safe.

  “I’ll just keep it,” she said out loud, her voice strange in the big, empty room.

  She’d keep it and do something crafty with it. Like Della would. She liked doing things like that now, was always collecting stuff to make other things with.

  That's probably why her niece Lucy had opened the architectural salvage store up in Lexington.

  SUSAN WANDERED OVER to breakfast to socialize with the rest of the family around 7:00 am. The thought of food made her stomach churn but they'd come looking for her anyway if she didn't show up. They ended up with an entire room to themselves, nearly fifteen of them. Susan positioned herself in the corner, next to Lucy and away from the loudest of them. Lucy also liked to keep to herself.