“Well, I’m here…”
It might have sounded crazy, that she would be frightened so badly frightened the night before over a ghost and yet was now contemplating going in search of one…but this was different. For one thing, it was daylight. For another, it the difference between being the hunter and the hunted that mattered. Getting caught off guard was usually the scary part. Taryn liked to be in control; she liked to know what was going on. If she knew what she was getting herself into, she could handle it a lot better.
* * *
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for her to find an entrance. After all, the building had no working doors at this point. The county had made a feeble attempt to keep trespassers out by leaning a board over the front, but considering the fact that there were three more in the back and a gaping hole at the top that didn’t have any coverings at all, it was almost laughable.
She was glad she’d worn long sleeves and pants. As a teenager she and Matt had explored many an old, abandoned building around Nashville. She’d even belonged to an urban exploring group for awhile–a group of young people that got together on Saturday nights to drive around town, armed with camera, hoping to find a vacant place to check out and photo document before the authorities ran them off.
Taryn was an old pro at finding her way in and around places she had no business being inside.
She choose to enter through the back. After carefully checking them to ensure she wasn’t in a batch of poison ivy, Taryn gingerly pushed the Virginia Creeper aside and let herself in. As she moved, broken glass crackled under her heavy boots–another smart decision, fashion-wise.
The small room she stepped into was dimly lit and smelled of stale sweat and rotten food. An old metal table was pushed against the wall; ancient cigarette butts and piles of ashes littered the top. Several dusty Styrofoam cups held the dredges of liquid that had dried up long ago. Taryn was in a teacher’s lounge of sorts.
Before her was an open door. The poorly lit hallway beyond beckoned. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hand over Miss Dixie for luck and forged ahead.
Seventeen
Now that she was inside, the scent of stagnant water was even stronger. Tiny gnats, fierce and intrusive, swarmed her head and stuck to the nervous sweat on her face. Luckily, it was deep enough into the season that whatever copperheads she was sure lived inside were probably long gone. Gnats she could deal with. Taryn didn’t do snakes.
Cobwebs draped from the ceiling, covering the puffs of spongey insulation that exploded from the holes in the cardboard tiles above her. The ceiling literally hung down in some places and brushed the top of her head. She proceeded cautiously, taking careful steps and hoping the rest of the building didn’t collapse down upon her. If it did, she might not be found for days.
Taryn was surprised by the darkness; considering the massive amount of roof damage from the explosion, she’d been expecting it to be lighter inside. It was then that she realized she was at the opposite end of the building from where the roof had caved. In this part, the building was still mostly intact. With the windows boarded up and the electricity out, there wasn’t anything to provide a light source. Taryn stopped and pulled out her cellphone. The small flashlight didn’t do much, but it gave her morale a boost.
The starkness of the interior and sheer absence of light were unnerving. Every few steps Taryn stopped and collected her bearings, trying to adjust her eyes. The floor was strewn with soda cans, cigarette butts and what looked like joints, fractured beer bottles, and other undeterminable scraps of trash. The smell was rank and she gagged, the acid rising quickly into her throat and burning her mouth.
“Shake it off, girlfriend,” she muttered shakily. “Shake it off.”
When she found herself standing in front of two bathrooms she stopped and considered them, then shook her head. That was too much even for her. She was brave, but she wasn’t stupid. The idea of going into the dismal, airless room and getting trapped was a nightmare waiting to happen.
Taryn was no dummy.
If Bloody Mary lived in one of them, she’d just have to stay there.
A few lonely chairs, small with orange plastic backs, were turned on their sides and distributed up and down the length of the hallway. Taryn remembered sitting in similar ones when she was younger. Part of her wanted to walk over to one, upright it, and try it out. The thought of what had once slept on it, thrown up on it, or used it for less-than-honorable intentions had her hesitating. She settled on taking pictures.
“Okay, now what do we have?” she asked as she took stock of her surroundings. Her voice echoed in the stillness; the reverb took her aback. With the split second delay it had almost sounded like someone else was in the building with her, mocking her.
Dang, she was getting skittish. Maybe it was all the medication she was on.
Taryn saw four doors to her left and twice as many to her right. She turned right and began walking. She wanted to see everything, if she could.
“Need a game plan,” she declared, her boots thumping on the old, filthy tiles. She tried to see past the broken-down mess, tried envisioning children lining up outside classroom doors, preparing for recess. Tried to see teachers scurrying straight ahead, a stack of papers they’d just xeroxed in hand.
It wasn’t easy. Her imagination was good, but this was almost asking too much. Abandoned factories and train terminals were one thing; an abandoned building that had once catered to children had a certain despondency to it that she felt deep in her bones.
“I’m getting soft,” she muttered.
As Taryn walked she sang to herself, Alabama’s “Song of the South.” She thought something uplifting might be helpful. The sound of her own voice might not have been great company, but it was better than nothing. When she was scared, singing made her feel better.
The room at the very end was the library. Taryn presented the school with her first genuine smile since entering the building when she saw it for what it was. After seeing pictures of the library online, she almost felt as though she was entering an iconic site. Taryn loved visiting places she’d only seen in pictures or movies. For her, it made no difference whether it was the Eiffel Tower or an old mill in Central Kentucky. Being able to look at something in 3D that she had only previously been aware of as a static image tickled her.
That was part of who Taryn was–someone that genuinely delighted in seeing things come alive.
Well, except for the ghosts. She didn’t always delight in seeing the dead come to life.
So far, however, if there were any ghosts in the building they were keeping to themselves. Somewhere behind her came the faint drip of water, but she tucked the sound away and ignored it. It had nothing to do with her or why she was there. Things had been still since she’d found her way inside.
Almost too still.
The library had seen better days, of course. With the windows boarded up and the roof still intact she had to scan her flashlight around the room to be able to see much at all.
“Huh. I’ll be damned,” Taryn mumbled. The shelves were still lined with books, their spines mildewing and molding from the dampness and neglect. “They couldn’t have done anything with them?”
Surely a thrift store, another school, or a nearby community center could have used them? Or hell, they could’ve just opened the building and told people to come in and take whatever they wanted or needed. That was one thing Taryn didn’t understand about abandoned places–why just let everything rot? Things that could be used by people who would appreciate them…why didn’t they let them have them? Was it really that much better to just let it all sit there and go to waste?
Making her way across the chaotic floor, Taryn began perusing the shelf closest to her. The sign above her simply read “Mysteries.” Right away, she was delighted to discover a row of Nancy Drew novels, all the original hardcover editions. Taryn picked up a copy of the Mystery at Lilac Inn, her favorite, and flipped through the pages. Although the cover was soft with d
ampness and stained with yellow mildew, the pages were still in good shape. She’d loved that series as a child. In fact, when she was in third grade her teacher had taken them to the library and allowed them to pick out any book they wanted and that was the one she’d chosen. She’d been so proud of it, the first book she had ever picked out. They’d learned about the Dewy Decimal System that day and how to use the card catalogue. When they first entered the room she’d gone straight to the old wooden box in the center of the floor, opened one of the skinny drawers, and searched through the little notecards until she’d found the word “ghost.” The book had been the result of that search.
Taryn looked around her now, half expecting someone to be watching her, but she was alone. And although she felt guilty and hated herself just a little for it, she slipped the book into her backpack. Nobody would miss just one.
Heck, nobody would miss any of them.
She decided to think of it more as a search and rescue than a theft.
Standing in the middle of the room, Taryn turned in a little circle and took pictures as she slowly moved 360 degrees. After each shot she checked the playback. Nothing.
“Okay, let’s move on. And no more stalling or stealing,” she promised herself.
Yeah, like she’d be able to keep to that. Stalling was her thing. (And apparently stealing was now, too.)
Next door, Taryn found a supply closet and didn’t even waste her time with that. There was nothing to see beyond a bunch of old brooms and mops and, besides, who knew what lived back in the dark recesses? Forget that. She was adventurous. She wasn’t stupid. Usually.
The next door was locked. From her frequent walks around the exterior she knew it was a classroom. “Well, I hope what I need isn’t in there,” she said, shaking her head. She hadn’t come prepared to pick a lock.
The next three doors revealed additional classrooms of varying sizes. They all maintained their chalkboards, tables, and a few of their desks. In the last classroom, Taryn walked up to the chalkboard and marveled at what would now be considered old-fashioned or passé. Kids today would never know the joy of being chosen to take the erasers outside and pound them on the concrete to clean them. They’d never squeal as the chalk dust floated up around them, colorful little clouds that made them cough and sneeze. They’d never know what it was like to grip a tiny piece of white chalk, getting the last few bits out of a piece that the economical teacher was determined to use until the bitter end.
Aw, hell. Now she was depressed.
Up ahead she could see blessed daylight emptying through the roof but first she made a stop at the main office. It was the second principal’s office she’d been in that week.
There were two rooms, one presumably for a secretary, and both had been ransacked. The dented and dusty filing cabinets were on their sides, drawers open and papers spread all over the floor. Taryn wondered if the vandalism had been for fun or from someone looking for something valuable. She bent down and picked up a folder on top of the pile and was surprised to see that she was holding a student’s file. Did those not get transferred when the new school opened?
It was all so peculiar, though; as though once Muddy Creek closed everyone just got up, walked away, and washed their hands of the place. They’d closed the doors without ever looking back. The new school was a new start, not just physically but mentally as well. Apparently, even the pieces of chalk and attendance records had been left behind.
After taking a few pictures, Taryn turned and set out for the hallway again. A flash of color on the wall caught her eye, however, and she paused.
She hadn’t seen it when she’d first walked through the door; she’d been too intent on the mess in the floor. Now she didn’t know how she’d missed it. In crimson spray paint above the principal’s desk “LOOK AWAY” was scrawled in big, loopy cursive letters. The paint had run before drying; now the words appeared to be melting towards the floor, the red droplets sliding down the wall like blood.
Taryn took a step backwards and winced at the sight. Her immediate reaction was to do exactly what the wall ordered her to do–she looked away. But then she looked back.
“Interesting choice of words,” she whispered with a nervous laugh as she snapped a picture. She pondered on the meaning, and if it had one at all, as she flipped Miss Dixie over.
The office was in perfect condition, not a thing was out of place. Piles of papers were stacked neatly on the desk; the frothy yellow curtains that blew out from the open window were cheerful; framed pictures of lighthouses and country gardens hung from the walls; and the beige, touch-tone, corded desk phone waited for action.
“Huh. Guess it does mean something,” Taryn laughed weakly.
Knowing she might be on the right track for something, she turned around and took a closer look at the office. Short of going through all the discarded files on the floor and shuffling through the mess, she didn’t know where to start. She started to squat down and begin picking things up from the ground, but then hesitated, a manila file folder in hand.
“No, wait, this is wrong!”
Paying no mind to the mess, she plopped down on the floor and turned her camera back on. Once again, she took a good look at the photo she’d just taken. Something about it had flipped a switch in her mind, but she couldn’t figure out what. Surely the standard, mass-produced artwork couldn’t mean anything…
Then her focus turned back to the neatly organized desk. The phone.
“Ah! That’s it,” she smiled, nodding her head. She’d recognized that phone. Her aunt Sarah had one just like it. She’d kept it all the way through the mid-1990s, when she’d finally been talked into getting a cordless and chucking the rotary. Though the one she was presently looking at was a touch tone, it was virtually the same model.
Taryn was looking at a scene from the 1980s, she’d bet money on it. Even if the school had suffered from lack of budget, and she was sure it had, they would’ve updated eventually.
There was no need to go through any of the paperwork in that room. The school had only been closed for the past twenty years. The picture was pointing out a scene from the 1980s. Whatever was left was sure to have been from the last few years it was open. Still, she opened the file in her hand and checked, just to make sure.
Sure enough, it was a memo dated 1995.
“Okay, I won’t waste time with that, then.”
Before she closed the folder, however, she noted the name stamped on the bottom: Principal Julia Mockbee.
Taryn shuddered and closed her eyes. Julia Mockbee had been one of the victims of the explosion. She’d died, along with the others.
“I’m going to need to know how long she was there,” Taryn said aloud as she rose to her feet. “When she started her job, if she was here back in the 80’s. I’ll ask Matt.”
Daylight wouldn’t last much longer and she’d only been through half of the school. She was going to need to pick up the pace.
As Taryn left the room, the writing on the wall caught her eye again. Look away.
She was certain she felt a cold wind spread through her, a sickly and vile gust that turned her stomach. Taryn’s enthusiasm for her exploration was beginning to wane.
There was a small room directly across the hall from the office. The door was off its hinges. As Taryn stepped towards it, a clatter rang from inside, a shifting similar to the sounds she’d heard on the outside.
Taryn stood in the hall and studied the closet, wondering if it was worth exploring since it was really more of a storage room than a cupboard, when the clatter came again. As she watched in sheer fascination, a yellow, squishy ball leisurely rolled from the room and made its way directly to her. Taryn gasped and jumped backwards and to the side, out of the way of the oncoming intruder, but it rolled to an abrupt about a foot from where she had stood and waited. Telling her it was her turn.
The two of them were alone in the quiet again. The clatter had stopped; now it was just her and the ball. Taryn viewed it with a co
mbination of fear and fascinated curiosity. The ball was soft, like a rubber toy you might throw to a dog. A deep hole had been drilled into the top and pale yellow foam peeked out. She figured it to be about the size of a soccer ball, but she’d never seen one like this before.
“Oh, what’s it going to do to me?” she laughed nervously as she moved forward, still ready to bolt if she must.
From what she assumed was years of grubby little hands and dirty gym floors, the ball was stained with dirt and grime. When she finally got up the nerve to touch it, she bent over and picked it up with care. Biting her lip, Taryn turned and surveyed the area around her. Nothing else had moved, nothing was out of the ordinary. Perhaps it had been a mouse or possum inside, shifting things around.
The ball was extremely lightweight. It barely felt as though she was holding anything at all. It was spongey in her hands, squishy enough that she could squeeze it flat with little effort. “What kind of game were you for?”
At that point, she wouldn’t have been surprised to receive an answer.
Still holding the unexpected gift, Taryn commenced her walk towards the small room again. From where she stood she could see deflated basketballs, old metal baseball bats, an orange roadworks’ cone, and a ratty net. It was a PE room, or sports’ storage. She imagined it had been picked clean over the years; there wasn’t much left. The yellow ball she was holding appeared to be the only one of its kind.
“Then where did that noise come from?” Taryn suddenly realized there wasn’t a single thing in that room that should have caused the racket she’d just heard. “Huh.”
Now she turned back to her ball and studied it again. There was something about the texture, the feel to it that was distracting. She didn’t like it. Feeling dirty holding it, Taryn suddenly didn’t want to be in her hands any longer.
Like a hot potato, she let it go and watched it drop to the ground and bounce away from her. And then, as though driven to a magnet, it dove back towards the little room. Right before it turned the corner and went back inside she caught the fingerprint stains she’d missed while holding it. An entire handprint revealed itself just before it rolled into the shadows and disappeared into obscurity.
Muddy Creek: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 7) Page 11