Dark Hollow Road (Taryn's Camera Book 3)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  She was tossing and turning, considering just getting up and going back downstairs, when the temperature in the room suddenly changed. It was a noticeable difference as the chill blasted her uncovered legs and arms and eradicated all traces of the lovely heat that had been encompassing her just moments before. The arctic blast sent chills down her spine and raised a road of goosebumps along her exposed skin.

  Downstairs, she could hear Matt singing in the kitchen. He was probably still wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron while he washed dishes and wrapped up the leftover lasagna. Her television was set to low and the sound was friendly, chatty. But she was scared. The logical side of her knew nobody could’ve gotten into the house without either her nor Matt knowing but the irrational side tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  As if by instinct, Taryn slowly slid her feet back under the comforter, engulfing them in the heat and safety of the blanket. Like a little kid afraid of the monster under the bed, she eased towards the middle until there was no chance of some horrendous creature being able to reach out and grab onto a dangling limb.

  Except for the television, the room was otherwise quiet. But the air was frigid and still, a cold breath from something that was no longer human. Or alive.

  “Hello?” Taryn whispered. “What do you want?”

  The glare from the television cast shadows on the walls and floor and as she peeked out from under the comforter she could see them dancing in frantic shadows. The bedroom door was partially open and the hall light glowed brightly, a sharp contrast to the darkness. And still, the cold air poked and pulled at her, seeking her warm flesh and covering it with icy fingers.

  Tempted to call out for Matt, Taryn sat up in the bed, clutching the cover to her breasts. She balled the thick fabric under her fingers, the feel of it reassuring. Lucille Ball argued with Desi in black and white and a laugh track chuckled on cue. Taryn knew she wasn’t alone. She couldn’t see anyone in the room, but could feel their presence as though they were standing beside her, breathing down her neck.

  Feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, Taryn took slow measured breaths and attempted to control her racing heart. She knew if she opened her mouth to call out her voice would be high-pitched and frantic. She’d worry Matt to death and she didn’t want to sound or be helpless. Yet, she was terrified.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, finally tossing the covers back in disgust. She didn’t have to sit there on her own and freak herself out; she was going downstairs.

  She didn’t even have the chance to swing her legs over the side of the bed, though, when she saw it. At first, she thought the shadow in the corner of the bedroom by the closet was merely that–a shadow. Low to the floor and stubby, it looked like a pile of clothes or a suitcase with a wet towel thrown over it. But then it moved. The lumpy shape began to change in front of her eyes and while she wouldn’t call it solid, she couldn’t exactly see through it, either. As she watched in horror, it languidly stretched itself out until it was long, perhaps five feet in length, and rested couple of feet off the ground. Darkness swirled around it, a kind of grayness that set it apart from the dusk of the room. It slowly shuffled towards the bed, a large animal awkward and unsure of its movements. As she watched in horror, she began making out details–a swatch of inky hair, the separation of joints in the front that resembled fingers, feet dragging behind. It wasn’t an animal at all, but a person and it was coming for her in slow motion.

  Unable to scream or even move, Taryn was rooted. She couldn’t have sat there on the bed for more than a second or two but it felt like an eternity. The length between the figure and her bed was only ten feet or so but it advanced in the night, covering the ground and space in almost a single movement. Taryn edged backwards, pulling the comforter with her. There might have been a scraping sound coming from the floor, or it could have been her own breathing.

  And then, it was at the bed. As the long, thin, pale hand touched the sheet and the bony, dirt-splattered fingers clawed at the flannel, Taryn had just enough time to look down and see Cheyenne’s pale, lifeless eyes looking back at her before she let out a scream that shook the house. And passed out.

  Chapter 15

  Taryn’s students, for the most part, were extremely talented. What they lacked in technique they made up for in enthusiasm. She’d divided them into two groups: those who were in the class for the art and those who were there for the history. The artists simply loved sketching and drawing; their subject matter didn’t necessarily matter. The other group might not have been as talented but had a passion for the history and architecture she talked about. They didn’t care that the buildings Taryn had them draw weren’t mansions or historically relevant-they were just as happy to sketch a dilapidated farmhouse as they were the governor’s mansion. These were the students after Taryn’s own heart. Her love of history had come before her love of drawing and painting. She was lusting after ramshackle American four squares and the sad little neglected bungalows in Germantown (they’d held happy, proud families at one time) before she knew anything about shading.

  Word had spread about her “other” talent and even though the students were too polite, or too nervous, to ask her about it she could feel their questions hanging in the air. She wondered how many of them knew she’d been lured to the town for reasons other than to teach. She was faintly embarrassed by the fact, something she’d cried to Matt about. “Hush,” he’d scolded her. “You’re a good artist and a good teacher. They’re all getting something out of your class. Who cares why you originally came?”

  But now she felt like she should address the issue.

  “Hey guys,” she began once they were all seated. Taryn was wearing a long wool skirt, tall black boots, and a black leather jacket over a red sweater. She’d taken the time to pull herself together and even applied a little bit of blush and mascara. Living with Matt was starting to make her a little sloppy, especially since he seemed to love and want her no matter what she looked like. If she didn’t watch it, she’d start buying flannel pajama bottoms at the Dollar General and wearing them out in public with her house shoes. “I need to talk to you all for a second before we get started today. I’m anxious to look at everyone’s pictures but I kind of have something to say first.”

  She had their full attention and felt on the spot as they turned their eyes to her, their inquisitive faces making her blush.

  “So I know some of you know that in addition to my job I also, er, work with the paranormal.” Make it normal, she thought. Make it sound like just part of the job. “I was asked to help out with a case while I was here and so some of my time is going to be devoted to that. I don’t know what you’ve read or heard but if you have any questions, I just wanted to let you know it’s okay to ask me.”

  It didn’t take long before they started flying.

  “Are you looking for Cheyenne Willoughby?”

  “Have you seen any ghosts while you’re here?”

  “Can you talk to the ghosts?”

  “Have you ever worked as a psychic for the police department?”

  “How long have you known you’re a psychic?”

  Now feeling overwhelmed, Taryn tried to answer them as they came but there were just too many. Holding her hand up, she quieted them down and laughed. “Okay, okay. Let me try something else. First of all, I am not a psychic. I can’t see the future, never have. Most of what I do is seen through my camera. Miss Dixie is the one with the real talent, I guess; she can see the past. At first I thought it was just her but now I realize it’s me and she’s more like the…”

  “Conduit?” one of the more vocal guys volunteered.

  “Yes, thank you. The conduit. I don’t always need her, but she helps me see the bigger picture I guess. And, as some of you know, I am here trying to help with Cheyenne Willoughby’s disappearance, although so far I haven’t been able to add anything constructive. As for talking to ghosts, I have tried talking to them but haven’t had any res
ponse back. I still think spirits might be leftover energy and not real entities with the capability of communicating.”

  “I don’t know,” a quiet little blonde in the front stammered. “I mean, when my papaw died I saw his ghost about a week later. I spoke to him and told him I loved and missed him. He told me he loved me, too, and then he disappeared.”

  Although nobody snickered or poked fun at her, she shrank back into her chair as though the laughter would soon follow her confession.

  “I’ve talked to other people who have been able to communicate with spirits,” Taryn revealed carefully. “But so far I am not one of those people.”

  At the risk of turning the class into a paranormal session, she tried to wrap things up. “I guess, the thing is, you might be hearing a little more about me. I hope that doesn’t change your impression of me or make you freaked out about being in the class. I promise I’m not a weird-o.” The students laughed, a sound that cut the tension. “Okay, well, maybe I am a little bit but I’m not a freak, and if there’s anything you want to talk about then please find me after class or email me and I’ll do the best I can.”

  As a previous assignment, she'd asked the students to go around the county and take pictures of their favorite old homes and buildings. Each one got a couple of minutes to pull their image up on her laptop so she could show the whole class on the board. They then got the chance to talk about why they’d taken the shot and what drew them to the building.

  When everyone was finished, Taryn flipped on the lights and stood in front of the group again. “All right, those were great. Now, your next assignment is to draw one of the buildings you saw today. Only, you are going to have to draw it from memory, the best you can, since you won’t have the picture in front of you. I want to test your imaginations, memory, and creativity. Don’t worry, there is no right or wrong way to do this,” she added when a few groans erupted around the room.

  Emma took her time and waited for everyone to leave before approaching Taryn. “Hey,” she smiled. Taryn coveted the beautiful white pea coat she wore. She knew she spilled too much and had hips that were too wide to be able to carry off such a thing. “How you holding up?”

  “Okay,” Taryn shrugged. “Better now that my friend’s back in town.” There was no way she was going to tell her about the nightly visitor she’d had.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Any news on who it might have been?” The concern on Emma’s face was touching and Taryn felt warmth at the young woman’s compassion.

  “Not yet. Probably just someone who thought nobody was there,” Taryn answered. Of course, the lamp was on downstairs.

  “Or someone looking to score,” Emma declared. “The drug problem is getting really bad here. When I was a kid it was all about the booze. Some people smoked pot but most of us couldn’t afford it. We were lucky to score a Marlboro. Then it was prescription pills. OxyContin, Percocet’s, shit like that.”

  “What happened?” Taryn asked with interest. “Has it moved on to something else?”

  “Yeah,” Emma scoffed. “Heroin. Cocaine. Used to be cocaine was just stuff rich people or celebrities did. You know, very 1980s. But then they started cracking down on the prescription pills, making them harder to get. Shut down the pain clinics, made it impossible for doctors to prescribe them, even to people who needed them. My mom? She had a hysterectomy and they sent her home with Tylenol. And not the kind with codeine.”

  “That’s usually the way it happens,” Taryn agreed. “The people who need it can’t get it and those who don’t need it and abuse it still find a way.”

  “Yeah, well, they didn’t find a way to get it; they just moved on to something else,” Emma explained. “Now it’s heroin and cocaine. They got these drug runners coming up from Florida and down from Detroit. It’s not even that much. After school job, allowance? A little money goes a long way now and it don’t take much to get you hooked. Some people still do crystal meth, but that shit’s scary. Girls around here don’t like what it can do to your teeth, to your skin. They think heroin is safer.”

  “Nothing with a needle is safe,” Taryn mumbled. “They’re playing Russian roulette with their lives.”

  “Tell me about it,” Emma replied. “We had two heroin deaths last spring and our county hadn’t had that in almost twenty years. But I wasn’t actually up here to get all depressed and talk drugs. I wanted to invite you to a party,” she offered brightly.

  “Oh, yeah, when?” It had been a long time since someone invited Taryn to a party. The invitations dropped off after Andrew died. Someone who sat in the corner of the room or parked themselves by the buffet table all night and didn’t socialize wasn’t a person most people wanted around, especially when booze made her a downer.

  “It’s going to be at the farm, you know, the one you’re staying at? And it’s on Halloween night. Should be fun.”

  A feeling of unease ran down Taryn’s spine. What was it her grandmother used to say? A goose walked over her grave. “But I thought Cheyenne’s uncle said there wasn’t going to be anything else out there?”

  “Yeah, well, Eric and I persuaded him. And Thelma said it was okay,” she added hurriedly. “We thought a bonfire, a cookout, some costumes, and live music? It’s what people need around here. And, of course, we want you to come. And for you to bring your boyfriend.”

  Taryn didn’t correct her about Matt. She didn’t know how he’d feel about it. He wasn’t into loud parties with alcohol and dancing. Matt was more of a quiet dinner for two and live jazz, twirling her around a dance floor kind of guy. Still… as morbid as it felt to attend a party at the last place Cheyenne was seen, it might not hurt to be around others who knew her.

  “Yeah, we’ll come,” she declared. “In two weeks, right? I guess I need to start looking for a costume.”

  “What do you think? Sexy Eve or sexy witch?” Taryn held both costumes in front of Matt but his lack of response had her lowering her arms and rolling her eyes. The dressing room lines were long and she was already agitated. “How about sexy Yoda?”

  “What?” he asked, confused. His eyes were glued to his phone. “Sorry. I’m just trying to answer some emails.”

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” she reminded him. “You could’ve stayed back at the house.”

  “Oh no, it’s fine,” he insisted. “I like getting out. I’m just really behind.”

  She knew that, of course, and knew he was behind because of her. Not only had he taken a bunch of time off from work, something he never did, but he’d rushed back when the intruder came in on her and that had thrown him even further off course. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling ridiculous for toting around sexy Halloween costumes when, for all Taryn knew, his job could be on the line. He was there to help her work, sort of, and there she was trying to find a slutty costume to keep in line with a bunch of teenagers.

  “It’s okay. I’m enjoying myself. I don’t know about the party, though.” His forehead burrowed in concern and he began biting his lower lip–a sure sign he was feeling uncomfortable and didn’t know how to vocalize his feelings. “I’m just not into getting out with a bunch of people I don’t know and spending the evening with them.”

  “I’m not either usually,” she agreed. “But she asked and it does sound like fun. Besides, I might learn something.”

  “I guess I could make some chocolates. Or bread. You think they like sourdough?” he asked hopefully.

  If the party was anything like the ones she’d heard about in high school, but had never actually attended, then she was certain there’d be more making out and drinking than eating from a buffet. But that was something she’d have to work up to with him gradually. “I think chocolate might be a good idea,” she offered. “Or you could do a dip and chips. Everyone likes those.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, a light turning back on in his eyes. “And a bottle of wine?”

  Or a box, she muttered to herself.

  “We don’t have to do too
much, okay?” she repeated gently. “These are young adults who probably just want to listen to music and dance. Get into some trouble. We’re going to be the old fuddy duddies hanging out because they were too polite to not ask us.”

  “Are you going to drink?” he asked with honest concern. “You know how alcohol has been affecting you recently. It might make your headaches and joint pain worse.”

  “I don’t get that,” she mused. “That glass of wine I had the other night with dinner was nothing compared to what I’ve done in the past and, yet, I felt like I had a major hangover. Do you think that’s why I…”

  “Passed out?” he offered. “Maybe. You said you were feeling a little dizzy earlier.”

  “I was going to say see Cheyenne’s ghost but I guess passing out could have been because of the wine, too. Matt, do you think maybe there’s something wrong with my brain?” The idea had been troubling her but considering how she was feeling before Cheyenne’s spirit, or whatever it was, took a little stroll on all fours to her bed she couldn’t discount the notion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My brain. The headaches? The dizziness? The tingling I’ve been feeling in my arms and my pain? Do you think there might be something wrong with my brain and that’s why I am the way I am?” Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she did her best to fight them back. Breaking down in the middle of the old Wal-Mart that had temporarily been converted into a seasonal Halloween store would not be cool.

  “What do you mean ‘the way you are’?” he asked gently.

  “The ghosts, the feelings. What I see through Miss Dixie. What if I am not sensitive or I’m not seeing or feeling things at all? At least nothing paranormal. What if I just have a brain tumor?”