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

By Rebecca Patrick-Howard

Taryn Magill can see the past through her camera and she’s never met an old house she didn’t like. But what happened before she fought for her life at the Devil’s House? What is the mysterious presence that haunts her Aunt Sarah’s farmhouse in New Hampshire? Was she the first to see and hear ghosts at the historic Shaker Village?

Taryn’s Camera: Beginnings includes 4 novellas that act as prequels to the Taryn’s Camera series. All ghost stories, all spooky fun!

In “Pieces” you’ll travel back to Shaker Town and follow Susan, a spitfire woman who learned the secret of the haunted pond long before Taryn.

In “The Devil’s House” you’ll return to Windwood Farm and follow four teenagers in the 1950s who spend an evening at the haunted house that none of them will ever forget.

In “Stella”, you’ll meet Taryn’s grandmother, a woman who finds that there’s more to her spooky old house than she ever imagined.

Lastly, in “Sarah” you’ll finally meet Taryn’s Aunt Sarah. Alone in her rambling old farmhouse in New Hampshire, Sarah is about to come face-to-face with something unspeakable–something that will act as the catalyst for everything that follows in Taryn’s life.

**These are companion stories to the Taryn’s Camera series. It is not necessary to have read the rest of the books in the series first. The Taryn’s Camera series follows multi-media artist Taryn Magill, a woman who can see the past through her camera. If you like ghosts, mysteries, and old houses than she’s your gal!**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Patrick-Howard
• Release date: Nov 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540104700

Rebecca Patrick-Howard

Rebecca Patrick-Howard is the author of more than a dozen books including the popular paranormal mystery series Taryn’s Camera, about a woman who sees the past through her camera, and The Kentucky Witches series. She lives in eastern Kentucky with her husband and two children. To order copies of ALL of Rebecca’s books, including autographed paperbacks, visit her website at:

Book preview

Sarah

A Prequel to

Sarah’s House

***

Rebecca Patrick-Howard

"It was a dark and stormy night."

Sarah laughed at herself as her words were swallowed by the darkness of the parlor. Outside, the wind howled something fierce. It was carrying on like it was the world’s last night, its last chance to show everyone what it had. The trees around the house were bowed nearly to the ground, bending and struggling not to break in half. She’d heard branches snapping and hitting the ground all night. Some had even hit the house.

More money down the drain, Sarah groaned as she took a sip of tea.  It was lukewarm. The cup was cold in her hand. The power had gone off hours ago, leaving the house dark and cold. She had a fire going upstairs in her bedroom but had come down for a new book. Something to take her mind off the storm.

Sarah had lived alone for forty-two years. She’d never married, never had children...never even had a roommate. The last time she’d lived with anyone was when she was still in her parents’ home.

Sarah sighed, feeling melancholy at the thought of her parents. Her mother was living with Sarah’s young niece, Taryn, in central Tennessee. Her father had passed on several years before. She missed them both terribly, hated being so far away from them in New Hampshire.

But she’d made a promise to Stella, her mother.

You’re the only one who cares about this creaky old place, Stella had warned her when she’d been a teenager, intent on leaving the small town and moving to Boston where there were things to do and people to see. It will be yours one day and you’ll have to take care of it. And...

Sarah could still remember the way her mother had paused then, and looked down at her feet as though she didn’t know how to continue.

And what? Sarah’d asked impatiently. After all, she was sixteen and her friends were waiting for her outside. They were going to North Conway–all of them. Sarah had changed clothes four times, just trying to find something that would impress Billy.

And everything that goes with it, Stella had mumbled at last, unable to meet Sarah’s eyes.

’And everything that goes with it,’ Sarah repeated now, almost hearing her mother’s voice ring out through the cold, damp room.

Another explosion of lightning hit, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder. The house shook a little, trembling on its foundation. The storm was over her now, hitting her at full force.

The next flash of light illuminated the half-empty bottle of Tennessee whiskey on the buffet. Sarah glanced down at her cold cup of tea and the beckoning bottle.

Oh, why the hell not? she muttered to herself, crossing the room.

She opened it, poured a generous dollop into her cup, and took a sip. Then she placed the bottle back down on the buffet and turned to leave.

When the next crash of rolling thunder filled the house and shook her to the core, Sarah turned back around, shoved the bottle under her arm, and headed for the stairs.

SARAH LOVED THE fact that she never knew what lay in store the day after a good thunderstorm. Sometimes the storms brought a pristine brightness, leaving the world looking and feeling renewed; the sky clear and blue, the air pure and fresh, and the grass sparkling green.

Today it brought the fog.

Sarah felt the fog before she saw it. She woke up with her bedroom cold and damp. Her breath left her in little white clouds. The duvet on her bed was cold, almost moist to the touch. Sometime during the night, her fire had gone out. Feeling the chilly floorboards beneath her feet, Sarah scampered across the room to light the fire again. When it was blazing again she let it warm her legs and feet, pulling up the hem of her long nightgown so that the warmth could spread up her body.

Satisfied she’d thawed out, she walked over to one of the windows that faced the edge of the woods and lake beyond. The fog was thick and gray and hovered just a few feet above the ground. From that vantage point she could usually see the shores of the gray, matte lake. Sometimes, if she strained her eyes enough, she could see boats out in the center of it. There were caves buried beneath the surface and some adventurers tried to dive down and find them in the summertime, once the water had warmed. Legends of buried gold and lost treasure had plagued the lake for as long as she could remember.

Sarah couldn’t see a darn thing that day. She could barely see past the gravel road and her rusty old Ford truck. The fog was just too thick.

She shivered, but not with fear.

We live to hide another day, old friend, she spoke with confidence to the walls that surrounded her.

There was nothing Sarah liked more than feeling isolated and cut off from the rest of the world.

THE POWER’S BACK on Madge, Sarah said, rolling her eyes as she balanced the cordless phone on her shoulder. We wouldn’t be talking if it was still out. My phone would’ve died.

We get so worried about you up there all by your lonesome, the woman on the other end of the line tittered. So worried. You, a woman, alone...

Well, I’m armed and dangerous if anyone messes with me, Sarah assured her.

Good, came the vehement declaration.

Sarah had mostly lived in Center Heronborough all her life. Her mother was from there. She’d grown up in that farm house, had only left it for a short time for college. She’d never had any trouble, other than a few curious sightseers who found their way up to her house after turning down her driveway and meandering down the five-mile lane. No one had ever tried to hurt her.

Still, because she was a single, middle-aged woman people worried.

They ought to be more worried about anyone who tries anything, Sarah muttered now as she picked up another fallen branch and tossed it into the pile. She’d have herself a good bonfire soon. Splintered branches littered her yard. She had to pick them up now or else she’d tear up her new riding mower in a couple of weeks when mowing season started.

The air outside was neither warm nor cold; it was as though the fog had sealed in whatever temperature the storm brought, leaving the world caught in the middle of the thermometer. She was sweating inside the down jacket and LL Bean jeans lined with flannel, but the sweat was a cold one. And, since she was going through The Change she could never quite be sure what was environmental and what was her own body playing tricks on her.

She’d been outside, cleaning up debris from the storm, for a solid two hours when her back and legs started complaining from all the walking and bending over.

Not the spring chicken you used to be, old girl, Sarah sighed as she straightened and began massaging the small of her back. But you’ve still got some miles left in you yet.

Icy sweat was running down her forehead, and as she fished for her bandana and started mopping at it, something from an upstairs window caught her eye. It was a flash of light, a glint that cut through the dirty fog and moved back and forth in rapid movements before quickly disappearing.

Sarah shielded her eyes and squinted hard, trying to force her eyes to cover the distance and make out what might lay beyond the glass. It was useless, though; the air was too thick.

Well that was strange, she said with a shrug. Maybe I’m growing blind as well as brittle.

Curious and confused, though not frightened, Sarah traipsed back to the house. Not wishing to track in mud, she kicked her men’s boots off at the door and left them to dry on the porch. She’d scrape the mud off later.

The window in which she’d seen the peculiar flash was on the second floor–it belonged to one of the guest rooms. The house hadn’t seen guests in years so it was more of a storage room these days. Sarah kept the door shut to keep the heat from entering it. No use paying to heat a room nobody used, she’d reasoned.

At one time the bedroom had belonged to her sister. Her sister had not used it in fifteen years, however. And now she was dead and would never use it again.

Spring had begun its tentative dance and some days were even nigh on warm but the news had apparently escaped this particular room. It was as frigid as an ice box.

Shivering, Sarah stepped inside, flipped on the light switch, and took a look around. The bed, dresser, and chest of drawers from her childhood were all still there–covered in several years’ worth of dust now. She rarely cleaned the rooms she didn’t use. A cluster of porcelain dolls and stuffed animals with matted fur and milky eyes watched her from the bed.

Sarah had never cared for dolls. She’d always felt like they were silently mocking her.

The heavy brocade drapes that helped trap the warm air in the winter and cold air in the summer hung limply at the windows. As Sarah neared them, she got the unpleasant whiff of mildew.

Damn it, she grumbled. Must have a leaky window.

She tried not to think about how much money that would cost her, especially if she was looking at water damage and rot.

Sarah didn’t know what she’d find when she opened the curtain. A loose nail or screw, perhaps. Something a bird had carried in, maybe.

There was nothing there, however. Nothing rested on the windowsill, nothing metal or shiny was