Read Online Windwood Farm (Taryn's Camera) by Rebecca Patrick-Howard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Patrick-Howard
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the thought of capturing more images and being transported back into the past–creepy shadow guy that Tammy talked about not included. Miss Dixie, who had always been one of her prized (if not the most prized) possessions now took a place of honor in her hotel room. She set her next to her second favorite object, the television, so that she could keep an eye on both equally.
Once she calmed down, she paced back and forth across the hotel room’s multi-colored carpeted floor and had a good long talk with herself. What if this was a one-time thing? What if it was just going to happen at certain times? Should she get back out there right away and take more pictures? And what time period were the pictures from? Well, that question was easy enough to answer. They had to be from the 1920s or 30s. Nobody had really lived in the house after that and the furnishings hadn’t looked 19 th century. But why that time period and not anything before or after?
On a lark, she tried taking pictures of her hotel room, wondering if anything would show up that wasn’t supposed to be there, but they came back normal: just her messy clothes rack, cluttered sink, and shoes kicked off all over the floor. That had been disappointing , but she figured it was probably better than them showing some of the other things that had probably gone on in the room before her stay (things she definitely didn’t want to think about if she was going to sleep on the bed).
In disappointment, she thought back to some of the other places she’d worked in the past, like the old farmhouse in Vermont with its gables and wrap-around porch. It was missing the entire backside and hadn’t been lived in for almost fifty years. It was so homey, though, and inviting. She’d loved to see what it looked like in its prime. It was too bad her camera hadn’t picked up anything there. Or the house in Mississippi. If only the camera could have picked up on something there and Andrew could have seen the piano making the beautiful music…He’d never had that experience again after that particular house, no matter how many jobs he’d worked on as historical architect.
But she couldn’t think about Andrew right now or the other jobs they’d worked on together after Mississippi.
Taryn had spent her entire professional career showing her clients the past and helping them see, but this was the first time she’d ever been able to see for herself. Nobody had ever given that experience to her.
She did briefly wonder if she should contact Reagan or the members of the Stokes County Historical Society and show them what she had, but this wasn’t a thought she entertained for very long. They’d either think she was crazy or, more likely, they’d be over there harassing her about it every day. No, she wanted to keep this to herself as long as possible. She didn’t like a crowd.
What she wanted was to take more pictures and see more stuff! What she wanted was to run around to every old building she could find and snap images like crazy, hoping to see things from the past emerge.
But she was afraid.
Since returning to the house, she tried capturing more images and they’d all come back normal. That had been a huge letdown for her. She hadn’t heard or seen anything unusual either, despite Tammy’s stories about the house being haunted and her previous experiences. That was also disappointing. She didn’t want to see a ghost, if there were such things, but to be completely cut off like that once the door opened for her a little bit made her feel like she had done something wrong.
She appreciated the house and was even starting to love it, so she didn’t understand why it wasn’t revealing itself to her, or whatever you wanted to call it. If it was supposed to be so haunted, then why hadn’t she heard anything or seen anything? Why hadn’t Miss Dixie picked up on anything more? She’d been back inside almost every day since working there for the past week and a half.
Once she calmed down, she paced back and forth across the hotel room’s multi-colored carpeted floor and had a good long talk with herself. What if this was a one-time thing? What if it was just going to happen at certain times? Should she get back out there right away and take more pictures? And what time period were the pictures from? Well, that question was easy enough to answer. They had to be from the 1920s or 30s. Nobody had really lived in the house after that and the furnishings hadn’t looked 19 th century. But why that time period and not anything before or after?
On a lark, she tried taking pictures of her hotel room, wondering if anything would show up that wasn’t supposed to be there, but they came back normal: just her messy clothes rack, cluttered sink, and shoes kicked off all over the floor. That had been disappointing , but she figured it was probably better than them showing some of the other things that had probably gone on in the room before her stay (things she definitely didn’t want to think about if she was going to sleep on the bed).
In disappointment, she thought back to some of the other places she’d worked in the past, like the old farmhouse in Vermont with its gables and wrap-around porch. It was missing the entire backside and hadn’t been lived in for almost fifty years. It was so homey, though, and inviting. She’d loved to see what it looked like in its prime. It was too bad her camera hadn’t picked up anything there. Or the house in Mississippi. If only the camera could have picked up on something there and Andrew could have seen the piano making the beautiful music…He’d never had that experience again after that particular house, no matter how many jobs he’d worked on as historical architect.
But she couldn’t think about Andrew right now or the other jobs they’d worked on together after Mississippi.
Taryn had spent her entire professional career showing her clients the past and helping them see, but this was the first time she’d ever been able to see for herself. Nobody had ever given that experience to her.
She did briefly wonder if she should contact Reagan or the members of the Stokes County Historical Society and show them what she had, but this wasn’t a thought she entertained for very long. They’d either think she was crazy or, more likely, they’d be over there harassing her about it every day. No, she wanted to keep this to herself as long as possible. She didn’t like a crowd.
What she wanted was to take more pictures and see more stuff! What she wanted was to run around to every old building she could find and snap images like crazy, hoping to see things from the past emerge.
But she was afraid.
Since returning to the house, she tried capturing more images and they’d all come back normal. That had been a huge letdown for her. She hadn’t heard or seen anything unusual either, despite Tammy’s stories about the house being haunted and her previous experiences. That was also disappointing. She didn’t want to see a ghost, if there were such things, but to be completely cut off like that once the door opened for her a little bit made her feel like she had done something wrong.
She appreciated the house and was even starting to love it, so she didn’t understand why it wasn’t revealing itself to her, or whatever you wanted to call it. If it was supposed to be so haunted, then why hadn’t she heard anything or seen anything? Why hadn’t Miss Dixie picked up on anything more? She’d been back inside almost every day since working there for the past week and a half.
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