Taryn's Camera: Beginnings: Four Haunting Novellas

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  Stella laughed at her earnestness. “Well, it’s you I need to thank. It’s wonderful to learn so much about the house I live in.”

  “I hope I wasn’t too hard on poor Rose, though. Like I said, I didn’t know her.” Lily’s voice sounded sheepish now, as though perhaps she’d said too much during her visit.

  “You were fine,” Stella assured her.

  “Others say she’s a fine person, happy and friendly as a lark,” Lily sang.

  Stella, who’d been cleaning off an end table, stopped what she was doing. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, they say she’s changed quite a bit from when she was younger. Much more sociable,” Lily stated.

  “Wait, Rose is alive?” Stella gasped.

  “Well, yes,” Lily replied. She sounded perplexed. “She’s in a nursing home in Belle Meade. I thought you knew?”

  Stella had to find someplace to sit down. She felt like an old fool.

  “I just thought, well, after her husband passed she went to a nursing home. That was, what, thirteen years ago? I assumed there was something wrong with her and she’d passed on.”

  “You’d have to ask her why she went to live there,” Lily answered. “As far as I know, though, she is as alert as she ever was. You might want to visit her.”

  Yes, Stella thought in shock as she placed the receiver down, I do.

  The temptation to simply grab her car keys and run straight to Belle Meade was strong. She wasn’t sure why she waited. There she’d been, chasing a wild goat for weeks, and all she’d had to do was visit the damn woman in a nursing home. A woman who wasn’t much older than herself.

  Stella considered the similarities. Both women had lost their husbands and were left alone in the same house. Both had daughters. Neither one had been lookers. She felt strangely connected to this woman she’d never met and yet, a little jealous as well. The ghost child is mine, Stella thought jealously, she wants me.

  Since Bill’s death, the nightly visits from the child had been a strange sort of comfort to her. She realized now, though, with sadness that the child wasn’t hers at all. She belonged to another woman, a woman who was still living.

  Stella’s jealousy turned to anger. Why wasn’t that woman still here caring for her child? Why had she abandoned her little spirit, left her locked up in that awful dirty room with no sunlight?

  In a very strong way Stella resented visiting Rose. Learning the truth was supposed to set you free, but what if it meant that she’d also lose the ghost child as well? The only thing in the world she had right now?

  Feeling angry and sorry for herself, Stella sank down to the floor and cried, sobbing loudly into her arms. Another smaller cry filtered in from above her and, together, they grieved in harmony–one for something she’d lost and the other for something she’d never had.

  It was 10:00 pm when the telephone rang and Stella startled from her sleep. She’d fallen asleep in front of the television. A late show was on and someone was gaining laugh through magic tricks. Stella thought they looked ridiculous. The phone rang again and she picked it up, wondering who could be calling at that time of night.

  “It’s Taryn,” her daughter said, exasperation filling her voice. “You’ve got to talk to her, Mom. She’s hysterical and doesn’t want anyone but you. I’m about to load her up and bring her over.”

  “Put her on the phone,” Stella said.

  “Hi Nana,” Taryn sniffed. Her nose was stuffy, as though she’d been crying a long time. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay sweetie, what is it?”

  “I had a bad story tonight.”

  Taryn always referred to her dreams as “stories.” To a little one, they probably did resemble movies.

  “What was your story?” Stella prodded.

  “The place where I want to keep my horse?” Taryn sniffed again. “I can’t keep it there.”

  “Why not?” Stella relaxed. So this was just going to be about Taryn wanting something and thinking it impossible to get. It happened a lot.

  “The box is there. And it’s too big to move.”

  “What box sweetie?”

  “The box,” Taryn cried. “The big box with the stuff and the nails. And the little girl who cries.”

  In the two years Stella had lived in the house she had not adequately explored the barn. It leaked, making it impossible to store anything in there without first being mended, it was covered in spider webs, and she was sure she’d seen snakes go in and out of it. The Lawsons had told her that they hadn’t allowed their children to go anywhere near it, for fear of it falling on their heads.

  Although Stella had more trust in it than that, she still took along her flashlight, a hammer, and a crowbar. She stuck her revolver in the pocket in her housecoat, just in case. It was too late in the season for snakes but you just never knew.

  In her nightgown, Bill’s old boots, her housecoat, and a scarf tied around her head she made her way outside.

  Taryn knew exactly which stall she wanted for her horse one day. It was the third one down on the left. Stella had never been sure why Taryn latched onto that one. What it had that the others lacked. She’d been adamant, though, that it was the one.

  Stella shined the light inside the stall and looked around. The hay littering the floor was old and stale. It had molded in some places. She liked the smell of the wood, though, and even the dirt. It was earthy. She didn’t see a box, however. Taryn had been wrong.

  Sighing in both relief and disappointment, Stella turned to leave when something shiny caught the beam of her flashlight. Kneeling to the ground she studied it more. It was a latch, an old rusted latch, in the ground.

  Propping her flashlight on an old milk crate for light, Stella put her crowbar to use. It took several tries but with the lock on it being so old and rusty (it thankfully fell under the part of the barn that got the most water) it finally came off with one good tug. Stella fell backwards, her feet flying out from under her.

  Dusting herself off and muttering aloud, she crawled over to the latch and studied it. It was definitely to a door in the floor. Using the crowbar again, she jimmied it under the wood and pried as hard as she could. The door moved up a little and then fell back down. It was heavier than she’d thought.

  She’d noticed an old shovel right inside the barn door and went back for it. Now, using it as leverage, she tried prying the door open again. It popped loose and fell to the ground with a thud.

  Stella was left staring at the contents. Someone had, indeed, built a “box” into the floor. She didn’t know what its original use had been constructed for but now it was storage. Still afraid of creepy crawlies she used the shovel to dig things out. The first few items on top were garment fragments. There was a man’s suit, some ladies’ hats, a white dress that might have been a wedding gown. They were all so soiled and brittle now that they were falling apart as soon as the shovel scooped them out.

  Stella thought she would be shoveling old clothes out forever when she hit something hard. It fell off into the darkness the first time she tried to get it out so she planted her feet firmly on the ground and tried again, this time making a bigger sweeping motion.

  She came out with a human pelvis.

  In something between resignation and disbelief Stella shined her light into the dark hole. The small skull, just the right size of a seven-year-old child, grinned back at her.

  Stella stood back from the small grave and looked down at the loose dirt.

  “Did I do good Nana?” Taryn asked proudly, standing up and dusting off her hands. She’d arranged the flowers at least half a dozen times. Her hands were filthy and there were streaks of dirt across her little cheek. Along with the flowers she’d brought one of her little plastic ponies and put it on the new grave as well.

  “You did well, Taryn,” Stella answered, touching her lightly on the shoulder.

  The investigation had been brief. Stella was only questioned once. The bright yellow police tape had only been u
p for a week and then removed and thrown away by the same detective who ordered it up. The small room behind the closet had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb. Nobody had really known what to say about that.

  “I think she’ll be happy now,” Taryn said with satisfaction, small hands on hips.

  “I hope so,” Stella agreed. “I hope so.”

  “It’s too bad she died. I could’ve played with her.”

  Stella didn’t have the heart to explain to her young granddaughter that the little girl would be a middle-aged woman now, had she lived. Instead, she just brought her close to her chest and squeezed her. “Yes, it’s too bad.”

  As they walked back to the house Stella felt something she might have called “contentment.” She knew she’d done the right thing. While waiting for the police to arrive in the rain she’d sat downstairs in her parlor and listened to the sounds of the large drops hitting the roof and porch. It had almost sounded like a song. Then, between the melody and the own thoughts racing through her head, she’d heard something else. From the room above her there’d been a giggle, the sound of a mischievous child. It had been followed by a sigh that had shaken Stella to the core. And then she’d felt completely alone. She’d known then that her child was gone. The little soul had moved on. Stella was, once again, by herself.

  But she knew she’d done the right thing. She knew it. Stella had always tried to do what was best.

  Beside her, Taryn reached up and took her hand. The warmth of the small fingers intertwined with her own filled her heart, replacing something she’d been afraid was gone forever.

  The woman across from her was heavyset, had stark white hair, and a big sociable grin spreading across her face. Although she was in a wheelchair Stella had watched her zip across the room, sliding between tables and around other people with ease, as graceful as any dancer. She wore a pair of black stretch pants and a long white silk shirt buttoned down the front. Her lips, fingernails, and toenails were painted in bright coral.

  Stella had a difficult time reconciling this woman with the same sour-faced skinny Rose from the picture.

  “You live in my house,” the woman said brightly. With fuller cheeks she appeared to have dimples. She looked like a Hollywood version of a doting grandmother.

  “Yes, I do,” Stella replied. Now that she was there she was lost. This was a stranger.

  “It’s so nice to have visitors!” she clapped her hands together and beamed. A nearby nurse was keeping her eye on Rose; Stella had noticed that. Now she started to walk toward them but another nurse held her back.

  “I wanted to ask you about your house,” Stella said. “I’ve had some…things going on there and I really want to know about them.”

  “I hope it’s not bad plumbing,” Rose frowned. “That would be terrible. Nothing worse than bad plumbing.”

  “No, it’s not the plumbing,” Stella assured her.

  “Oh, good. I am so glad. It’s a good house. My daddy had it built for me on my wedding day,” Rose said proudly, nodding her head. “I am his little angel.”

  Something was definitely off. Stella knew that now. The wide grin hadn’t left Rose’s face. It was unnatural, almost garish.

  “My husband died not long after we bought the house,” Stella said. “Just like your father did.”

  “Roddy said it was an accident,” Rose sighed but the smile didn’t fade. “They were hunting. The gun backfired. Roddy felt terrible. I missed my daddy so much after that. I thought he might visit me later. Like she did.” Rose whispered this last part, leaning forward a little. “But he didn’t.”

  “What happened to her Rose?” Stella asked gently. “Who put her in the little room? In the box in the barn?”

  At first Rose looked confused, the smile disappearing. Her eyes filled with tears and her hands began to shake. Finally, she leaned forward and grasped Stella’s hands. “You found her! You found my Angelique!”

  Shaking, Stella was too surprised to even pull away. Had she forgotten? Had Rose forgotten where her body was? Or had she never known?

  “Who put her there, Rose? Who put her in the box? In the room?” she asked again.

  Rose sat back and clapped her hands again. “I did!” she sang. “It wasn’t supposed to be the box forever, just until the ground thawed out. It was winter, you know. But then Roddy came home and was so mad. He was working too much. He had to work, you see. My father’s money was only to be used for certain things. Roddy didn’t know that. He didn’t know there were conditions on it.”

  “Did he lock Angelique in the little bedroom?”

  Rose looked at Stella in confusion. “Roddy? Oh no. No, no, no. Roddy wanted a child so badly. An heir. His son. He was so happy when we conceived. It was the proudest he ever was of me. And then on the night she came and he saw her…”

  Rose stopped then and closed her eyes, remembering. Stella had the urge to touch her but resisted.

  “He saw her and screamed. Screamed after the doctor had left. Screamed that I had failed him. He said women were…I can’t say. I don’t like to say those words,” Rose’s lips trembled.

  “You don’t have to,” Stella assured her, as though talking to a child. “So he didn’t want your daughter?”

  “No,” Rose replied sadly. “He said I was going to the devil. That I had not honored his request for a son. He told me to kill her, to give her away. He never wanted to see her or hear her again. That if he did I’d have an accident like my father’s.”

  “So the next day he went to the doctor and said that the baby had died and then he left for Nashville?” Stella prodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Where was the baby all that time?”

  “I took care of her,” Rose said proudly. “I wrapped her up and kept her in the box in the barn until he left.”

  Stella tried to imagine it, but couldn’t. Rose, fresh from given birth, ordered to kill her infant. Wrapping her in a blanket and smuggling her to the barn. Running back out to check on her. The baby alone in the dark, scared and crying.

  “Three years he was gone,” Rose said dreamily. “I fixed up the nursery by our bedroom. Those were the happiest years of my life.”

  “Why didn’t you just leave? While he was gone, why not just leave?”

  “And where would I have gone?” Rose asked. “I had nobody left. Who would take in a woman and a baby?”

  “You had your father’s money,” Stella pointed out.

  “Oh, Roddy handled all of that. I didn’t know how to get it. I went to the bank but they wouldn’t help me. I hoped he would die. I thought he would die. So many others did,” Rose said sadly. “I don’t know why he lived.”

  “And when he returned?”

  “He sent a telegram. I was excited when I received it. I thought it was a telegram to say he was dead. But it was one saying he was coming home. I moved our bedroom to another room down the hall, away from the nursery. I blocked up the door, made just a tiny one for me to crawl through in the closet. Angelique was very quiet. I warned her about the monster.”

  Stella’s stomach turned, guessing the rest. “How long?”

  “Four more glorious years,” Rose sighed. “She came out when he was gone. And he was gone a lot. But he could never, ever know. And then he was home for a very long time. She got so sick. So sick. I couldn’t help her. No doctors.”

  Because he would’ve killed both of them had he known, Stella thought.

  “She didn’t leave forever,” Rose whispered. “Even after she was gone I could still hear her. Still hear her crying for me. Sometimes Roddy did too. He ran screaming from the house one night, saying something was after him. And then later, after he was gone, she came after me. I’d forgotten where she was until you told me!”

  Rose looked maddeningly gleeful. Her teeth were now stained the color of her lipstick. Her hand was beginning to tremble as well. Stella closed her eyes and reached out to her with her mind. She pressed harshly, digging as deep as she could. She didn’t
normally invade others’ privacies but this was different. Scenes from a Walt Disney movie flashed before her eyes, words from a Christmas carol, a commercial jingle, some kind of jump rope chant.

  Stella rose to her feet. There was nothing much left to the woman before her. The thing before her was barely more than a vessel. Stella smiled and stuck out her hand. “Thank you Rose,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for everything that happened.”

  “Thanks for finding my Angelique!” Rose sang happily.

  On the way out, Stella stopped by the nurse’s station. “When Rose Maguire came, did she have a diagnosis? I don’t mean to be nosy but she seems a little…off.”

  The nurse smiled. “She came in with dementia and Parkinson’s. I believe there is some schizophrenia as well, but that’s between you and me. She hasn’t been able to take care of herself since her husband died. Some days are good for her. This is one of those days. You’re lucky.”

  “Why here, though?” Stella wondered aloud. “By all accounts she had lots of money waiting around. Why not hire someone to come to her?”

  The nurse looked confused for a moment and then laughed. “Oh, didn’t you know? She owns the nursing home. It was apparently one of the stipulations in her father’s will. Ms. Maguire owns a good 15% of Belle Meade. She’s probably one of the wealthiest women I’ve ever met.”

  The night air was soft. The warm little body snuggled in beside Stella was asleep and snoring lightly. She reached out her hand to touch Taryn’s silky hair, careful not to wake her. The house had been calm since the burial. Taryn hadn’t spoken of any bad stories in awhile.

  She hoped Taryn was too young to remember what she’d seen and heard. She also knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Her baby was special. Someday she’d have to explain that to Taryn. She had many years ahead of her, though. There was still plenty of time.