The Muddy Creek PTA had come up with the provocative idea of painting the elementary school deep red, a tribute to the Muddy Creek Cardinals who had won the county-wide basketball championship from 1987-1990.
Nobody had counted on the elements; over the years, the school had faded to a bright, unmistakable, blushing pink.
“My colors are blush and bashful,” Taryn giggled when she’d first seen the picture. She could quote “Steel Magnolias” all day long.
At least, the part of the school that could still be seen was pink.
“All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men,” Taryn whispered as the building came into full view.
The school had been blown to pieces, parts of it strewn as far back as the field and creek behind it.
That was, of course, why Taryn had been called in for the job in the first place: to put Muddy Creek Elementary back together again.
* * *
TARYN EXPECTED TO FEEL a sense of sadness, a tug of melancholia, as she walked around the remains of the once vibrant (and still vibrant in its tacky way) school. She was surprised at what she felt instead: repulsion.
Confused, she stood knee-deep in weeds and observed the building before her. She was overcome with the urge to scratch at her legs, swipe at her arms and nape of her neck. It had nothing to do with the swarms of bugs in the air.
The school had been closed for many years, since she was a little girl. The fire had happened only last year, however, long after Muddy Creek consolidated with two other nearby country schools to make the much bigger (and more modern) Pleasant Grove Elementary.
It had been many years since those hallways had heard the happy, cheerful voices of children as the soles of their new shoes squeaked on the newly-waxed tiles. A long time since the rotten swings with their rusty chains had been moved back and forth by anything other than the wind. The newest generation of the county’s children wouldn’t even be able to remember a time when the school had been open.
“Huh,” Taryn spoke with puzzlement as she stood before the front entrance with her hands on her hips. She was surprised by her antipathy.
Normally, Taryn was head over heels for anything old, abandoned, and neglected. She felt the same way over old houses that some people felt about abandoned animals. But this one…
“I don’t like it,” she whispered as she crossed her arms over her chest and shivered slightly.
It was isolated, pushed back away from the rest of civilization like it had been forgotten long before anyone stopped remembering it. With its location over the embankment and the heavy foliage, one could almost drive right past it and not know it was there. If not for the color, they probably would.
The side that remained intact with its offensive pink paint was in poor condition–a condition that was just as poor as the side that had been burnt. Cracks formed in windows; big holes gaped in others. From deep inside, blackness oozed out and seemed to consider Taryn carefully. She was reminded of a big, toothless mouth of a giant, waiting to gobble up the children that moved too close.
In its abandonment, weeds had grown through the drive that encircled the school. Spindly vines grew up the sides and poked their way through the doors and windows. Plaster crumbled and littered the ground, ground overgrown with stringy wildflowers and thorny shrubs.
The other side of the school, the damaged side, was better in its own way. It was in complete ruin, but at least it was an excusable ruin. The fact that it had burned almost pardoned its appearance. Still…
Although it had been more than a year since the fire, Taryn could still smell the acrid scent of the smoke. It had left behind a rottenness that permeated the air, and she gagged, unable to help herself. Could nobody else smell it? It was like a sewer, a terrible stench that made her eyes water. She didn’t know how they’d be able to fix that. If they were going to get the school back together and renovate it, they’d have to do something about it.
“Oh man, this is going to be a problem,” Taryn said as she paced around the building, moving at a much faster pace than she would usually.
Taryn always took along her camera, Miss Dixie, with her, especially at the first meeting when she was introducing herself to the building she’d be working with. Miss Dixie was her second set of eyes; she liked for her camera to gain her first impressions early on and both preferred to dive into the work immediately.
But, this time, neither had any interest in pausing long enough to capture any moment they were having.
“What do you think?” Taryn asked, glancing down at her chest where Miss Dixie bounced along with each step. “Call it a day and do this tomorrow?”
Miss Dixie did not appear to have any objections to this plan.
The sun had set over the mountains, and the darkness that had started settling over her in the car was growing increasingly thicker as she made the loop. A long shadow loomed overhead and stretched its gangly fingers over the building and towards Taryn, as though reaching for her. The blackness was cold, eating through the mild warmth of the day. The bits that touched her were chilling. Damp.
She was reminded of a wet, cold grave.
Although she felt silly, and a little ashamed of herself, Taryn quickened her pace. It was ridiculous; she’d been in much more harrowing situations. But you can’t control what you feel. Logic can fly right out the door when you’re scared.
And Taryn had learned to trust her instincts.
“I’ll get pictures tomorrow,” she whispered to the wind that had started picking up.
When she reached her car she paused, her hand on her door. A one-lane road ran off the parking lot and she studied it now. A glossy blue gate had been newly installed, keeping trespassers out. A security camera looked down at the entrance. It was almost comical, such newness and technology in contrast to the broken-down building that shared its space.
But it made sense.
Lucy Dawson, celebrated children’s author, lived a mile up the road.
Taryn felt a slight, uncontrollable thrill as she looked at the mailbox with the “Dawson” name. She was a fan. Her books had been a little young for Taryn, she was in high school when the middle school books were released, but she’d secretly enjoyed them anyway. The characters, whimsical misfits that lived in their own little worlds, had appealed to her. She’d even written an in-depth thesis about “The Girl in the Well” in high school.
Lucy inhabited the log cabin her great grandfather had built, or so Taryn had read. She’d lived there most of her adult life. Before that, she’d grown up in a nearby hollow. She’d worked as a waitress at the local drive-in as a teenager. Three roads in the county were named after her family. She was a local, one of them.
So everyone in town was shocked when, on a September evening thirteen months earlier, she’d set off a homemade pipe bomb, destroying the very school she’d attended, killing seven people she’d known as a child.
Three
“So, how’s the motel?”
Taryn picked up her traveling blanket, a fleece she’d picked up at the Wal-Mart after the Christmas sales, and spread it out on the couch before answering Matt. When she was satisfied that it covered enough of the cushions, she gingerly lowered herself onto it. The couch bowed in the middle, and the fabric reeked of cigarette smoke, but it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever sat on.
“We–lllll….” She faltered, feeling slightly defensive of the Eden Inn. “It’s not too bad.”
“Tell me about it,” Matt prompted cheerfully.
Feeling fairly confident that the couch wasn’t going to fall apart under her now, Taryn pulled up her legs and stretched them out before her. She leaned back on one of the bed pillows she’d placed behind her back and surveyed what would be her home for the next few weeks.
“It’s different,” she replied at last. “I guess it’s mostly used for long-term guests. Like maybe people staying here for the mines or something.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nodded
, even though he couldn’t see her. “First of all, there’s, like, four beds in here. Five if you count the fact that the couch folds out.”
“Geeze.”
“Yep. Two doubles,” Taryn counted, “one king, and one single. It’s a big room. Looks like they knocked out a wall, maybe, and made one out of two. I could have a party. Or at least a sleepover.”
“So is it nice?”
Taryn snickered. ”I wouldn’t go that far. I mean, you can tell that it’s mostly used by men who are here for work. It’s got that kind of indoor/outdoor carpet, and I can’t tell if it’s meant to be brown, or that’s just what color it is now.”
“Ew.” Taryn could feel Matt crinkling his nose across the distance. As a Virgo, he was fastidious and organized. He didn’t do dirt or clutter.
“The bedspreads are those old floral slick ones, kind of quilted. The ones they never wash?” Now she was teasing him a little, hoping to make him cringe.
“Uh huh…”
“I went ahead and took them off of the bed I’m sleeping on. The sheets and blankets underneath looked okay. I’m glad I have my own pillows, though.”
There was a dampness present that she hoped wasn’t going to be an issue for her joints or allergies; she’d turned the heat on high for awhile in an attempt to burn some of it off. The room, which lacked a window in the cinder block walls, was dingy and dusty. It carried traces of perspiration, smoke, and homesickness.
“And there’s nowhere else to stay?”
“Nope,” Taryn exhaled noisily. “But it’s okay. It’s a room. I'm all right.”
True, the bathroom had mold and mildew and the shower was barely big enough for her slight frame to turn around in, but the toilet was clean, the mattresses were soft enough, and she had cable and Wi-Fi. Someone had thoughtfully left a bouquet of silk flowers on the small, wobbly table, too. She didn’t know if it was the school board or the motel, but she decided to be touched either way.
“It’s not the worst place I’ve stayed.”
And that much was true.
Taryn had an unusual job, and it sometimes called for unique travel arrangements. An artist by trade, Taryn was not only skilled with the paintbrush, but she ran her own small freelancing business and had for years. As someone who had always had a penchant for the past, and believed that there was no such thing as an old building without a personality, her clients hired her to recreate yesterday for them. Old houses, old businesses, even old barns–she was called in to paint them and recreate them in such a way that they appeared new and full of life on her canvas.
Sometimes the paintings were used for sentimental reasons. Perhaps a historical society wanted a complete reconstruction of a county landmark to hang in their museum. Sometimes it was used as a blueprint. Indeed, she worked with a fair number of architects, and her paintings were often the only complete rendering of how the building had once looked.
With degrees both in art and historical preservation, Taryn used her knowledge of historical architecture and her imagination to render the past to life.
Her imagination and knowledge, in fact, had been enough in the past to get the job done. She’d been able to “see” the past because she wanted her to because she was terrific at visualizing.
Then things changed.
Taryn no longer had to use her imagination to envision the past…now she really did see it.
An empty room devoid of furnishings, with peeling wallpaper and rodent droppings on the floor, was suddenly transformed into a glittering parlor with a marble-topped table set for tea.
The fallen beams of a dilapidated barn rose and straightened; a fresh coat of paint gleamed in the sunlight as a colt playfully bucked in what was once the overgrown and forgotten field behind it.
She could see those things.
Well, her camera had something to do with that. In the beginning, it was only through Miss Dixie that the past had come to life. And it had been sporadic at best. Her camera was the conduit through which she grasped the impossible.
That had also changed.
Miss Dixie still provided her with a window but, more and more, she was able to see without its assistance.
Whatever veil that had once separated time and death was no longer as dense and opaque as it had once been.
* * *
“WE WANT TO THANK YOU for taking the time out of your busy schedule to come up and do this for us.” The portly, middle-aged man with the half-moons under his arms bustled around his office, barely casting a glance at Taryn.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Taryn assured him. “It’s my job.”
And, of course, she was getting paid to be there. That seemed relevant. She had a big heart, but a girl had to eat.
“As you can imagine, it’s been a madhouse around here,” the superintendent grumbled. Taryn sympathetically nodded as he wiped the sweat gathering on his shiny forehead with a damp tissue. It was at least fifteen degrees hotter inside his cramped, airless office than it was outside.
Venters County’s Board of Education was located in a compound made up of double-wide trailers. Wooden planks acted as sidewalks and connected the half dozen or so buildings that served as temporary offices until the county’s new, state-of-the-art residence was finished. So far, they’d been at their “temporary” site for more than a year.
“It’s not so bad,” Mr. Hamilton had explained when he’d first welcomed Taryn inside. “Our old building was falling apart at the seams. A WPA building, if you know what that is. Cold in the winter, hotter than hell in the summer. Well, you can see it as you drive out of town. It was the old high school until they built that new one ten years ago. We keep getting shuffled around.”
A knock on the door now had him pausing, the stack of papers in his hands trembling slightly. From the two empty bottles of Tums on his desk, Taryn imagined that his stress level was at an all-time high.
“It’s me, Roy,” the deep, male voice on the other side called.
The look of relief on the pale man’s face had Taryn feeling sorry for him. “Come in,” he called.
The man who strolled through the door had olive skin and a head full of pitch black hair. He was in his late thirties or early forties, so close to her age, and she could tell from his stocky frame and the way he carried himself that he’d once played sports, probably football. He smiled politely at Taryn but kept his face impassive. She was sure he’d met a lot of people that didn’t have the best intentions; most of Haven Hollow was keeping its guard up these days.
“Jamey, this is Taryn Magill,” the superintendent intoned, gesturing towards her. “She’s here to put our school back together again.”
The other man’s shoulders relaxed a little, and his smile warmed. “I know who you are then,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jamey Winters, high school principal extraordinaire.”
He was, without a doubt, the best-looking principal she’d ever seen. She wouldn’t have minded being called into his office.
“I don’t know about putting it back together again, but I am going to try,” she told him modestly.
It was, in fact, the high school’s PTO that had raised the funds to hire her. She was taking only a fraction of her usual fees, considering the circumstances. She wasn’t sure how they’d heard of her, or what they knew. Taryn had earned some notoriety with her second talent, the supernatural one, and was occasionally recognized for it–though she never brought it up or openly advertised it herself.
“I can’t wait to see what you do,” Jamey said. His face softened then. “I went to Muddy Creek myself. I have a soft spot for it.”
“Yeah?” she asked, interested. “I might hit you up with some questions then. I like to get a feel for a place’s history while I’m working. I like to put as much of its soul into my work as possible. They’re not just inanimate objects to me, these places I work with.”
A flicker of something passed over his face, a shadow, but then it was gone. It was pr
obably just stress. She was, after all, asking one more thing from a person who undoubtedly had a lot on his plate already.
“Do you believe places have memories, Miss Magill? That they have souls?”
“Very much,” she nodded.
“Hmmm,” he replied. She was unable to read his expression now but her sense of smell, which had always been unnaturally strong, picked up something not unlike nervousness. But when he shrugged and grinned she thought she might be imagining it. “Then my wife and I will have you over for dinner one night. Tell you all the gory details.”
The room quietened as his words fell like lead. The three of them exchanged looks and Taryn’s face reddened at Jamey’s embarrassment.
“You know, I don’t mean…,” his voice trailed off as he looked at the floor.
“Oh well, we know you didn’t, boy,” Mr. Hamilton boomed at last. He turned to Taryn. “Fact is, I’ll be glad when all this nonsense is over and done with. Life can get back to normal. And nobody will ever have to talk about it again.”
* * *
MAIN STREET WAS DESERTED as Taryn drove back to her motel. With only a handful of restaurants in town, and most of them pizza parlors, she wasn’t going to have a healthy or varied diet while she was there. She’d only been there two nights and had already eaten at three of them. Still, the Stromboli she’d had for supper was good, and the mom ‘n pop place was charming with the old jukebox that seemed to stop at 1990 and the cracked leather chairs.
It truly was a town that appeared to roll up the streets when the sun went down. The one stoplight on Main turned to a caution light at night, and it blinked orange now, casting an eerie glow in front of the court house. Nobody stood on the steps milling around; it was a ghost town. She’d seen a group of the reporters standing around by their cars in the motel’s parking lot earlier. A few had given her cursory glances, but mostly she didn’t seem to register on their radars. They had bigger fish to fry. To them, she was probably just another journalist, someone else coming on late to the scene to make a name for herself with her editor.
Muddy Creek: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 7) Page 2
