Bloody Moor: A Ghost Story (Taryn's Camera Book 8)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  “At one time it would’ve had enough vegetables and fruit to feed the estate and then some,” Miriam explained. “There were even fruit trees in a small orchard.”

  Taryn looked to where Miriam pointed, but could see nothing other than a few bare, scraggly trees poking up from the barren earth in the corner of the garden. The rest of the plot was overgrown with weeds, neglected and forgotten.

  “They’re meant to be bringing in a gardener soon,” Miriam shrugged. “But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “I’m meant to work with the gardener,” Taryn said. “The garden is one of my projects.”

  “Oh yeah?” Miriam turned to her with interest, her green eyes brightening. “What else do they have you doing while you’re here?”

  “The front and side exterior of the main house,” Taryn answered. “As well as the stable yard, the garden, and the carriage house at the entrance.”

  Miriam whistled. “That’s a lot!”

  “More than I’ve done in awhile,” Taryn agreed. “I am looking forward to getting started. I’ve spent the morning walking around, taking pictures. The stable yard is my favorite so far. It looks like something from the Roman forum. I am itching to get into the garden, though. I’ve only walked around it from the outside but it’s kind of a magical place, isn’t it?”

  Miriam grinned and bobbed her head. “It is, it is. And I’m glad you see it that way. If I can stay on long enough I’ll be happy to see it up and running again.”

  “Oh, are you planning on leaving?”

  They’d started walking again. They had now entered what Taryn had been thinking of as the valley, due to its flatness. The lack of foliage meant there was nothing to break the wind. It blew fiercer now, pushing at Taryn’s back until she faltered and had to catch her balance. Miriam held her hand out to steady Taryn before she fell on her face. From a distance, the ground had appeared smooth and even. Up close, however, the clumps of rocky soil were hard and uneven. It reminded her of walking over sand dunes.

  “I’ll stay as long as I can,” Miriam replied. “Or until I kill Paul.”

  Taryn laughed; she understood.

  When she lost her balance again, she cursed. “This isn’t as easy to walk on as I’d thought. I should have worn my boots.”

  Miriam paused and glanced over at her. “You want to turn around then? The moor is a bit of a challenge even for me, and I grew up on it.”

  Taryn laughed, feeling embarrassed. “This is a moor? I’ve been calling it a ‘valley.’ Now I’m kind of excited.”

  Miriam’s face turned quizzical and Taryn felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m a big fan of the Bronte sisters. For some reason, this wasn’t the way I pictured it. I was thinking of wild bushes and heather and…” She let her voice trail off in awkwardness.

  Miriam laughed. “It’s okay. I imagine that if I were to travel to the American west I’d get excited over a desert. It’s all about what you’re not used to, don’t you think?”

  “You ever been to the desert?” Taryn asked. She picked up her pace, determined not to trip over her feet again.

  “No, but I always thought that if I could go back in time I’d like to be one of those Plains Indians,” Miriam said.

  That surprised Taryn. She didn’t know why; she guessed she’d never thought that those outside of the United States would have that much of an interest in her country’s history.

  “So. I am walking on a moor,” Taryn mused. “Just like Catherine.”

  “Hopefully with a better ending,” Miriam added. “This is the tip of the desert, by the way.”

  “The desert?”

  “The Green Desert of Wales,” Miriam replied. “It’s not an arid desert, like what you have over in your Arizona and New Mexico. It’s just a term we coined for the expanse of land here that doesn’t have much vegetation or population. Not easily accessible, no roads or houses.”

  “I need to commemorate this.” Taryn stopped again and turned on Miss Dixie. She squatted for a better view and began snapping her pictures while Miriam waited patiently beside her.

  “You’ll get a nice view of it, along with the hills, from the lake. It’s just another two minutes.”

  “Two minutes?”

  “Well, everything is ‘two minutes’ here,” Miriam said.

  “Does this moor have a name? I mean, I don’t know how that works. Do you name moors?”

  Miriam bit her lip and looked down at her feet.

  “What?” Taryn asked with concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “You don’t know this history, do you?”

  “Not of the land, no.”

  Miriam looked up and exhaled loudly. The wind fanned her hair around her face, framing her intensity with a blonde halo. “This place has a name all right. We’re standing in Bloody Moor–perhaps the deadliest site in western Wales.”

  Taryn might have laughed, if not for the seriousness in which Miriam held. “Really? Why?”

  “It’s not just the house that’s seen the deaths,” Miriam sighed. “The land, too. The horses that come out of the stable, full of health and life, only to topple over right here where we’re standing, never to rise again. The battle fought here, where over two-hundred brave soldiers perished. The many dogs and cats and birds found just lying here on the ground every year, dead from means nobody can tell. This place is pure death; we all know it to be true.”

  Taryn looked out over the land. The sun had turned silver in the hazy sky. The ground sparkled, bits of rain from the earlier sprinkle still hanging onto the sparse blades of grass. Behind her, Ceredigion House rose into the sky, stately and magnificent. Not even the scaffolding and crumbling stones could detract from its grandness. The air smelled clean, of rain and soil. It was difficult to believe that anything bad could have ever happened there.

  And yet…

  Taryn could feel it. There was something in the air. Something that prickled the nerves beneath her skin. Something that sent the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Something that dried her throat and mouth and made her swallow hard.

  She needed a drink; she needed to lie down.

  And yet…

  “Why do you work here, why do you stay?”

  Miriam looked around and sighed again. Her eyes softened and her mouth curved into a slight smile. “I can’t help it. I love it. It’s not just home, it’s in my blood. What I know in my head, about the deaths, and what I feel in my heart are not reconciled. I’ve tried to leave but I am called back every time. I see this place in my dreams.”

  Taryn nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  “You also have a place?”

  “Sort of,” she answered. “Sometimes I feel like I am trying to remember a place. Like it’s right on the edge of my mind, but I can never see it.”

  “I believe I am meant to take care of Ceredigion House,” Miriam leaned forward and whispered. “Like this is mine. It’s why I put up with Paul.”

  That, Taryn could understand. Her Aunt Sarah had passed away and left her the old farm house up in New Hampshire. Matt had tried to talk her into selling it, but she couldn’t. Instead, she was restoring it. For what, she didn’t yet know.

  What she did know was that it was hers. And probably always had been.

  ***

  Taryn stood in a garden. The perfectly manicured lawn around her grew thick and green at her feet. The cabbage roses that grew up the stone wall beside her were cloyingly thick with their scent.

  The woman in the long gray dress had her back to Taryn. She stood rigid, watching something far off on the moor that Taryn couldn’t see.

  Around her, Taryn could hear the sounds of animals. Geese sniggered and heckled as they waddled past, a horse whinnied behind her. A puppy yapped and whined to an unmoved owner.

  Taryn tried to take a step forward and found that she couldn’t move at all; her feet were rooted to the ground. When she opened her mouth to speak, the words remained stuck in her thr
oat, frozen dream words.

  When at last the woman before her began turning, Taryn shivered in anticipation. She moved fluidly, like water, as though she were part of the air. One graceful arm stretched out to her side and her body followed it counterclockwise, swaying in the gentle breeze like a tree branch.

  Facing Taryn now, she could see that the woman was young in face, but old in body. The hands and forearms that poked from the long, satin sleeves were faded slivers of crepe paper. Her fingers were thin-skinned covered bones and turned inwards, a skeletal claw.

  But her face…it was lovely. The smooth, porcelain skin without a single blemish. Rich, full lips below a set of luminescent green eyes and charcoal lashes. Her dark hair blew back from her face, pulling the skin on her forehead taut. As Taryn watched, however, her face began to change. It started with her eyes–what had been bright green turned deep brown. The change was gradual; Taryn hardly noticed it was happening until it was done with. The full lips turned thin, changing from red to pale pink. The cheeks plumped, losing their sharply-defined structure. The hair slowly changed from jet black to a rich burgundy. And just as Taryn was about to process the new appearance, it began altering again.

  Suddenly, the long arm stretched out before the other woman. When she loosened her fingers, Taryn could see a broken wooden cup balanced in her hand.

  “Remeeembeeer,” came the whispered demand.

  Taryn knew it was coming from the woman standing before her, but she hadn’t seen her lips moving to produce the words.

  Taryn tried to reach her hand out to accept the offering, but she was paralyzed.

  I can’t, she tried to scream, I can’t!

  The grass around her began to shrivel. Roses fell to the ground, their petals shattering against the browning earth. The fog rolled in, thick and bitter. As Taryn watched, the other woman was enveloped in it, until she completely disappeared and Taryn was alone in the dying garden.

  Chapter Eleven

  SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO DO SOMETHING about the vehicle situation. It wasn’t a long walk to town, but the distance and the darkness didn’t exactly make popping into the village an easy task once nighttime fell. Here it was, not even 8:00 pm, and she was stuck in her room again. Alone.

  Knowing that Matt would still be at work, she called him anyway. He picked up before the second ring, as though anticipating her call.

  “How’s tricks?”

  She leaned back against the bedpost and pouted. “I’m lonely.”

  “Nobody to talk to over there yet?”

  “Only in the daytime,” she answered. “I was thinking of going into town but the lane’s dark and it’s not an inviting walk at night.”

  “How about a bicycle?” he suggested.

  That was an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Good idea. I’ll ask tomorrow.”

  “See, you should have let me come with you,” he said.

  She knew he was teasing but it put her back up. A few weeks’ vacation in Wales was not worth losing a position at NASA. At least, not to Taryn.

  “I’ll be fine,” she sang breezily. “Just trying to get my bearings.”

  “So what’s it like over there?”

  “Cold,” she answered. “But, seriously, it’s hard to tell. I haven’t seen much more than the land around the house. It’s a little isolating to be honest.”

  Matt clicked his tongue and she could imagine him shaking his head at her. “That doesn’t sound like you. By now, shouldn’t you have made friends with half the town’s restaurant staff and known where all the thrift shops are?”

  “I know,” she sighed. And that part was true enough. “I didn’t realize how stilted I would be just having to rely on my own two feet. Especially when they’re attached to two legs that don’t work very well.”

  His voice changed, softening. “How are you feeling?”

  “Low,” she answered, closing her eyes. “The plane ride took a lot out of me.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “I’ll need to get a refill in a few days. Hopefully the paperwork the doctor sent will be enough.”

  The elephant in the room was always Taryn’s health–health that had been steadily declining over the past couple of years.

  She’d grown up with steady aches in her legs and regular migraines. They’d been a part of her, as much a part as her short stature and red hair. She hadn’t known that they were part of a bigger problem until she’d been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome a couple of years before. The rare connective tissue disorder was slowly taking over her life. She was trying not to let it, and was doing everything she could to protect her joints and muscles from increased deterioration, but it was a desperate act with few noticeable results.

  The chronic pain in her hips and legs, the frequent dislocations, the insatiable fatigue, and the sheer exhaustion brought on depression. She fought the depression on a daily basis. That commercial about having to wind yourself up throughout the day? She understood that. Sometimes it was a fight just to get out of bed in the morning. And then the pain made it difficult to even get dressed.

  For awhile she’d managed the pain with high doses of Percocet. They took the edge off but made her fuzzy headed and sick to her stomach. When federal legislations brought on prescription pill paranoia, her primary care doctor had stopped prescribing them and sent her to a pain management doctor. It had taken six different referrals before they’d found one to accept her–none had any experience with her disorder and consequently didn’t feel comfortable treating her.

  When they’d finally found one willing to take a chance on her, he’d shot her up with injections that caused further damage to her weak and disintegrating tissue. Now she had trouble walking.

  And now there were more pressing matters at hand. She’d developed an aortic aneurysm. It was growing. The cardiovascular surgeon felt that surgery would only prove to be more dangerous to her, considering her condition. She was down to a “watch and wait.”

  Taryn didn’t like waiting.

  With EDS being a multi-disciplinary condition, she had a slew of specialist: cardiologist, allergist, ENT, gastroenterologist, rheumatologist, orthopedist, pain management specialist…

  Her primary care doctor, the one she’d counted on to support and hold her hand through the whole mess, had dropped her. She was simply too much of a hassle for the poor, overworked doctor. Taryn was now a patient of a concierge doctor. His bedside manner was lacking, but he made house calls and wore cowboy boots.

  “Are you going to be able to work?”

  “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I didn’t think I could,” Taryn snapped back. She didn’t know why she felt so grouchy. She blamed it on lack of caffeine; she’d downed her last Coke earlier that afternoon.

  “I know, I know,” Matt replied smoothly, completely unruffled.

  The fact was, she had started building “sick days” into her job proposals. For this project, for instance, she’d carved in a week’s worth of sick days, just in case. And besides, everyone needed a day off now and then.

  “I’ll be fine,” Taryn said, feeling guilty for having snapped at her best friend and the only person who had consistently put up with her over the years. “I’m just trying to feel things out.”

  “I miss you.” Matt sounded tentative, as though unsure if his words would be welcomed. In times like that, he reminded her of the shy little boy that used to follow her around on her bicycle.

  “I miss you too,” she told him. And it was true. She’d never been that far apart from Matt. Even during the “bad years” when they’d quarreled and she hadn’t spoken to him at all, they’d still be geographically close. She’d still been able to feel him.

  When she hung up the phone, she turned around and considered her bedroom. She’d been in it for hours, just hanging out. She’d watched television for awhile, started sketching the stable yard, and had even done some meditating. But she was bored and was not going to let her room
, no matter how interesting it was, turn into a jail cell.

  It was time to resume the exploring.

  ***

  She’d barely stepped out into the hallway when Taryn heard the jingling. She waited with baited breath but then breathed a sigh of relief when Freckles emerged from around the corner.

  “Hey there,” Taryn cooed, squatting down and holding out her hand. Although Freckles seemed to notice her, the car turned up its nose and sashayed past her, disappearing through the darkened doorway of another room.

  Taryn straightened and decided to follow him (or her). The door to the room was open so she slipped inside and listened, waiting to hear the musical collar again. When she heard it on the far side of the room, she felt along the wall for a light switch. It was pitch black in there without even the pale moonlight to cast a murky glow across the floor.

  With the overhead light flipped on, Taryn found herself in another guest room. This one, however, was full of bunk beds. There were four sets in all and two singles. They were all crammed together in the back of the room; a round table took up the floor space in the middle. Someone had cheekily written “CLEAN ME” in the dust.

  Ceredigion House was currently being used as a low budget hotel. They apparently had hostel rooms for rent, too. Taryn had never seen a hostel in person. As a young adult, however, she had collected backpacking Europe books and highlighted the places she’d wanted to visit and stay in. Although some might have been turned off by the idea of sharing a room with a bunch of total strangers, Taryn thought the idea sounded fantastic. It would not only solve the loneliness-on-the-road problem but help her sleep easier at night, since she didn’t like sleeping alone.

  Alas, the backpacking thing had never happened. She’d jumped right into her career after college. Then she’d met Andrew and they’d worked together. They’d talked about taking six months off, doing a tour together. Had even bought backpacks.