Windwood Farm (Taryn's Camera) by Rebecca Patrick-Howard Read Free Book Online Page B

same, only they looked completely different. A glance through the rest of the pictures of the house showed her that none of them had come out. They were all black.
    Picking the phone back up , she told an impatient Matt that she’d have to call him back. “Something came up,” she explained in a whisper. “I’ll tell you later.”
     
     
    F or the next three hours, Taryn alternated between staring at her pictures, cleaning poor Miss Dixie, and poring over the internet. It wasn’t really helpful. What she was supposed to type into Google, after all? Every time she tried to enter something into the search engine like “things in picture that aren’t supposed to be there” the only thing she came up with were pages about camera defects. She was clearly in over her head as far as the paranormal pages went, too. She’d always been sensitive when it came to sappy commercials and cute babies and since Andrew’s accident, she thought she picked up on some things that maybe other people didn’t a little more often than not but wasn’t this taking things just a little bit too far?
    Still…a small part of her couldn’t contain its excitement. She couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. It was addictive! Once she got past the shock, she’d hooked up her printer and printed out two copies of every photo she’d taken and then got to work painting them, just in case something happened to the prints themselves. What if she woke up in the morning and found the whole thing a dream? What if she’d accidentally taken too many anxiety pills and this was some sort of weird hallucination?
    She wanted to remember what they looked like.
    As she studied them now she appreciated the differences in the images. The rooms had a slight feminine feel to them that were oddly gentle against the darkness. They were clean and bright, but sadly lacking any personality. The rugs were bright, their colors cheerful, and care had been taken in choosing them since they matched but there weren’t any knickknacks or flowers in vases. Just rooms, simple and tidy.
    Sitting back, she smiled to herself as she put her paintbrushes away. It was dawn. She had been given a gift. After all these years , she’d finally been given something useful. She’d used her imagination and talent to try to help clients see the past. Now, for once, she’d actually been able to see it herself. It would probably never happen again, and it wasn’t quite like going back in time, but it was a jolt she’d certainly never forget.
    So the house was a little creepy and apparently bad enough to keep vandals out , but that didn’t really concern her. She wasn’t there to hurt it; she was there to make it come alive. She might not have believed in much when it came to the afterlife or religion, but she did believe in positive thinking. If she ignored the bad and focused on the good, then surely the house would work with her, right? Whatever was there had been dead and gone for a long, long time. And the past couldn’t hurt her. At least, not this past. This wasn’t her past, after all. This was someone else’s past.
    Then, why, suddenly, did she feel like crying?
     
     
    S he hadn’t planned on sleeping past noon, but since she’d seen the sun come up, Taryn really didn’t see a way around it. She needed more than just a few hours’ worth of sleep if she was going to be able to function at all. Still, as she pulled herself into the small diner on the outskirts of town she felt jetlagged and disoriented. The young waitress looked at her sympathetically as she handed her a menu. “Can I get you something to drink?”
    “Something with a lot of caffeine,” she muttered. She’d start doing that tomorrow.
    “I hear that,” she laughed. She was tall and willowy and wore braces. Taryn estimated her to be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-five but the braces threw her off. “I’m having one of those days myself.”
    “You recommend anything?”
    She shrugged. “We