Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) (5 page)

A
dena
Cottage saddened Taryn greatly. She didn’t think she’d be so upset at the destruction of the cottages; after all, they were just vacation houses for rich folks a long time ago. It was just so darn sorry looking, though, that she couldn’t help it. Taryn was a sucker for old houses of any kind. Although Andrew had been the one obsessed with architecture, she had gone for the soul and had found it in everything from shotgun style cottages in New Orleans to antebellum mansions in Mississippi. For her, it was the ambiance of the place that was important, not how many rooms it had or how many fancy features.

And Adena Cottage had soul.

Taryn desperately wanted to slip inside the Jacobethan walls and see what the interior looked like, but the collapsed roof stopped her. Although the left side looked sturdy enough, the last thing she need to do was break her fool neck taking pictures. She’d have to be content with the exterior.

As she walked around the cottage, aiming Miss Dixie high and low, she tried to imagine what it would’ve looked like in its prime. The colors would have been vivid and bright, and there would’ve been many of them. This was no wallflower; Adena Cottage would’ve taken after her sisters and stood out like a proud peacock with its pseudo-Tudor style. The porch would’ve been full of small tables, comfortable chairs, and perhaps a swing. With its Flemish gables, patterned stone work, and fluted chimneys it was a true work of art. Its view of the river and the fact it faced west meant it would’ve been the perfect place to relax and watch the sunset.

Taryn was mindful of snakes as she knelt down by the porch to take a picture of what was left of the railings and spindles. She was watchful of spiders as she cupped her hands to her face and peered into the dusty windows.

In spite of its condition, the cottage almost preened under her scrutiny, standing proud and tall even with its current disability. Taryn imagined a grand dame in the midst of a scandal, putting on a brave face to those around her despite the turmoil she faced.

One of the upstairs windows still had a sliver of glass in it. It poked up from the window frame like a broken tooth in an otherwise empty mouth. The gummy smile was almost jaunty and Taryn laughed before snapping a picture.

“Look!” someone cried gaily, their voice full of enthusiasm. “Look!”

Taryn turned and saw a tourist group walking nearby, following a man holding up a big red umbrella. She wondered what was so exciting that someone felt the need to point it out to the others, but they all appeared to be quietly listening to the man leading the way.

She would’ve stuck around longer but the sun was sinking quickly now and she still needed to get to the other cottage. Tossing Adena a goodbye wave, Taryn hopped in her golf cart and made her way to the next one.

I
vy
House, with its ghosts and legends, had onlookers when she arrived. As Taryn neared the group of men, women, and children she realized they weren’t merely tourists out for a stroll but a tour group. Before them, a woman in a long white dress paced back and forth, waving her hands erratically and gesturing to the cottage behind her.

“She doesn’t like anyone touching her and has been known to shriek and yell when workers get too close to changing something she likes,” Taryn could hear the woman narrate as she drew closer. The tour group looked on with big eyes, some straining their necks looking over the house, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of one of its deadly residents. On the road behind them a man sitting behind the wheel of a red trolley with the words “Ghost Tours-Jekyll Island” scrawled across the side sat back in his seat with his feet up on the dashboard. He flipped through a newspaper.

So as not to disturb the group, Taryn started at the back of the house.

She couldn’t deny that there was something eerie about the place. While Adena set proud and regal, Ivy felt confrontational and hostile. Each time Taryn snapped a shot she imagined the house bristling, irritated at the attention.
This
house was no life of the party. It wouldn’t have made friends easily and, instead, would’ve sat critically in the corner, condemning the other guests for not living up to their expectations.

Taryn laughed at the thought and could’ve sworn she saw a window shade snap in disapproval.

By the time she made it to the front the tour group was gone, their trolley zipping on down the road. The guide was on a loudspeaker now and Taryn listened to the electronic hum until they went around a corner and were out of sight.

She was still nervous when it came to talking about her abilities (talent? gift? curse?). The first time she’d uploaded her photos and seen the furniture magically appear where it had not previously been she’d been scared out of her mind and questioned her sanity. She assumed others would as well.

She was wrong.

Instead, after a year of internet research, talking with others who knew much more about these things than she did, and consuming books about the topic as quickly as she could Taryn had learned one thing: the paranormal was hot.

Everyone seemed to either want to hear ghost stories, tell ghost stories, or experience their own ghost story. There were apparently even schools and workshops where people could go and learn how to hone their skills and become more sensitive.

You could find anything on the internet these days.

She was no longer as afraid to talk about what she did and saw, but the actual fear she felt during the experiences had still not left her. It had not become so second hat to her that she no longer got freaked out whenever she saw or heard something that shouldn’t have been there.

And Ivy House definitely had
something
.

She was almost taken aback by the negative energy that poured from it, wrapping itself around her and squeezing. As the minutes wore on her scalp began tingling, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Her fingers turned to ice and trembled; focusing her lens became a chore. With her heart pounding in her chest and her blood pounding in her ears Taryn finally gave up and went back to the golf cart.

Before she took off, however, she turned back to Ivy House. “You and I are going to have to work something out, old girl,” she called. “Because I’m not working like this all summer.”

For a split second the cottage seemed to grow taller and the long shadow it cast over Taryn felt like a slap in the face.

Taryn took it as a challenge.

It
was late, and most of the island was already asleep, but it was Taryn’s favorite time of the day: picture uploading time.

After a dinner at Dairy Queen and a stop at the gas station next door to pick up drinks and snacks, she’d gone back and talked to Matt on the phone for more than two hours. He was in rare form, talking a mile a minute and filling her in on his latest project and the new student interns they’d taken on. “My students are wonderful,” he’d gushed. “I think I’ve assembled an excellent team this time and it looks like we’re going to get a lot accomplished.”

Taryn had asked the right questions, shown the right amount of interest, and generally said what he wanted to hear. The fact was, she knew nothing about astrophysics or aeronautics or anything else he did and his attempts to explain things to her left her even more confused. But she still supported him and was proud of him.

All the while they’d been on the phone Taryn had been uploading her photos to her laptop. She wanted to take a peek and it was killing her not to look but she knew that if she did, if only for a second, she’d get distracted and that wasn’t fair to Matt. He deserved her attention.

Now, however, the time was hers.

After pouring herself a glass of juice Taryn settled herself at the dining room table and rubbed her hands together in anticipation, something she’d been doing since she was a child.

Her job was to paint the buildings and reconstruct them in a way that would show them in their prime. Before she ever started painting, however, she had to first get to know them. She’d never found a better way than with her camera. Miss Dixie was more than just an electronic device to capture images on–she was Taryn’s other set of eyes. Between the two of them they could study the fine details and get a feel for the
real
heart of the place.

Once she had the pictures uploaded she would study them, taking the time to edit and manipulate them to learn their nuances. From there, once she felt like she understood the buildings’ personalities, she’d start to paint. The pictures were for her, but they were necessary.

As she clicked on the folder to open the images and watched them spring to life in front of her she jumped back in her seat and gasped. She’d seen a lot over the past year, but wonders never ceased. She could still be shocked.

With a little laugh she got her bearings and leaned forward again, her nose just a few inches from the screen. “Well I’ll be damned,” she stammered. “
That
was unexpected.”

It was after noon before Taryn woke up
.

She didn’t feel guilty about sleeping so late since she hadn’t fallen asleep until daylight. Once she started working it was difficult for her to stop.

At first, the images had caught her off guard so much that she’d had trouble focusing. She knew Ivy House was haunted; the tour guide had talked about it, Ellen had told her, and she’d spent half an hour feeling its icy arms swatting her away. She was expecting unwelcoming ghosts and thought she’d prepared herself for the ghastly images that she might’ve captured on film. The Jekyll Island Club Hotel itself was known for being haunted–it was even famous for it.

That’s why she was so shocked that on her screen Ivy House had looked as uninviting and homely as it did in real life while Adena had been fully restored to its glory, pink paint and all.

She’d prepared herself for Ivy House; she’d barely had a second thought about Adena. Yet, there she was, as handsome and proud as the day she was built.

The missing roof had been replaced, the shingles were straight and flat. The glass in all the windows glimmered in the bright summer sun as though they’d been recently washed, lacy curtains peeking through the glass. The porch, as she’d expected, held an array of white furniture with brightly colored pillows. A tray rested on a footstool with a silver pitcher in the center. The great front door was restored, a gold knocker in the shape of a horse head polished and shining in the middle. Flowers flourished along the pathway that wasn’t there in present day.

The house didn’t come through in all the pictures, just the ones taken from the front. From the back and sides, it was in just as much disorder as it was now.

Taryn studied the images for hours, zooming in on the details and even making notes when she saw something she thought could be useful. The thrill of seeing the past come to life again hadn’t dimmed. She yearned to be able to walk through the picture, to be a part of the scene she was probing. She wanted to sit on that porch and drink coffee and watch the river, to walk through the front door and examine the rooms the way they used to be.  But, if this was as close as she could get, she’d have to be content with that.