Publication date: January 15th 2021
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Retelling

Janet has always dreamed about leaving her small town behind and starting over somewhere fresh. The only thing keeping her going is a photography obsession and her film camera. For her, life is a series of late nights spent working at a local gas station and days earning a final college credit before graduation. But she’s been putting it off for so long she’s starting to feel like it might not happen.

One night Tom appears, charming and handsome, and going out of his way to get to know her. Suddenly he’s everywhere in her small town, appearing and disappearing at odd moments, creeping in on her days and nights. As they spend time together, Janet falling more under his spell each day, she begins to realize that reality is different around Tom. Small things begin to happen, odd occurrences turning into strange events, as Janet is pulled deeper into the mystery surrounding him.

In this modern retelling of the classic Ballad of Tam Lin the world is brought into sharp focus through the lens of a camera. The line between what is and is not real blurs, nature stealing in around the edges, and Janet comes to understand that there is more at stake than just a broken heart.

Excerpt

She chose at random, stepping into another opulent room. Sheer curtains were pulled tight, the doors closed, and the room felt breathless. She crossed the room, going around the tufted blue couches, embroidered cushions on the floor, pushing the pale curtains aside. Deep forest, lush and green, right on the other side of the glass, so close she stepped back in surprise. There was something eerie, wrong with the view. Ominous. Turning, she surveyed the room again, wondering if she had ended up on the opposite side of the house somehow.

The blue and gold theme continued here, solid deep carpets of Greek blue, gold foiled tables and wide shallow bowls holding nothing but reflections. A carved marble fireplace and hearth, above it, standing tall and larger than life a painting of Brenna.

Janet stumbled back into the windows, rattling glass, hearing the squeak of branches on the other side, scrabbling to get in, scrabbling to touch her. The woman above the mantle looked down on her, haughty, chin tilted up, eyes fever bright. A crown sat atop golden braids, high and spiked, spun of frosted sugar and cobwebs. Her shoulders were bare, the floral tattoos alive, lined with gold and silver paint. A barely there gown, the tops of her breasts seeming to hold the fabric up alone, followed the curve of her body, clinging to hips and thighs.

The portrait was more real than the room, more alive than the trees on the other side of the windows, and the painted woman was watching her. She crossed to the door, the eyes of the painting on her, burning. Doubt and shame swept her, overtaking her, but she did not know where they were coming from. Did not matter. They were there. She felt like a trespasser suddenly, like a thief, caught in the act of lifting diamonds from a jewelry box. But she was letting irrational fear take over. The woman on the canvas, made of paint and fabric, she was not real.

Stop it. I’m not afraid of you.

At the door she hesitated, caught between the room and the hall, the cusp of being and never been. She turned back, squaring her shoulders and went to the hearth.

She reached out, standing on tiptoe, to touch the canvas. Her finger pressed against it, into it, coming away wet with fresh green paint, leaving behind a perfect print of the index finger of her right hand.

Janet stood, staring at the smudge of color on her fingertip, cold racing along her spine. Wet paint. Fresh paint. She eased toward the door, refusing to turn her back on the painting, even for a second. At the door she fumbled the camera from her bag, snapped a photo without really looking through the viewfinder, and pulled it shut with a bang.

Being in the house was beginning to wear her down, feeling trapped in a loop between the atrium and the blue doors. A whole hall of blue doors with brass knobs, all of them the same, all of them leading into rooms that should have taken her to the pool.

There was something unsettling about the house. How it looked and how it felt were very different, like two images not lining up. She reached out, touching what looked like a smooth painted wall but feeling the crackling texture of chipping paint. Her thoughts were tumbling, spinning through to places she did not want to follow. She needed a different set of eyes, a pair attuned to this place. She ran a finger around the lens of her camera, lingering over the feel of hard plastic and metal. Ryan had told her to take photos of the house, to pay attention.

The house seemed to be deserted, a wasteland of velvet and satin, painted tile and cut flowers. But it did not feel that way. It felt full. Watchful. Aware. She followed the doors, through room after room, coming back time and again to the hall, the atrium. The camera bag bumped her hip as she walked, taking photos. The view through the lens was different, the rooms appearing less polished, the velvet worn, loose threads and worn spots appearing along the arms of upholstered chairs. But as soon as she lowered the camera the space appeared as before.

Janet wondered which was reality, perfection or decay?

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About the Author

Kathryn Trattner has loved fairy tales, folk stories, and mythology all of her life. Her hands down favorites have always been East of the Sun, West of the Moon and the story of Persephone and Hades. When not writing or reading she's traveling as much as possible and taking thousands of photos that probably won't get edited later. She lives in Oklahoma with her wonderful partner, two very busy children, one of the friendliest dogs ever, and an extremely grumpy cat who doesn't like anyone at all.

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