We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets

I closed my eyes and searched. I silently searched inside my head for a time where everything wasn't complicated. Tucked deep inside my memory, I found a short film about me. I was laying in my bed while From First to Last blasted from my ear phones and my cell phone buzzed with friends, trying to get me out of the house. My black curtains were closed, the sunlight forbidden to enter my room, and the world around me was simple, relaxed, and kind. Though the annoyance of my friends did bother me, it was nice to be loved.
I wasn't depressed then. I wasn't one of those kids who sat in the dark in order to wallow in self-loathing and pity. I enjoyed the darkness and the sound of From First to Last screaming in my ears. In embraced me in a feeling that's hard to come by. It's a feeling that only solitude, loud music, and darkness can bring. It brings me to a time of summer and ignorance. When I would go to small venues and jump around with other misunderstood teenagers who were trying to escape things that they couldn't even grasp. What was I escaping? I had no idea, I just wanted to run. I wanted to dance under the stars and moonlight with the music as my body got lighter and lighter and soon I was one with the stars and moon. It reminded me of this children's book my mom would read me when I was a kid. I would snuggle in nice and tight with her in her big, queen sized bed, and she would read to me while I examined the pictures in order to follow her words. It was a story about this girl who went to bed, but couldn't sleep. She wanted to stay up and play with the moon and the stars. So while she's starring out of her window, looking up at the moon and all of it's stars, she wishes as hard as her little body would let her, until she's lifted up into the air. Soon she's laying on the edge of the crescent moon, while the stars swirl around her, and the moon sings a lullaby to her. She finally falls asleep on the edge of the moon. The bright stars form a blanket and pillow to help guide her to sleep and then at the end, she wakes up, in her bed. The sun is greeting her with a bright, smiling face and everything is perfect.
I thought back to all of those times when the world wasn't so difficult. Surviving my teenage years was hard enough without ghosts invading my space. It made me angry. My veins caught fire and my heart raced out of my chest, trying to escape it's eternal cage. I bet Tate could be my chest lift up and down as I clinched my fists and attempted to control my breathing. I found it hard to forget what he just set when I knew it had to be real. There's a presence in this house. It doesn't matter if you believe in ghosts, God, Satan, or if you don't. You can fell the presence and the evil, the sorrow, the anger, the joy, and the heart that beats inside of it's wall. You can feel a hundred eyes watch your every move, judging you, examining you, undressing you, or hating you. There's a chill on the back of your neck, but there aren't any windows open and no one is behind you. In every corner there's a flash of black or sometimes white that seems to dart away as soon as you turn to check it out. There are voices that don't belong to anyone that you know. There are bodiless foot steps and creeks that echo through the hallways and stop your heart. There's a figure by the doorways that you can't explain. There are so many imposable things that occur in this house, but I never noticed until then. Things moved. Vases broke. Books were rearranged in the study and sometimes I found furniture had been shifted around.
I never felt alone in the house, but I always put it off as Moira or maybe Tate. I was so stupid. I felt betrayed by my senses. I was so blind. But rage still entranced my body as Tate broke the news to me that my new house was haunted. I cocked back my arms and unloaded them on him. It was a poor attempt at a push and I expected him to laugh at me as he stumbled back an inch or two. But he didn't, thankfully. It would've made me even more angry. Instead, Tate wrapped his strong arms around me and stroked the back of my hair with his hand while rubbing up and down my back with the other. I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his scent. He smelted of Axe. The Dark Temptation kind that I loved. My friend Jake from back home would bathe in bottles of that stuff so I grew to love it, even though I hated dark chocolate. It calmed me. Tate softly cooed to me, shushing me, and resting his head on top of mine since he had so much height on me.

"You're a smart girl, Anna," he between kisses to the top of my head, "You know the history of this house, right?". It took me a minute to answer back because I was trying to recall all that I truly knew.

"I know bits and pieces. Someone died in the dining room, another in the study, someone else in kitchen, and-"

"Two kids died down here," he cut me off to throw that it. It sent shivers down my back, but nothing that it wasn't anything that I wasn't prepared for. "Two boys. They were twins. Little shits. They found them in that room behind me, torn to pieces," he explained.

"Their parents were tired of them or were the owners at the time just psychos?" I asked, my voice was muffled by his chest. I felt him shake his head.

"The house was abandoned at the time. It was some time during the seventies," he said. I took a deep sighed and prepared my mind for ghost children, the worst kind of ghosts. I imagined two little boys, no older than twelve, covered in blood and gashes, skin hanging from their bodies, and angry expression cemented onto their faces. I couldn't picture any child being happy after being brutally murdered. "They never found the killer or killers," Tate finally finished after a long pause.
I pulled my face was from his chest and looked up at him saying, "You really suck at making people feel better,". He simply chuckled and kissed me. I felt a little better though. Then the kisses got deeper and they lasted longer. I had no plans on fighting back. I was weak against his lips. They were one of the things that left me trembling and shaking under my own weight. My lips quivered, begging for another taste of those cold, soft lips. I swear they were like frozen feathers, brushing against mine. Gracing my lips with a single collision.
I tried to build myself back up by pulling away and taking a deep breath. My body stopped shaking and making me seem like a foolish young girl who had never been kissed before. I remember my first kiss, when I was fourteen. I was holding myself up by my arms while the boy laid on his back. When his lips touched my, I fell over because I couldn't keep myself up. It was embarrassing. It felt the same now. Tate was so cool and composed. I seemed to stumble on words and my own feet when I was around him. I was clumsy and awkward. For some reason he never mind.

"Tell me more about the house," I said, adverting the attention from my weak body to something more interesting. We sat back down on the floor, side by side, shoulder to shoulder with our fingers laced. I laid my head down on his shoulder and closed my eyes as began a series of stories. He began with the story of Chad and Patrick, the two gays upstairs.

"They lived here in 2003. They were a nice couple at first. I guess. Chad was loving and caring, but he channeled it by being an overprotective dictating asshole. They were trying to make the house into their dream home, so they would bring in a baby. This was Chad's dream, but not Patrick's. He wasn't really the settle down and have a kid type. He wanted to sample other things first. When Chad found out he flipped shit, obviously, but then be became desperate. He wanted Patrick because he had nothing else to live for, really, I mean what's a pitcher without someone their catcher? They would fight constantly. I would hear them screaming from my room. Halloween came along and Chad was trying to get the house ready because it was his favorite holiday, or whatever. Patrick couldn't give two shits. Like any other day, they fought and then house went silent until the screaming began," He took a moment to pause and think.

"They were murdered, right? In the dining room," I intruded on his story. He shook his head.

"Patrick died in the dining room. He was thrown around, beaten to shit while Chad was unconscious by the bobbing for apples tank. Who ever killed them really did a number on their bodies. He shoved a pitch fork right up Pat's ass and then dragged them down stairs, in here. Chad was paralyzed, practically, and Patrick was dead as a doornail. The killer took out a gun and put bullets into each of them for safe measure. They found Chad with his hand stretched out, reaching for Patrick. They said he did before he died, so it was pretty tragic. Now they spend eternity with one another, trying to fix up this house. You'll hear them fighting about stupid shit, just ignore them. They kiss and make-up every time," he finished. I took a minute to take his story in while picturing it all in my head. It came out crystal clear in my head like a horror movie. But before I would let it sink in, Tate began with another tale.

"You know, my brothers here right?" he asked unusually calmly. I gave him a puzzled look but he quickly answered all of my unasked questions.

"He died in ninety-four. I was one. His name was Beau. He's in the attic," he said, looking towards the ceiling. I didn't know what to say because I had never been in that position before. What was I suppose to say? "I'm sorry your brother died and he's haunting my attic?".
"Want to meet him?" Tate asked instantly before I couldn't even find any words.

"Sure," I replied. He took my hand, helping me up, and then snuck me through the house, up the stairs, and to the doorway to the attic. My mom was still showing the ghosts the house. At first it was scary, but now it sounds funny. Tate had the string in his hand, but before he pulled on it he gave me a warning.

"Don't get scared. Beau's friendly and harmless, but his appearance and social skills...they aren't there. He was born...different," he explained. I could only nod. As he tugged on the string I could hear chains rattle from above. The latter slide down, trying to attack me again, but this time I wasn't afraid. I let Tate go first because I was a little scared, only because of the dark. Once the light was on I followed him up and stood by his side, holding hands again. He called Beau's name, asking him to come play with us. Through the shadows of a bunch of junk came low groans, rattles, and a small, red ball that rolled to my feet. I looked at Tate who told me to roll it back to him, so I did. Beau wouldn't reveal himself to me yet, so I sat down on the hardwood and we played, rolling the ball back and forth until he became comfortable. A large, grotesque figure appeared from the darkness with a face only a mother could love, walking on his hands and knees, with chains and shackles around his wrists and ankles. I couldn't be afraid of Beau because I felt bad for him. Was this his eternity? He was condemned to the attic, chained to the walls, alone? His face was disfigured and his body was too large for his age. He acted like a toddler, but I knew he had to be older than that.

"This is Anna, Beau. She's nice," Tate said, smiling at me. Beau and I continued to roll the ball back and forth. I found a smile on his face through the rubber like skin.

"What happened to him?" I asked, looking up at Tate for answered. He turned away Beau a moment to motion suffocation with a discarded pillow that he found.

"Our mom's boyfriend, Larry," he said. I turned back to Beau with sadness in my eyes. He held the red ball in his hands, poking it with his large fingers and laughing. Something inside my chest tightened and I wanted to go back in time and save him, but something told me his life wouldn't be any better than his death. "Go on Beau, we need to go," Tate told me. Beau obediently listened and turned away, disappearing into the shadows with his ball. Tate took my hand and lead me down the stairs, turning off the light and closing the door. We went back into my room, sat down on my bed, and talked.

"Could you watch him? Beau, I mean," Tate asked me. "He just needs someone to play with and I can't always do it because of your parents. He's completely harmless and if he ever bothers you, just tell him to go away and he will,". I simply nodded my head and told him that I would. I liked Beau. He was a friendly spirit. I could spend some time up there, knowing I'm safe with a kind creature like him. "If anyone bothers you, just tell me. They listen to me,". I didn't want to ask any question for the fear of the answers so I nodded. Then we snuggled. I closed my eyes and felt safe and protected. I guess complex was okay.