The *** House

My screams hung in the crisp winter air. This wasn't a desolate or abandoned neighbourhood. Why wasn't anybody helping me? I felt a blade plunge into my abdomen as I tried to resist, and I let out another pained screech. Still, the houses surrounding me remained quiet, each window blackened with the colour of the night. Eventually, I was forced to merely squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the pain to end.

When I next awoke, there were branches and leaves above me. A filter of green changed the LA sun to a cooling shade. I waited for the pain, but there was none. I lay there for a few moments, trying to gather my thoughts. I had done some drugs the night before, but nothing hallucinogenic. There was no reason for me to have imagined being assaulted by a masked stranger. So why wasn't I hurting?

I sat up and carefully clambered to my feet. I crawled out of the bushes and found myself on a perfectly manicured lawn. Up a gentle slope sat a gorgeous, historic mansion. That house couldn't have been a figment of my imagination, and I could clearly remember seeing it the night before. The stained glass windows on the second floor had been the last thing that I'd looked at before I had given up and closed my eyes.

"Who are you?"

I jumped at the sound of the voice. I hadn't noticed the boy standing on the front porch until now. He was wearing a thick, striped sweater and his light hair fell across his forehead. His dark eyes were curious, though not altogether friendly.

"Where am I?" I asked, ignoring his question.

He watched me in silence for a few more seconds as I scanned the nearby street. There were no visible signs or any familiar landmarks. I was utterly lost.

"You might as well come inside," he said. He didn't sound happy about it.

I shook my head. "No, I need to go. I need to go home. I just need to figure out how to get there."

A haughty bark of a laugh made me spin around and face the stranger again. He was giving me and incredulous stare, as if I had told him something completely absurd. I frowned at him as he leaned over the wide railing in an attempt to see me better.

"You think you're going home?"

I stumbled backward a few paces. Was that some sort of threat? Could this boy have been the masked attacker from the previous night? He didn't look overly imposing. He didn't even seem tall enough. Still, his words shook me.

I turned and ran, feeling the soles of my sneakers digging into the soft grass. As soon as I made contact with the open street, however, I found myself back on the lawn. I began to shake. Had someone slipped me some kind of drug that was making me see things? Was I just on a bad trip? Or could this possibly be reality? I faced the house again, and the boy looked amused.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded.

He smiled bitterly. "Haven't you figured it out? You're stuck here, just like the rest of us. Sooner or later, someone will find your body and get it off of the property, but you won't go with it."

The tremors raking through my body grew worse. "My... body? I don't understand."

He hopped gracefully over the railing and stalked across the yard toward me. I backed away, stopping only when he passed in front of me and headed toward the bush that I had struggled out of a few minutes before.

"You got mugged, right?" he asked as he pulled back some branches.

"Yeah."

"You didn't make it." He held the twigs and leaves aside, then jerked his head in a manner that meant I should join him. I carefully approached, still feeling apprehensive about him. I peered into the bushes, and immediately fell to my knees.

There, covered in dried black and crimson blood, was me. I had been absolutely mutilated. The body was unrecognizeable, but the face was clearly my own. My long black hair was matted with congealed blood, and there was no question that no life remained in the shell that I saw before me. I let out a dry sob, choking on my emotion. I was set to graduate in a couple of months. I had planned to be somebody. Now, apparently, I was dead.

"Hey," the boy released his grip on the branches and patted my shoulder gently. "We all went through it. It sucks, but you kind of have to deal."

I looked up at him and found that he was offering me a hand. I accepted his help and climbed to my feet. "Why are we stuck here?" I asked in a dull, emotionless voice.

"It's the house," he shrugged. "Anyone who dies on this property is doomed to stay here forever. We haven't had a newcomer in a few years, though. Some of us are working to stop people from every buying this house again. For some reason, they keep trying to sell it. At least they keep the place in nice condition for us, I guess."

"By 'we', who do you mean, exactly?"

"Well," he began walking back to the house. I followed, feeling like I was out of options. "For starters, my name is Tate. As for the others... I'll try to warn you about who to avoid."

"Are we... ghosts?" I asked, still feeling perplexed by the whole scenario. "I mean, you moved those bushes, and I can see you. Aren't ghosts invisible?"

"Yes, that's what we are. And you're only invisible if you don't want to be seen. But, you see, you're also a ghost. That's why you will always be able to see me, as long as you're looking. And we can touch things and move things just as easily as a living person can. We're corporeal."

"I'm so young," I whispered dumbly as we climbed the porch steps. "I can't believe I'm dead."

"It takes some getting used to."

"I'll never see my family again."

"Trust me, you probably don't want to."

"Why are you helping me?" I asked suddenly, stopping him before he could open the front door. "What does it matter to you if I died?"

Tate appeared disheartened by my lack of trust. "I just thought that you shouldn't find all of this out on your own."

He stepped inside, and I followed. The house interior was a mix of various styles. The front foyer was presumably the same as it had ever been, as it appeared to be one giant antique. Beyond that, the house was in varying states of modernization. Tate led me around, pointing out the kitchen and a few other points of interest. I expected him to go upstairs next, but instead he headed for the basement.

"Most of us live down here," he said softly. "I can't handle going upstairs much."

"Why not?"

"Because she's up there," he whispered faintly. He turned his back on me and descended into the shadowy depths of the basement. I hurried after him, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the mass of others that I found at the landing. Tate made a rush of introductions, pointing out faces and matching them with names. I couldn't recall any of them. One tortured face blurred into the next, children and adults alike. Finally he turned back to me. "You never did tell me what your name was."

"I'm Ainsley," I replied meekly.

"Welcome home, Ainsley," he smiled.

A girl with straight brown hair and fiery eyes stepped forward. She gripped me by the elbow and began pulling me away.

"Hey, Hayden, lay off!" Tate yelled after us.

"I'll just be a minute," she snapped back in a harsh tone. She released me soon after and stared me down. "Whatever impression you have of Tate, or even of the rest of us, you're wrong. He's worse than all of us combined, and he's head over heels for this snotty little bitch upstairs. He didn't mention her, did he?"

I shook my head, unable to come up with any words to use.

"That's what I thought. When you inevitably meet Violet, remember that she's the one who dumped his sorry ass. He's still hanging on like a lost little puppy. So don't waste your time with him. Actually, there's no one here worth pursuing. And as for making friends, you're better off sticking to yourself. Nobody here will help you, especially if you're associating with Tate. I'm just giving you a heads up."

"But he seems so nice," I argued.

She rolled her eyes. "He can make you think whatever he wants you to. Don't trust him. Don't trust anyone. Especially the Harmons. They aren't any better now than when they were living."

"Why are you helping me?" I repeated the same question I'd asked Tate earlier.

"Because nobody helped me."

With that, Hayden turned and left. I cowered by myself for a few moments before Tate found me. He touched my arm in a calming gesture and smiled.

"She's not so bad, once you get to know her. That's kind of the case with everyone. If you want them to leave you alone, you can always just close your eyes and tell them to go away. It works, I promise."

I forced a shaky smile in return. "Thanks, Tate. I'm really glad that you decided to help me out."

He nodded, and his smile became cemented onto his features. "Come on, I'll show you the upstairs."

"But I thought that you didn't ever go up there."

"I don't like to, but that doesn't mean that I never wander. I just try to be a little less visible when I do."

He gently weaved his fingers in with mine and led me toward the stairs.