The *** House

The next few months were thoroughly uneventful. Each day blended seamlessly into the next, and I lost track of what time of year it was. Occasionally, someone would come to view the house, but no one put in a serious offer. Most had been informed of the legend of the Murder House long before they had worked up the courage to actually take a tour.

I continued to spend most of my time with Tate, and he continued to act like the perfect boyfriend. Every now and again I would catch him in a compromising position, but he was quick to pretend that he had done nothing wrong. Mostly, the only thing that he did against my will was speak to Nora. She still wanted him to be her son, but as soon as she saw me watching them from the shadows she would usher him upstairs and tell him to be a good boy.

"Where do you want to go next week?" Tate asked after one such occasion. I knew that he was trying to distract me from being angry that he was talking to Nora, but I couldn't help but focus on what he was saying.

"What do you mean? There are only so many places we can go."

"Well, I mean, we'll have to be back by sunrise, but until then we can pretty much do whatever we want."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, trying to get straight to the point.

"The dead walk the streets on Halloween. You can't tell me that you've never heard that before," Tate said incredulously, scoffing at my ignorance.

"That's real? I always thought it was just one of those stories that were invented to scare kids."

"It's as real as you or me. Once a year, we can leave the house. I usually don't, but I don't normally have a whole lot of options, either."

My mind began reeling. I could go anywhere. Well, anywhere within a reasonable distance. We did have to come back eventually. But there were twenty-four perfectly good hours to be outside of this property. How had no one told me about this before? I drew in a long, shaky breath. "Can I check in on my family? I won't let them see me, don't worry," I said hurriedly, erasing his worries before he could voice them. "That didn't go so well for me last time. I just want to make sure that they're okay."

Tate didn't look particularly enthused about the idea. He set his jaw and gave me a skeptical look. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"No," I admitted. "I loved Halloween. It was my favourite. This is still their first year without me; that is sure to be a hard day for them."

There was an unspoken fear hanging pointedly between us. It seemed to scream out that I could be so very wrong about my family. They could be perfectly fine. What would I do if they were all happily going about their business when I showed up? The rest of my existence would be banal and pointless. If my loved ones were relatively unaffected by my death after less than a year had passed, I was far better off not knowing.

"Whatever you want," Tate said softly. His eyes were careful and somewhat distant. He knew that this could end terribly, but he knew that I was too stubborn to really listen to his warning.

"Can't we just go?" I asked, my tone becoming pleading. "It doesn't matter where we end up. I just want to get away." I had grown rather accustomed to living in this house over the past months, but that didn't make me any less excited to leave it. Now that I knew there was a time where I could walk past the front lawn, I was desperate to get out. It didn't matter that it was only for a day; an hour would have been enough. I just needed to be free for a little while. I could be visible, and I could talk to people. I could feel like I wasn't dead. Nobody would be able to see the gaping holes in my stomach. Just for one day, I could have an ounce of normalcy.

"Of course we can," Tate whispered, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. "We can go wherever you want. We could have a bonfire at my favourite spot on the beach. Hell, we could go trick-or-treating if you wanted. It's not like finding razorblades in the candy would hurt us."

I smiled briefly at his attempt at black humour. I found it odd to think that Tate had a "favourite spot" outside of this house. I couldn't imagine him anywhere else. Even though I knew what he had done, I still couldn't seem to fully wrap my head around the fact that he had lived outside of these walls. He was more of a part of this property than anyone else, as far as I was concerned. He belonged here.

"I can't wait," I told him.

"You need to be careful," he advised. "Your death is still so recent. The chances of being seen by someone you know are huge."

I shook my head. "Not really. I kind of laid low most of my life. It was really rare for me to run into someone that I knew without planning to do so."

"But you know that it's when you really need to avoid it that it happens most often."

I couldn't deny that he had a point. "Okay, I'll be careful. Does everyone here leave on Halloween?" A sudden curiosity burned inside of me. Even though some of the house's inhabitants had been mutilated in their deaths - even worse than I had - the holiday would provide a reasonable excuse to look like a burn victim or to sport a believable gunshot wound through the head. Of course, even the most enthusiastic Halloween participant might cringe at the sight of a young child whose face had melted off. If we threw a sheet over their heads, however, they would fit right in with the festivities.

"Not everyone does. Most do, though. I haven't in almost four years now."

I felt like there was something lingering in his words, but I couldn't decipher the message. I sat down on a stool that had been pulled up to the kitchen counter. My fingers drummed absently on the granite counter top, and I stared vacantly out the nearest window. I could leave. Where would I go? The possibilities seemed endless. I could go home, but I knew that I shouldn't. I could go to any of the places that I used to frequent. I could go to the beach with Tate. I could find my own grave and see what my family had chosen to write on the tombstone.

"Does Violet go out?"

He frowned, clearly unhappy in my interests. "The whole Harmon family usually goes and does something together. I think they go to the pumpkin carving festival and things like that."

I nodded, still staring blindly. "Yeah, that somehow sounds about right. Is she the reason that you stay here?"

"Sometimes it's nice to actually feel alone in this house."

I paused, focusing my gaze on him. "I can't say that I know that feeling. You can always just hide. For once, I want to be seen. I want to have an awkward conversation with a stranger. I miss things that were just everyday happenings before. Don't you?"

"Not really."

"Well let's just agree to disagree then."

The back door opened, and a figure rushed in so suddenly that I didn't even have time to hide myself. Constance shut the door behind her and faced Tate and I, her expression a combination of relief and panic. It was an odd thing to see.

"Oh good, you're right here."

"I live here," Tate replied smartly.

Constance sighed, bringing her fingers to her temples. "I don't have time for your attitude today, Tate."

"Then why are you here?"

"I just needed to remind you that Halloween is next week."

Tate's eyes fell into shadow. "I'm aware."

"And you need to remember to warn all of the cretins in this house to keep to themselves."

His jaw seemed to lock into place, muscles pressing prominently against his pallid flesh. "They know, Constance. Nobody is going to go anywhere near your house."

"Why would anyone want to go to your house?" I questioned. "You're over here often enough without us going to look for you."

Tate put a hand gently on my shoulder. "It's not herself that she's referring to. Certain people in this house have always wanted to get their hands on Michael."

I looked over at him, my eyes prodding. I had done surprisingly well at my task of ignoring the existence of Tate's son. The sudden reminder of him now brought a shudder to my body. I tried to mask my discomfort in front of the two other people gathered in the kitchen. "Who would want to steal a baby?"

"Hayden, Chad and Patrick, mostly," Tate replied, still staring at his mother instead of looking at me.

"That dreadful Nora woman, too," Constance added hotly. "And I honestly wouldn't put it past most of the others here, either."

"Nobody will bother the kid," Tate said. There was an odd hint of a genuine promise in his voice. It seemed out of place when he was speaking to Constance. "They all know the rules by now."

"Well, I trust that you will give them a nice reminder just the same." Constance fixed her hair and strode further into the house. Once again, Tate and I were left alone in the kitchen.

"Have they tried to take him before?" I asked meekly.

Finally, Tate's blackened eyes focused on me. He forced a smile. "I'm sure that they've plotted strategies, but no, not since he was very first born. She's just paranoid, that's all. Living next to a haunted house will do that to you. Especially if you have to make sure that a kid stays clear of it. Addie was over here all the time before she died. Constance couldn't risk the same thing happening with Michael."

"And you?" My voice drifted even further away from a discernible level.

"I lived here, remember? Why would I visit this house? Even when we lost it, I didn't have much reason to visit. I survived without Nora. But Addie came to visit me and Beau. Soon enough, she was friends with most of the ghosts in here."

"No, I didn't mean that. Have you ever gone to see Michael on Halloween?"

"Why would I do that? She doesn't want me to be around him."

"You can't tell me that you're not at least a little but curious about him."

Tate was visibly annoyed with me. He pushed his shaggy hair off his forehead. "He's not even human. You get that, right? He's an abomination. He's already killed people."

"So have you," I whispered.

"He's not even four years old!" Tate's voice climbed hysterically. "I don't know what you're plotting, Ainsley, but you have to promise me that you won't go over there. You have to swear that you won't go looking for him."

"Just like you promised to stay away from Nora?" I snapped bitterly.

"He's dangerous," he persisted.

"And I'm dead. He can't hurt me."

"Don't go over there. Please?"

It had only been an empty threat, anyways. I didn't want to meet Michael. I kind of wanted Tate to face up to the consequences of his actions, but I knew that this wasn't going to be the way that it happened. He wasn't going to go over and catch a glimpse of his son. He was never going to admit that he was a father. I wondered vaguely what would happen to the boy if Constance died. I pushed all of those thoughts from my mind as I looked into Tate's pleading stare.

"I won't have time to go over there. We're going to the beach, remember?"

Tate's eyes grew warm and vibrant as he smiled. "Of course. We're going to the beach."