The *** House

I had found the basement to be crowded and stifling, and I slept on a sofa in the study that night. I found it funny that we all still slept, although I wasn't entirely sure that it was out of necessity as opposed to habit.

As with every old house, the mansion creaked and groaned all throughout the night. I found it a lot harder to ignore when I knew for a fact that the place was crawling with ghosts. Eventually, I found slumber. The following morning, I slipped down to the basement in search of Tate. I felt like this would quickly become my routine. I didn't really have anyone else in the house. I had felt like I could get along with Vivien, but I wasn't about to upset her husband again. I had no idea what Tate could have done to piss him off so badly, and I didn't intend to find out. That was between them, and it was none of my business.

The basement was dark and cold; the cement walls were badly in need of a fresh coat of paint and the high windows no longer fit properly into their frames. I didn't see any faces peering back at me, and I had no idea where the other ghosts were. I followed the natural flow of the basement, passing from one empty room to the next. I came to a dead end in the last room, and as I let my fingertips graze the wall I felt a sudden sense of foreboding. I shivered.

A pair of red-rimmed eyes was faintly visible from the corner of the room. My own breathing seemed to echo in the din. A distant, rumbling growl reverberated off of the walls. The growl was replaced with a sudden, ear-splitting snarl. The eyes became embodied by a ghostly pale, tiny figure with jagged fangs and spindly fingers. The hands shot out toward me, clutching at my legs as the the jaws snapped ferociously.

I darted backwards, nearly tripping over my own feet. I was far too terrified to make a sound, choosing instead to flee from the monster that was still scuttling across the floor in an attempt to reach me. I raced back in the direction I had come from, stumbling more than once as I clawed my way up the stairs. I could only focus on one thing: escape. I tore up the basement steps, then bolted across the floor and up the next flight of stairs to the second floor. I heard the baby begin to fuss as I thundered past the nursery. I yanked open the entrance to the attic and hurried up the steps before I paused to catch my breath.

The familiar red ball came rolling out toward me, but I ignored it. "Tate!" I yelled. "You said I could always see you if I was looking! I need you, and you aren't here!"

I let out a dry sob as I recalled the haunted, angry demon that had attacked me. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders in a comforting manner, and I melted into Tate's form. He began whispering calmly in my ear.

"It's okay. You're safe now."

"There is something in the basement that isn't human," I gasped.

He ran his fingers through my hair, humming a single note under his breath to soothe me. "Thadeus isn't like the rest of us. Did you remember to tell him to go away? He can't hurt you, Ainsley. He'll never hurt you."

"It has a name?" I couldn't hide my disbelief. That creature had been the personification of evil, as far as I could tell.

"He was Nora's son," Tate explained. I tried to remember which woman he had introduced as Nora the day before, but I couldn't recall her face. "He was murdered outside of the house, but then her husband had tried to bring him back to life. What he brought back... Well, you saw him. He's feral and wild. But he can't hurt you if you tell him to go away."

I gripped his sweater. "Why weren't you there? I was only looking for you."

"I didn't want to be seen," he said, retaining the low murmur in his voice. "I'm sorry. It wasn't you that I was hiding from."

I pulled back just enough so that I could look up into his eyes. They were such a dark shade of brown that they nearly blended seamlessly with the black of his irises. He looked so sad that I couldn't be upset with him. I was bound to be scared of the things in this house at some point, so I was okay with the fact that it had happened already.

"What else should I be warned about when it comes to this place?" I asked gently, trying to change subject.

He led me over to a few dust-covered boxes and sat down on the nearest one. I perched myself next to him, waiting for him to speak. "Most of the people here don't like me," he said. "I wasn't very nice to them, I guess. But I've changed. I'm not a bad person."

"I know that much already," I forced a grin. "I was wondering more about the ghosts like Thadeus. Are there more like him?"

Tate shook his head. "No, there are none that are quite like him. He's definitely in a category all his own."

"And what about Ben? I mean, is he going to physically harm me every time I see him?"

Tate appeared to be slightly perplexed by my concern. "I always thought that he was kind of nice. I mean, I understand why he doesn't like me anymore, but when I first met him he was really helpful to me. I really don't know why he did that to you, Ainsley."

"He asked me what you had told me. He was worried about his baby. Does that mean anything to you?"

He shrugged his toned shoulders, but he wouldn't look me in the eye. "I can't imagine why he would be concerned about that kid. They've got nothing to worry about. Besides, if I wanted to deal with a baby, I would have put up a fight when Constance came for the other one."

I picked at my nail beds, trying to decide whether or not to push my luck. Finally, my nagging curiosity got the better of me. "Who's Constance?"

"She lives next door."

"And she took a baby?"

He nodded his head, and his blonde curls fell across his forehead. He reached up and brushed them away. "Yup."

His tone made it clear that this particular topic of conversation was over. Tate's ability to avoid talking about certain things bothered me. I just wanted to know what was going on here. I wanted some insight into my new life. I absentmindedly drug a hand across my stomach, then inhaled sharply when I noticed something strange. I yanked up the hem of my shirt and uncovered several gaping wounds. They weren't bleeding, but it was painfully blatant where the mugger's knife had dug into my body. I looked up at Tate with frightened eyes.

He looked sympathetic; his dark eyes were heavy as he gazed upon my scars. "Some things don't go away," he whispered.

Tears stung at my eyes as I suddenly came to terms with it all. I was dead. I was trapped in a house with vengeful spirits, and I was never going to leave. There would be no heaven or hell. I would never again see my family or friends, and I would never get to have a family of my own. Instead, I was stuck with a body that had been ripped apart with a misguided blade. I was never going to grow up, I would never see the person that I could have been, and I would never have the chance to properly say goodbye. It wasn't supposed to be this way. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

My shoulders shook with the silent sobs that tore through my lungs. After a moment, I began to openly weep. Beau whined and whimpered in sympathy, and I cried even harder. Tate reached out and took me into his arms. He cradled me against his chest and rocked gently, waiting out my tears. I wailed pitifully, burying my face into his shirt. His fingers raked through my hair again and he began to whisper in a low tone.

"I'm sorry, Ainsley. I couldn't save you. I couldn't even get you off of the property. I watched you take your last breath, and you looked like you were ready. You just needed the pain to stop. It just had to stop."

"Why did it have to be me?" I sobbed. I couldn't seem to stop myself. Now that I had truly taken the time to think about it, I couldn't make the thoughts go away. "Why did I have to die?"

"Everyone has to die sometime."

"I thought I had so much time left. I - I thought that there would be time."

Tate didn't reply. He seemed to understand that I just needed to let it out. He held me like a child until I had cried myself out, which must have been an excruciatingly long time period for him. He wiped my eyes when I sat back up, and I saw that his own eyes were filled to the brim.

"You have all the time in the world now," he told me sincerely. "This life, this house, it's forever."

I sniffled. I hadn't been ready to commit to forever, but I didn't seem to have any choice in the matter anymore. My lip trembled, but I fought the urge to dissolve again. It wasn't fair to Tate. He had done nothing but help me, and I had no right to fall apart.

"I'm sorry," I moaned, hearing the tremor in my voice. "All I've done today is crumble."

"You're allowed, you know. It takes time to adjust."

I shook my head. "No, I'm stronger than that. I can deal with this."

Tate frowned. "You don't have to act so tough. It's really okay if you need help. Dying isn't just something you go through. It changes you."

I dried the last traces of tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater. I had always been an ugly crier, and I hated that Tate had seen me like this. There was a good chance that he was used to seeing people in this sort of state, but that didn't make me any more comfortable with the idea of it being me. I forced a weak smile, as it that would make it clear that I was okay.

"I'm sure that this won't be the only time that I need a shoulder to cry on. So thanks for putting up with me."

He seemed satiated by my reply. He kept an arm firmly around my shoulders. "For all the people in this house, it sure gets lonely sometimes. I just don't want you to feel that way."

"As odd as it seems, since I just died and all, I haven't felt that way yet."