Little Lion Man

His gaze was unnerving. Everything I did, he would carefully watch with big, brown eyes. As I led him to my room from the front door, he examined everything he passed. He seemed almost confused by all the possessions in the house, with a frown and a furrowed brow.

"So, what's your name?" I asked as we headed up the stairs. I didn't even know why I invited him into the house. He was a complete stranger that I'd seen lurking around my yard two times. What if he was a murderer, or something? I had no idea who he was, but I didn't care. I wanted to invite him in, so I did. He seemed like a harmless teenage boy. He looked more scared of me than I was of him.

"Tate," he answered, running his hand over the wall as we walked down the hallway. "Yours?"

"I'm Taryn," I said, opening my bedroom door and gesturing for him to go inside. I watched him as he did so, sulking with his hands in his jean pockets, the long sleeves of his sweater hanging over the denim. We were in stark contrast, as I was only wearing shorts and a tank top. I had no idea how he was so comfortable in his current attire, but I didn't ask, and I tried not to stare. "You say you lived here before?"

Tate nodded, happily plunking himself down on my bed. "Yeah, I did. This room, too." He smiled slightly, then his expression darkened considerably. He turned his head so I couldn't see.

"So, what's wrong with the place?" I figured I'd just come out and say it. He probably knew more about my house than I did, and I wanted to know the history I could feel in every room I stepped into. By his reaction, I could tell he did know.

Tate grinned at the question, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Well, be more specific."

"Why is it so cheap? My parents couldn't afford a house this nice unless there was something wrong with it... and besides, I can just feel it." I ran my fingers through my dark hair, awaiting his answer. He just sat there for a moment, biting his thumb nail.

"Lots of people died here. Like, lots. It's a damned place, if you want me to be honest," Tate grinned through the whole answer, I shivered slightly. Something was off about him- something was very strange. He was terrifying in a way, but also hypnotically gorgeous. I couldn't really take my eyes off him.

"Like who? Who died here?"

"First off, the people who built this house. Charles and Nora Montgomery, and their baby Thaddeus. Charles was a drug addict and a doctor to the stars..."

---

It felt like hours we'd been sitting on my bed talking. He told gruesome stories of murder, suicide, death in general... and I sat and listened, absolutely entranced. The way he told every story made it sound like he had personally spoken to all the victims. He knew everything. It was frightening... but at the same time, very interesting.

I looked out the window and saw the sky darkening, as Tate rambled on about some red-haired twins that'd died here.

"Tate?" I interrupted, and he glanced at me, completely halting his speech.

"Yeah?"

"How do you know this stuff?"

He shrugged, looking away from me. "I lived here, I wanted to know just as much as you did. You know they call this place Murder House? It's on a tour and everything."

I didn't even know why he was still here. I wasn't offering anything to the conversation, and half the time it seemed like he was just talking to hear himself talk. If I was him, I would have left already, but he was persistent. He kept smiling at me, and asking if there was anything else I wanted to know. I was glad he was there... I was absolutely terrible at making friends under normal circumstances, yet Tate basically thrust himself into a good light in my eyes.

"That's fucking creepy," I mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I know..." Tate agreed. "What kind of music do you listen to?"

I was thankful for the subject change, and answered right away. "I listen to a lot of things. Lately I've been listening to older stuff, like nineties. I really like Nirvana, lately."

He grinned, and before I could respond to it, he grabbed my hand. "I like Nirvana too!"

I glanced down at my hand in his, and Tate pulled away, recoiling almost like my hand was on fire.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking down sheepishly as if he's just committed a major crime. His eyes flared with what looked like anger, but he turned completely from me before I could reassure him. "I really have to get going."

I didn't know what I had done, or why he was leaving so abruptly, but he was on his feet and headed towards the door before I could even say anything. Every step farther from me he took, I felt my heart drop. I didn't want him to leave. I liked his presence, as strange as it was. The farther away from me he got, the more anxious I felt.

"Wait- Tate!"

He stopped, turning slowly. His eyes locked onto mine, and he nodded, waiting for me to speak.

"I want to see you again," I said breathlessly, getting off my bed and following after him. In response, he backed up farther into the hallway.

"You will. But... I gotta go,"

I nodded slightly, and he kept backing up until he was headed towards the staircase. "Okay, bye Tate..."

"Goodbye, Taryn."