Narcissistic Cannibal

“Keep your eyes closed,” Tate spoke quietly, leading Sophia through the seemingly empty house in the early morning.

“They are,” Sophia smiled. He had woken her up only minutes before, extremely excited about something, and he said he had a surprise. His surprises were never that spectacular, but they always made Sophia happy. That thought alone helped her smile grow. While Tate lead Sophia on, one of her hands was covering her eyes, and the other hand was firmly placed in his.

“Wait here a second,” Tate let go of her hand, only to slowly place his hands around her waist, trying not to startle her, before he picked her up, his arms just beneath her butt.

“Tate,” she gasped, feeling herself lift into the air.

“Don't look,” he replied, though she hadn't removed her hand, nor opened her eyes. Sophia laughed quietly at how she bounced slightly in his tight grip while he took the stairs down, judging by the shortness of the trip, only one flight to the second floor.

“Careful,” he spoke, setting her down gently as the reached his desired landing, making sure she was balanced before leading her onward.

“Where are we going?” Sophia whispered her question, knowing that Tate hardly ever visited the second floor because of Vivien and Violet Harmon.

“That's the surprise,” was his response. If they had been of the first floor, she would be afraid of him leading her to the basement, and if they had stayed on the third floor, she would be afraid of him taking her into the attic, where she had yet to venture. On the second floor, however, there was no place scary for him to lead her, and Sophia was genuinely having fun trying to guess what he was trying to show her. She heard a door open, as they stopped, before Tate lead her in, letting go of her for a second before closing the door behind them, Sophia distinctly hearing him lock it.
“Close your eyes tighter,” Tate spoke, placing her other hand over her eyes, so she could see nothing but black. For a moment she thought she could hear the whirr of electricity, but quickly waved it off and her imagination. The electricity wasn't on in the house, she knew that. She was so shocked at the sound of running water, however, that she jumped.

“Don't be scared,” Tate laughed, grabbing onto her, one of his hands wet. “Open your eyes now,” he said, the smile ever present in his voice.

Sophia let her hands fall, opening her eyes to a bath shower, the water actually running. She knew for a fact that the house didn't have running water, nor electricity, though Tate had somehow made both the shower and lights work.

“How?” she asked, nearly speechless.

“I was in the basement when a man came in, he was an electrician I guess. It was really early, and he looked pissed but he turned the electricity on for the house,” Tate spoke through his huge smile. “Half an hour later someone came to check the water meter before turning it on. This was all before six in the morning. I think Marcy's gonna finally fix the burn damage to the house, or maybe drop a few thousand from the price and attempt to sell it again,” Tate spoke, testing the water again, as if waiting for it to do something.

“Who's Marcy?” Sophia asked, watching Tate.

“The unlucky realtor stuck with this house. Especially since the Harmons scare away any buyers now. But after the guys were both gone, I re-lit the pilot lite. So we have electricity and running hot water now,” Tate smiled, pulling his hand out of the stream of water as steam began to rise from the bathtub. He flicked the water left on his hand playfully in Sophia's direction.

“Jerk,” she laughed at him, wiping the water from her face.

“Whatever, I thought you'd appreciate this,” Tate spoke sarcastically, though he couldn't completely rid the smile from his lips. “I thought girls liked showering.”

“About as much as men do,” Sophia clarified, moving past Tate to adjust the water temperature to something not scalding hot. “Thanks though, seriously,” she stood back up to hug Tate. “Does anyone else now yet?”

“Not as far as I know– what are you doing?” he asked suddenly, watching as Sophia took her shirt off, leaving her in a simple black bra.

“Taking a shower, duh,” Sophia spoke, almost liking the shock on Tate's face. “Are you gonna join me?” She asked, undoing the button on her pants. “You don't have to get naked,” she spoke, stepping out of her skinny jeans and kicking them over by where her shirt had landed, glad that for once she had fallen asleep with a bra on. “Or are you chicken?” she asked, beginning to feel awkward with how Tate as staring at her.

“Chicken?” Tate asked quickly, losing his shirt in a matter of half a second. “I'd say you're the chicken for not getting fully naked,” he teased as she disappeared behind the shower curtain.

“It's called modesty,” she spoke from the other side of the curtain. He quickly got out of his ripped jeans, leaving him only in a pair of red boxer shorts with small white polka dots.

He move behind the shower curtain as well, watching Sophia stand beneath the shower head, the water falling over her face and down her barely clothed, pale body. He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering down her back as he did. He quickly moved his eyes away however when he saw Sophia turn her head, meeting her face before her eyes fell on him. Sophia turned around, fully then, wiping the water away from her eyes, before grabbing for Tate's arm and pulling him closer to her.

“Is the water too hot?” she asked him, her black hair plastered to the sides of her face as she switched places with him, forcing him under the water.

“No,” he spoke, feeling the water immediately soak him, slightly weighing his boxers down on his waist. “I don't take showers this cold,” he said, running a hand through his blonde hair as Sophia watched him, slicking it back so it wouldn't fall into his eyes.

“Well look who's trying to sound like a bad ass,” Sophia teased before moving next to him, hugging his bare chest so neither of them would be left out of the water's stream.

“I am a bad ass,” he responded while faking the pompous tone in his words. Tate wrapped his arms around her back, though he was very afraid that she might feel the slight excitement he had going on downstairs.

“Shut up, Tate,” Sophia smiled, looking to her right and noticed a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, as well as some body wash underneath in a built in shelf on the wall. She grabbed the shampoo up quickly, smelling it before pouring an absurd amount in to her hand for her short hair.

“That's way too much,” Tate laughed at her, some of the shampoo falling off her head and onto her shoulders, Tate reached out to the globs that had fallen, it being the perfect amount for him while Sophia vigorously scrubbed at her scalp. “You know we don't sweat right? There's nothing secreted from our skin that can get us dirty,” Tate pointed out, watching Sophia clean her hair as if she had thrown mud in it.

“I don't care,” she spoke, watching him begin to shampoo his own hair much less vigorously. He had finished washing his blonde hair and began rinsing the lather of suds out before Sophia had been satisfied with the cleanliness of her hair, her nails beginning to hurt the base of her skull as she forced the soap onto and in between every strand of artificial black on her head.

“You missed showering that much?” Tate asked, still watching her with his dark eyes while running his fingers through his soaked, short hair.

“It's been months. You didn't miss showering?” Sophia asked, now working on the ends of her hair, raking the suds through the dark strands.

“I guess... Last shower I had wasn't exactly voluntary,” Tate explained vaguely. Sophia didn't know how to respond, nor did she know what to ask to understand him without being blunt.

“Move over,” Sophia said instead, though the questions over what Tate meant slowly began burning away at her mind. Tate wordlessly stepped forward, letting Sophia pass him closely, her hair a sudsy mess, and stood close behind her. Sophia kept her back to him, leaning forward to let the hot water wash away the shampoo that had overly cleaned her hair.

“Are you used to showering with other people?” Tate asked, finding himself staring again.

“I used to with Caitlin all the time when she'd sleep over,” Sophia spoke, trying not to feel as if she were drowning as the water ran from her hair and down her face.

“Nice,” Tate spoke, a smirk forming over his face while he reached out, running his fingertips gently down Sophia's back.

“Not how you think,” Sophia attempted to correct his thoughts, while Tate's fingers ran from the back of her neck all the way down to the hem of her underwear before running back up her spine.

“Of course not,” Tate spoke, unable to keep his other hand off of her. Sophia was fairly pretty to him, beautiful in fact. Add water and she was irresistible to him.

“What about you?” she asked, feeling Tate's not so subtle advances leaving a mix of excitement and anxiety to stew in the pit of her stomach.

“No,” he spoke, pulling Sophia backwards into his smooth chest, leaning own to gently kiss along her shoulder and neck while she moved her hair out of her face.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly, allowing him to continue kissing along the side of her neck, both his arms holding her in place in front of him. She was grateful for that, feeling her knees begin to wobble from his affection.

“I dunno,” he whispered into her ear, kissing upwards still until he reached her right temple. Sophia turned to look up to him then, his dark eyes heavy with want, before slowly standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. Tate responded quickly, devouring her lips with his. Keeping one of his arms wrapped around her waist, Tate let the other slowly fall down, his hand slipping to the front of her boyshorts.
Sophia wasn't sure if she was comfortable with the advance or not, so she quickly spun herself around to face him, avoiding the situation all together. Tate silently understood her act, resisting the sudden urges of what he wanted to do to her and let her lead, keeping his hands on her back and waist. Sophia had her hands on either side of his face, her fingers running through his hair and her nails feeling like heaven against his scalp.

He sighed quietly against her lips, making her smile while he pulled Sophia further into him, once being afraid of what she might feel but now he wanted nothing else for her. For the first time in a long time, a couple years at least, Tate wanted nothing but Sophia.

Sophia pulled away gently, her slick body still pressed firmly against his, and smiled at him, staring into his black eyes. Tate returned the smile, leaning is forehead against hers while he moved his arm up to better embrace her instead of hopelessly cling to her. They both knew their relationship had been teetering on the fine line of comfortably friendly and teenage hormonal lust. This shower must have finally knocked them to one definite side. That was okay with Sophia and Tate, both of them perfectly willing to forget their former lovers at that moment.

Sophia leaned forward again, kissing Tate not just with her mouth but her whole body, slowly allowing things to advance between themselves. She allowed their lips to part again, Tate once more kissing down her neck, and she smirked. Her eyes half closed, figuring he was only doing so to try and see around her and figure out how to unclasp the back of her bra.

She looked back down from the ceiling where her eyes had first landed, debating with herself the morals of letting Tate unclothe her before immediately noticing that Tate and herself were not alone in the shower.

The woman behind Tate, her eyes red with broken blood vessels, was soaked as well. Her white nurse outfit was nearly see-through and her dark hair clung to her white face and blue lips. Sophia immediately recognized the nurse from when Ben had scared her friends out of the house. At first her green eyes grew wide, nearly bulging as she struggled to make any distress noise, only succeeding in small squeaks that could barely be heard over the running water falling down her and Tate's bodies. Suddenly the nurse moved a few inches closer, Sophia unable to take her eyes off her, and her voice was found.

“TATE!” she screamed, the shrillness of her voice startling him from his affection. “TATE! TATE!” she kept shrieking like a siren. Sophia ended up stumbling backwards as he let her go, Tate processing what was happening within a second. Sophia hit the wall before she could catch herself and ended up tripping over the tub's faucet, falling backwards and out of the bath tub. She fell hard against the bathroom wall, ripping half of the shower curtain down before slipping against the wall and cracking the side of her head against the hard porcelain toilet tank.

“Go away, Gladys!” Tate screamed as he turned around, unaware yet that Sophia had fallen until he heard the shower curtain rip and the sickening smack from her skull hitting the toilet. He turned back around, satisfied that the nurse had vanished before spotting Sophia on the ground, her legs tangled in the shower curtain and a pool of blood forming around her head like a hellish red halo.
“Sophie,” he jumped out of the shower, leaving the water running as his feet hit the slick tile and he nearly fell over as well. Tate, instead, dropped forward onto his knees and turned Sophia onto her back. “Shit,” he spoke, his eyes watering at the sight of blood freely pouring from her head, gushing quickly onto the bathroom floor until they were both covered in it. “Shit, oh shit,” his voice trembled, pressing his hand against her wound and feeling the skull dent in from his pressure. No matter how much he tried to force himself not to worry because Sophie was already dead, he still felt scared as if he had lost her. Tate forced himself to kick their clothes away, not wanting to explain the blood on their clothes if any questions would arise from the other ghosts, before picking her up and moving her back into the tub, rinsing himself of her blood first before lowering the temperature considerably and using the detachable shower head to keep the blood from clotting in her black hair.



Tate walked her slowly down the hallway, her arm slung over his neck as he hunched over, helping her walk. It hadn't taken her long to wake up but Sophia was barely able to comprehend what had happened. Tate threw back on his ripped jeans over his still wet boxers, and let Sophia wear the button up flannel shirt he had on before, carrying her clothes in the hand that wasn't securely wrapped around her waist.

“I didn't get to condition my hair...” Sophia spoke quietly, slowly limping along beside Tate.

“Huh,” she heard him laugh, knowing that he was smiling before she even looked up to him. “Next time I'll make you take a bath so you don't fall again,” Tate teased her, feeling their skin stick together as he adjusted her, standing her up straighter.

“Fuck that, I'm never going into a bathroom again,” Sophia spoke, thinking of rolling her eyes if it weren't for the numbness in the side of her head, her slight nausea, and extreme dizziness.

“Good thing you're dead then,” Tate smiled down at her. “Seriously though, Gladys and Maria are harmless. Just... freaky.”

“What happened to them?” Sophia asked, running her hand along the wall next to her while her other was firmly holding onto Tate's bare skin.

“They were murdered in the sixties. Ever heard of R. Franklin?” Tate asked.

“No,” Sophia responded simply.

“He was a serial killer who hated nurses. Pretty demented dude. He drowned Gladys, who we've previously met, and stabbed the fuck out of Maria. He sort of led homicides into the seventies. You know, the more famous guys like Richard Chase, Juan Corona, John Floyd Thomas Jr., Karl F. Warner, even unknown guys like The Doodler, and the original Night Stalker. R. Franklin predated Manson by a few months,” Tate spoke, as if it were a common thing to know so many Californian 1970's serial killers by heart.

“The only one I recognized was Manson,” Sophia spoke, her eyebrows pushed together. “Why would you dedicate so much time memorizing killers like him?”

“Manson wasn't a killer, oddly enough. He was sort of like a less deadly Hitler,” Tate explained, keeping a smirk over his lips.

“Hitler did kill people though, right? ...History's not my strong point,” Sophia admitted as they both neared the staircase.

“You just missed my point completely,” Tate clarified, or at least he attempted to bring clarity to Sophia. She wasn't surprised that she was easily confused, she had just scrambled her brains on the hard edge of a toilet. If she hadn't have already been dead, Sophia was sure she would have just died.

“I don't think there's any use in explaining right now–!” Sophia began before Tate quickly wrapped his hand around her mouth, pulling her back harshly and out of sight from the staircase. She looked up to him, her light green eyes filled with shock and pain.

“Shh,” Tate hushed her, barely audible before they heard somebody call out.

“You don't have to hide from me, babe I'm not some monster like some people,” Chad's voice nearly slurred.

“He only heard you...” Tate spoke, gnawing at his bottom lip before letting his hand fall from Sophia's face. “Go,” he said after a moment's thought. “I'll sneak back to your room, just see what he wants.”

Sophia wanted to argue but Tate vanished before she could say a word.

“Sophia?” Chad's voice called again, closer to the hallway where she was hidden.

“Yeah?” she called back, the loudness of her voice making her head throb on the left side. She used the wall for support, since Tate had left her still nearly crippled.

“Good God, what happened to you?” Chad asked, walking into view. His lip turned up into a scowl at her appearance. Sophia noticed a wine bottle danging loosely between his fingers.

“Fell in the shower...” She spoke, having nearly forgotten that she was only wearing Tate's flannel shirt.

“Did you forget how to stand in a bathtub since you died?” He laughed, slightly giving away that he was buzzed off of the wine he somehow had.

“Funny,” Sophia spoke, focusing on not tripping as she guided herself towards Chad. “Where'd you get that?” Sophia asked about the wine bottle.

“From my own personal stash,” Chad rose the bottle to view the label, a scowl running across his lips. “Cheap bitch Marcy has horrible taste but wine is wine my dear.” He extended the bottle for her and Sophia was shocked that her depth perception wasn't off when she easily grabbed for the bottle.

“How old are you again?” he asked, crossing his arms over his expensive sweater.

Sophia didn't drink any of the wine until after smelling it, temporarily ignoring Chad's question. She took a quick drink, the harsh bitterness and dryness of the liquid shocking her tongue, making her grimace before handing the bottle back. “Too young,” she spoke finally as Chad took the bottle from her.

“I can tell. Head injuries and alcohol don't usually mix well either,” he stated, eying the patch of her hair over her left ear that was sticking to her scalp and slightly sunken in. “You sure you fell?” he asked her, one of his thick eyebrows raising dramatically.

“Yes. What are you doing alone out in the hall?” she answered, countering his disbelieving stare with a question of her own.

“I was watching the politics in the house unfold down stairs until you came clamoring over,” Chad spoke, moving his hand up to try and see beneath Sophia's coagulated mess of hair.

“What?” Sophia asked, stumbling forward to the railing, looking down to the front door. It was held wide open, electrical wires running everywhere with workers buzzing about the bottom floor. On the staircase, undoubtedly hidden stood Ben and Vivien Harmon, quietly discussing the odd happenings.

“Apparently, someone has bought the house...” Chad spoke, his words filled with simple facts, before he slowly trailed off, staring at Sophia. “Babe, are you sure you slipped?” he asked again, watching a huge stream of blood flow down her pale face from within her hair.

“Yes,” she swallowed hard, feeling a slight sense of vertigo settle in as she stared downstairs. She stumbled away from the staircase, bringing her hand up to her head to attempt to wipe away the blood and only smeared the dark red over the left side of her face.

“I know we're all dead here but maybe Patrick should have a look at you,” Chad spoke as he quickly sobered up, one of the horrors about being dead. “He was an EMT –” he didn't have time to continue on before watching Sophia stumble to the floor, unconscious once again.