You're Mine

Turning once to look back at the other children standing safely on the other side of the fence I took a single, long step into the Murder House. The looks of horror on their faces were pathetic and I felt a pang of disgust deep in my stomach at the mere sight of them.

A loose floor board creaked under my feet as I settled on a spot in the center of the room. Of course they would send me into the Murder House. I was the freak. I was the social outcast because I refused to subject myself to the superficial tyranny that was the average thirteen year old girl. They would probably still throw rocks at me afterwards, but at least now I got to explore this magnificent home and I knew they would be too chicken to follow me so being rid of them for however long I chose to stay was also a plus.

The grandness of the staircase was the first to catch my attention. I had heard a rumor that a year ago a boy was shot to death in his room upstairs by the police. He had shot and killed fifteen kids at his school and even set his mother's boyfriend on fire before they finally got him. I liked this. It's a fucked up world we live in, and those kids probably deserved what he did and then some. Even if they didn't, at least they were free of this disgusting world.

The railings were lined with a thick layer of dust. I was sure to run my hands along them as I made my way to the top, leaving my mark on the house. Reaching the head of the stairs, I encountered my first problem: I had no idea which room was the boy's.

Starting with the first door on my right, I jiggled the handle only to discover it was locked. This continued until I finally found a door that wasn't and I knew right away this was his. It was bare mostly except for a dresser, an empty desk, and a bed frame. The mattress had probably been looted by hobos or something.

Walking over to the bed, I sat down criss-cross on the floor inside of the frame facing the door. This was it, the rumors weren't rumors. This was his house, his room. I closed my eyes and fell back onto the hardwood floor.

I envied him. He was brave, braver than I could ever be. I was doomed to spend the next five years in school, being tormented by my fellow classmates. I was doomed to put up with my abusive, alcoholic father and my cowardly shit stain of a mother. Doomed; what a posh word. I wish I had the courage to do what he had done, to just say to Hell with you all. At least go out with a fucking bang.

"What the hell are you doing?" I opened my eyes to see a boy standing over me. He was dirty blonde, brown eyed, and modestly good looking. It was him. I was in his room and he was here.

I rolled over, standing up to face him though he was a good ten inches taller than me. He looked so solid and I couldn't help but to smirk at how right the kids outside were. The house was in fact haunted.

"What's so funny? Who are you?" His voice was rising with anger. He was very impatient and my silence was only further pissing him off.

"You're dead." I stated, reaching out a hand to touch him; I could. I barely felt the warmth of his skin through his green striped sweater before he stepped back, out of my reach.

"What are you some kinda fucking freak?"

"Yes." I stated, crossing my arms against my chest and continuing to look him over. He liked this as he smiled and mocked my gesture.

"Good." He extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Tate. I'm dead."

"I'm Joseline. I'm not dead." I replied with a smile. "Yet."