This is Episode 10 of American Horror Story season 1.5 - Murder House Revisited. If you haven't already, you should probably read the previous episodes or you may be confused. Check my Profile to find them.

2018 - October 1

Patrick watched the delivery men unload another oblong, sheet-covered object from the moving van. It was the first of several that would arrive over the next month. It had been a few years since Murder House had a new occupant. Several of the ghosts had successfully scared off the last family who had purchased it but that was when things were calmer in the house. Pat seriously doubted the Harmons could pull their shit together enough to orchestrate another bio-exorcism now.

While the moving men carried the bulky object into the house, Patrick headed down to the truck for a look inside. The contents within resembled a shipment bound for a warehouse: Almost everything within was large and covered in sheets. He was curious to know what was under those sheets. There was something oddly compelling about the mystery and before he was consciously aware of what he was doing, he was in the back of the van.

He moved over to the nearest sheet-covered item and lifted up a corner. Beneath was a glass display case, the kind one typically saw in museums. It had a single shelf lined in dark navy blue velvet but was otherwise empty. Disappointed, Pat moved to the next covered object. It was upright but just as long as the first. He lifted the sheet and found something that surprised him.

It was another display case but it wasn't empty. It contained the mummified remains of a human. The person was still wearing clothes, though they were tattered and yellow with age. Old western style clothing that looked authentic; straight out of the wild west. There was a bullet hole right where the heart would be. The mummy was well-preserved but his skin looked like yellow wax. His hair had suffered over the years and had a yellowish tinge as well but was remarkably still attached to his scalp. The dead man's lips had dried and curled back from his yellowed teeth in a permanent grimace.

Heavy steps on the lift gate behind him alerted Patrick that the movers were returning and he let the sheet drop. The movers crowded in and, to avoid an uncomfortable pass-through, Pat tried to get out of their way. But they headed straight for the covered display case he'd looked at first and he got crowded right out of the van.

He backed out and slipped, falling to the street with an embarrassing lack of coordination. He picked himself up, dusted off, and then realized he was out in the street. Patrick glanced about. He was almost in the center of the paved road. He hadn't been sent back into the house. Curious all over again, he started to walk. And he kept walking.

Though it wasn't Halloween, he found he could move freely. And he took full advantage of it.

...

2018 - Halloween night

To say that Nick Carver was pissed off would have been the understatement of the year. He was livid; beside himself with bottled-up resentment. For three hours past sundown he and his troupe of paranormal experts collectively known as Mission: Paranormal had explored Murder House, top to bottom, and they had nothing to show for it. Nothing unusual happened. There wasn't even an atmospheric rain storm like last time. Forget unexplained photos or bizarre injuries; it was as dead as a museum after visiting hours and not nearly as creepy.

Travis and Elizabeth had tagged along with the show's host, trying without success to come up with something that the ghost hunters could document for their return visit. But with more than half of the house's resident ghosts out for the night and another quarter missing completely, there wasn't much that the pair could do to stir things up. They messed with the lighting and the electronic gadgets and Travis even got bold enough to swipe one of their laptops. But those minor incidents were too easily explained away by the team.

After a long night of no excitement, the crew decided to pack it in. Despite its fearsome reputation and gory legends of horror, Murder House had delivered the dullest episode of Mission: Paranormal ever. It was almost as bad as when Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone's overhyped vault on live television only to find the thing completely empty.

"Well, folks," Nick said to his crew during the post-show circle on the front lawn. "This trip was a bust. But we're already booked to do the Queen Mary next Halloween. I hear that place is active no matter what time you go."

"Isn't that the Titanic's sister ship?" asked Albert. He'd found and brought his umbrella hat as a precaution and a tribute to his friend, Lisa, who'd refused to come to the house a second time. And naturally he hadn't needed it.

"Yes, it is," said Nick. "Several people have died in it over the years, starting with guys on the crew that built it. One guy was crushed in one of those water-tight hatch doors when the mechanism mysteriously triggered right while he was crossing the threshold. I also heard that the skeletal remains of two of the builders were recently found in a portion of the hull where lots of people reported hearing banging sounds."

"Aww," said Wade. "Too bad we couldn't have filmed there before they found the bodies. Mysterious banging would make great footage."

"Agreed," said Nick. "But if what I've heard about the place is correct, we'll still have plenty to work with." He turned a disgusted look on Murder House. "Come on, folks. This place is a dead cell."

...

░A░m░e░r░i░c░a░n░ ░H░o░r░r░o░r░ ░S░t░o░r░y░

...

2008

"Your being here lets me know you're sincere," Ambrose said to the young woman he let into his rented house. "But I always make a video record of your intentions beforehand. I find it serves well to weed out volunteers who aren't truly serious."

The woman was dressed in a simple white angora sweater and pleated brown skirt. She had dishwater blonde hair she'd dip-dyed light blue at the ends. She smiled nervously, both hands gripping the small overnight bag she carried. "Of course. I understand." She was nervous and it made her speak softly.

"You understand there will be no pain killers," he went on as he led her down the hall. He wasn't trying to scare her. He just wanted to be sure that she fully understood what she was signing on for. "And once we start, there will be no chance to change your mind."

She nodded and felt a prickle of sweat. She was nervous but excited as well. Just hearing him talk about what was going to happen made her wet down below. "I understand," she said again. She flashed him a quick smile.

She'd never been attracted to older men but Abernathy Ambrose was different. They'd met online through a website and from their first emails she'd been enchanted. He was so smooth, so intelligent and sincere. She almost believed she loved him. But theirs was an attraction far more base and vile than that. She would never actually call it love.

He led her into a small bedroom that he'd converted into a studio. There was a long white canvas hung on one wall in front of which a stool was positioned and in front of that was a video camera on a tripod. Two photo lights shielded by umbrellas threw pale white light over the makeshift staging area.

"Go ahead and set your stuff down and have a seat," Ambrose said as he moved to stand behind the camera.

She followed his instructions. She found it hard to see him once she was seated on the stool, thanks to the lights. He was just a dark shadow that melded with the camera. He fiddled with the settings then hit the record button.

"State your name and age for the camera, please," he instructed.

She cleared her throat. "I'm- My name is Laura Holmes. I'm twenty-four years old."

"And why are you here, Laura?"

She thrilled at the way he said her name. "I'm here because I want to be your Dolcett girl." She got a rash of goose bumps saying that and her nipples pressed against the satin lining of her bra.

"You're here of your own free will?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"Are you having second thoughts?" asked Ambrose. "This won't be like the role play we've done online. This is for real."

Her smile grew wider and more radiant. "I'm absolutely committed to this."

"Why?"

Laura shifted on the stool and licked her lips. "I've always wanted to do this. Ever since I hit puberty I've fantasized about it."

"You're not afraid?"

She laughed a nervous laugh. "I am but it's a good sort of afraid. It's what I wanted to feel."

"Excellent," he said. "That's good. Beautiful."

He switched off the camera and the lights. "The bathroom is the second door on the right," he said. "Go shower and shave any body hair below the neck. Please don't use any deodorants or perfumes afterward. When you're done, head to the room at the far end of the hall. Last door on the left."

She nodded. They'd already been over this before, through email, but she understood his need to be thorough. She did as he instructed and the whole time she was in the bathroom her heart was racing. This was it. This was really it.

When Laura emerged from the steamy bathroom she was clean and shaven. She felt like she was stepping into a dream; a really bizarre and psychedelic dream. She headed for the last door on the left and her heart really started to pound. It wasn't fear exactly but there was a certain amount of dread to her excitement. It fed the strange beast within her that craved this thing she'd set herself up for. She paused just outside the open doorway, one hand clutching her gray fluffy bathrobe closed.

She could still back out now. Once she crossed the threshold she knew there would be no turning back but she could leave now. It was dizzying, having so much control over her future. It was empowering. She took a step forward and felt like the Damacles sword had come down, slicing into her twisted Gordian knot of a life. It wasn't a perfect feeling but the relief that came with it made everything worth it.

He was waiting for her in a large bed. He was wearing a robe as well, one of those old smoking jackets made of red and black embroidered silk. It reminded her of something she'd seen Vincent Price wear in one of his many movies but she couldn't remember which one. The bed was large and well-appointed with generous pillows and expensive-looking linens. But closer inspection of the bed showed unusual bits and pieces: O-rings in the headboard, hooks on the tall ornamental poles that spiked the headboard. Above the bed and bolted to the ceiling was a black rectangular metal setup that featured all kinds of dangling hardware.

"Come over here," he said with a smile that belied what they both knew was coming.

...

Ambrose was close to orgasm. He pulled the rope hard, again and again, lifting the girl high up before letting gravity pull her back down again. The force with which she was landing hurt his hips but he ignored the pain. No pain, no gain. He yanked the rope harder and the noose hauled Laura up by her neck so high she almost popped right off his cock. She didn't make a sound. She'd died several minutes ago. He wasn't exactly sure when she'd stopped making noise. He didn't care. When her corpse landed that final time he shot his load up into her and let her lifeless body sag to the side.

His heart pounded a lively rhythm and he basked in the feeling of vitality that coursed through him. When his breathing slowed to normal he rolled her further away. Her hands were dark red from the tightness of the zip tie he'd bound them with. He didn't care. He never used the hands after his dolls were dead.

...

He had a late supper. He lit a single taper candle to honor the romantic evening he'd spent with Laura. He had sautéed her best parts in Marsala wine and garlic. She tasted even more beautiful than she'd looked while she was dying during intercourse. Young and tender, unpolluted by street drugs or the disgusting chemicals grocery store meat contained. He wished they were all so pure.

He ate what he could. The rest he would dissolve in hydrochloric acid in the basement tub. He didn't like keeping leftovers. It wasn't just a matter of security: The meat tasted best when it was fresh. Frozen or even refrigerated, it lost its richness. It lost the vitality he craved so much. He would rather wait and find a new Dolcett girl than eat old meat. With the help of the internet, finding partners who would submit to such treatment made it so easy he could afford to be finicky.

...

Author's Note:

"A dead cell" is what the head investigator in Stephen King's Rose Red called the haunted house. One of the psychics she took with her scoffed and told her "Yeah, to someone who's not psychic."

Dolcett is one of the sickest fetishes I've ever had the misfortune to discover. It's named after some internet troll who used to love posting bizarre illustrations of his sick fantasies. Thanks to said internet, the loner's fascination with the subject of death + sex has devolved to new depraved depths. There have been a couple of folks who've made the news (both cases that I know of were in Germany) after they were caught by police consuming their victims. One videotaped the whole process, including his interview with the volunteer victim he'd met on Craigslist. Some people will do anything - anything! - for a thrill.

I do not condone this sort of activity. When I thought up Ambrose, I had to stretch my imagination to find something even more monstrous than anything else Murder House has thrown at us. This is coming around to the grand finale after all. And I have to keep pace with Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy where it comes to hair-grabbing 'OMG! Noooo!' moments - which is no small order.

Next chapter: Rubber Man's back and he's up to new tricks. Constance meets the house's new owner. Nikki finally catches up with Patrick after he stood her up on Halloween. All this and much more is coming at you soon!