A/N: Hi! I'm Karen, and I can assure you this will be the first and last time you'll see an exclamation point in my work. This is my first piece published on this site ever, so take it easy on me; I bruise easily. Anyway, Too Late to Fade takes place during the first season of American Horror Story, and surprise, it's an OC/Tate story. Hopefully it won't be butt-numblingly cliche; I ain't about that life. Yeah, so here it, this first chapter of Too Late to Fade. Enjoy.

I hated that house the moment I stepped foot in it. Old, creepy things and places do not settle well with me, so as I'm sure you can already tell, my stay at The Murder House was far from pleasant.

We arrived on the twelfth of July, approximately a month since I was let out from school for the summer. I'm originally from Scottsdale, Arizona, and by originally I mean I was both conceived and born there, but I grew up in Los Angeles.

My family had come to the conclusion that our lovely home in Huntington Beach was far too small to accommodate the four of us, thus resulting in the move. For the price the house was going for it didn't take my parents too long to make a decision, and so two short weeks later I was unpacking boxes in my dingy new bedroom.

Gross wouldn't even begin to describe it.

There was this terrible, terrible smell that no amount of Febreze was able to diminish. Honestly, it was gag worthy.

My mom insisted it was the cleaning detergents the realtor probably used to disinfect the place, but I wasn't convinced. That same day I took it upon myself to drive to the mall and pick up a few candles to hopefully alleviate the room of the stench, and it was on that same day things started getting weird.

I already knew the history of the place, and I somewhat believed in ghosts, so when things would go bump in the night I automatically assumed it was that girl; the one that lived in the house before my family and I, the one that died there as well.

Everyone knew about it; it was the biggest thing in LA since Lindsay and Paris. Her whole family died there too, you know. So really, it could have been any of them.

When I came back with an abundance of Yankee Candles, the smell was already gone. I asked my mom if she had anything to do with it, and all I received was a simple no. I didn't question it any further and proceeded to light the candles because why not? My room could use some ambiance.

See, the weird part happened after I lit them. A good five minutes later they all began to go out as if someone were blowing on them purposely. I was on my bed "Tumblring" and listening to music when I started to smell the smoke.

I almost shit my pants when I saw them all out. I wanted to run out of there, but at the same time I couldn't move. I thought if I did I'd come in contact with something I wouldn't want to; as stupid as that sounds.

So I started calling for my mom until my brother came running in instead asking if I were okay. I wasn't, and I told him, to which he replied with a "yeah, I know" and I rolled my eyes. It felt good not being alone, and for a second I forgot about the candles. I decided I wouldn't trouble him with the news and instead told him it was nothing.

He rolled his eyes and marched back to his room. You know, it felt colder the moment he walked off; at the time, of course, I thought nothing of it. Five candles all simultaneously blew out-what was I supposed to be concerned about?

That's how things went for the next couple of weeks. Bizarre, inexplicable events would occur that would capture my attention for some time, meanwhile something less obvious, yet still as odd, would sneak in there as well. Needless to say these events only worsened as time went on; to the point where I nearly got my parents involved. Nearly, though. God forbid their dream home wasn't as perfect as they thought. Still, looking back on it I really should have said something.

It was only after a month of living there that I came in contact with one of them. What happened after continues to boggle my mind to the point where I often question if it actually occurred.

Because if it were you, I'm sure you'd think you were bat-shit crazy too.