Author's note: I hope you enjoy the story, and I apologize in advance if you think anyone is too ooc, but I'm trying to show more of Tate's dark side now that we all know what our favorite psychopath is capable of. I would also like to apologize for any inaccuracies I might have in my portrayal of Stella as a character with Xeroderma Pigmentosum. This story is set to take place in 2015, before Constance comes home to discover that Michael has killed Flora in the season 1 epilogue.
Cast:
Dr. Trudeau—James Cromwell
Stella Cabrera—Chloe Grace Moretz
Steve Cabrera—Colin Ferguson
Cecilia Cabrera—Naomi Grossman
Henry Cabrera—Rico Rodriguez
Chapter 1: Come As You Are
"I'm sorry." Those were the first words out of the doctor's mouth when he returned from examining Estelle Cabrera's scans after she had been waiting in the cold examination room that had been equipped with special lighting with her parents for over an hour. She listened numbly, staring at a scratch in one of the tiles on the floor, while he went on to explain his findings to her parents. At the young age of eighteen, her brain was already showing signs of neurological degeneration. She had suspected as much. She knew the signs. She knew that her recently impaired balance, slight difficulty speaking, and the seizure were classic manifestations of this in patients with her condition. She had feared the worst. And she was right. It would only get worse from here. Eventually, as the degradation progressed, she would begin to suffer cognitive impairment, and, by the end, she would loose all control of her voluntary muscle movement. She had seen it before. She would die broken, an invalid who couldn't even swallow on her own. Her parents were devastated. She could hear her father crying and the emotional strain in her mother's voice when she asked:
"Isn't there anything we can do for her?"
The doctor was silent for a moment. "Well, I don't want to give you false hope, but… there's an old colleague of mine who's conducting research on repairing cells affected by neurological degeneration. He's had success with preliminary testing on primates for a new medicine he's created called Serum RM47. I've heard they'll be ready to begin human trials about a month from now."
"Is it safe?" her mother asked.
"As far as I'm aware, none of the current test subjects have died or presented signs of harmful side-effects as a result of the serum," her doctor replied. "I think the serum can only help her. I think it will help her."
Stella's eyes flicked from the floor to the doctor's face. He had her full attention now. She would try anything to avoid the terrifying and depressing fate that awaited her.
"How do we get her in?" her mother asked with determination, ready to pounce on the opportunity.
"I'll take care of that," he said. "The problem is, they're only looking for subjects who live in or near Los Angeles, because that's where the research facility is located, and they want to be able to monitor their patient's progress through weekly examinations."
"Do it," her father said, placing a hand on her shoulder while he reached out to hold her mother's hand. "We'll move if we have to."
Her parents began preparations for the move immediately once they received news that her application had been accepted on the condition of their change of address. They hunted for potential new homes online and started scheduling appointments to view them as soon as she and her brother, Henry, completed their final exams. It was very fortunate that the trials would begin in June. They would have plenty of time to adjust before the next school year started. And that was how the Cabrera family of five found themselves sitting in their Dad's SUV on a freeway in Los Angeles, California.
"The light is different out here. Softer," Steve Cabrera commented in an attempt to lighten the mood. The atmosphere in the car tended to get heavy when it got too quiet.
"It's the smog, honey," Cecilia told her husband. "It's a shame cloud particle coverage like this doesn't block UV rays, or Stella might not have needed her suit."
"Yeah," Stella agreed a little wryly, pulling her protective hood away from her neck just a sliver to get a little airflow. She knew that was her mother's attempt at a joke. "How much farther is it, because I'm gonna need a bathroom soon." Her youngest brother, Dalton, who was only a baby, started fussing in his car seat.
"Ugh, you're not the only one. I think Dalton needs a new diaper," Henry said with a grimace when the area around the seat between them started to stink. Stella wrinkled her nose and was now glad to have a barrier between her and the rest of the air in the car.
After a quick stop for a bathroom break and one changed diaper later, the Cabreras reached their destination. It was a beautiful old Victorian brick house. Steve rang the doorbell.
"I love it. Don't you love it Celia?" he asked excitedly. "I think it looks even better than it did online. Look at those stained glass windows."
"Yeah, it's interesting," Cecilia agreed distractedly while she readjusted her hold on Dalton, who was getting a little squirmy again.
"It's bigger than our old house," Stella said, glancing up at the three-story building. She did a double take when she thought she saw someone standing in the window, but when she looked again there was nothing there. "Are you sure you got the price right, Dad?"
"Yeah, it seems suspiciously low," Henry said, eying the dark house somewhat warily. He wanted Stella to get better just as much as the rest of his family, but he wasn't too thrilled about the move.
"Maybe, but don't you think this place is amazing?" their father asked them with a bright smile.
Amazingly creepy, Henry thought as the door opened.
"Welcome, you must be the Cabreras," the real estate agent greeted them with a smile, which Stella noticed didn't quite reach her eyes. She was a woman in her sixties with pale, dull platinum blonde hair pulled back in a French twist. And she was wearing a bright red blazer with a large flower pin over a floral dress that made her skin and hair look even more faded and washed out. Stella also noticed the woman had a small, fluffy dog in her arms, but from the way it was trembling and the cloudy look in her eyes, she suspected the poor thing might be sick.
"Yes, I'm Steve," her father said, stepping forward to shake the hand she offered to them. "And this is my wife, Cecilia. And our kids—Stella, Henry, and Dalton," he added, pointing to each of them in turn. "And—I'm sorry, I'm just terrible with names—what's yours again?"
"Marcy," the realtor said with a wide and tight smile that gave Stella the impression the older woman was trying hard not to look annoyed.
Marcy didn't think much of this new family. They were clearly a bunch of weirdos. The parents looked normal enough and were a moderately attractive couple, but the children—the one called Stella was wearing something that looked like a white radiation suit with orange-tinted goggles (honestly, if the girl had been on her own, she probably would have shot her as a suspected terrorist), and the boy named Henry was more of an 'Henrique' since his original heritage was clearly from south of the border. He was also on the chubby side. He had to be adopted. Though she didn't know why they would have picked a Mexican. The baby was brunette like his mother, but the resemblance ended there. His mongoloid features and the way his little blue eyes bugged out of his head were telltale signs of Down Syndrome. Again, she didn't know who in their right mind would have a baby with such a difficult condition at their age, but these people clearly had a taste for the unusual. Perhaps she would make a sale after all. "This is a classic L.A. Victorian, built in the 1920s by a doctor to the stars. As you can see, it's just fabulous," Marcy said, letting them into the house. It was completely empty, so all of the current owner's belongings had already been cleaned out. "These are real Tiffany fixtures." She watched with satisfaction while she shut the door behind them when the whole family looked up at the chandelier with interest. "Everything else in the house has been updated."
"Wow, Tiffany," Steve said, elbowing his wife gently with a smile. Cecilia rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled at his playful behavior.
"Do you cook?" Marcy asked her, leading them into the shiny new kitchen. It was beautiful. All of the countertops were marble, and there was a charming little breakfast nook by the windows.
"Oh, not me," Cecilia said with a shake of her head. "Everything I touch turns to charcoal. My husband and daughter are the real cooks in the family."
"Oh," Marcy said, surprised.
"Yeah, I probably married the only girl in New Orleans who can't cook," Steve said with a grin, which earned him a sharp elbow in the side from his wife.
"Should've seen that one coming, Dad," Stella remarked when she heard his grunt of pain while she had a look around. She stopped when she came to a polished metal thing mounted on the side of the cabinet next to the stove. "What's this thing?" she asked curiously, playing with it a little to see how it worked.
"Oh, that is… to be honest, I'm not really sure," Marcy admitted reluctantly. "I do know it was added by one of the previous owners, who considered herself something of a gourmet."
"I think it's a pasta arm," Steve said, stepping over to take a closer look. "Yeah, I saw one of these on the Pampered Chef website.
"Pasta arm?" Henry asked dubiously. "You make pasta with it?"
"Well, not exactly. It's for, you know, filling up big pots of water," Steve explained.
Stella blinked. "Isn't that what arms are for?"
Steve laughed. "Yeah, you got me there."
"Aren't you a writer?" Marcy asked him in an attempt to change the subject and move things along.
"That's right," Steve answered as he turned to face her. "You mentioned on the phone that there was a study I could use as an office?"
"Oh, yes," Marcy said, immediately perking up. "Right this way."
"I can't believe she's still trying to sell this place," Violet said while the Harmons watched Marcy lead the latest family of suckers through the haunted house. By now they had scared so many potential owners out that she was almost starting to get bored. "Wanna bet she doesn't even mention us this time?" She never bothered with Chad and Patrick's story anymore.
"She has to," Vivien said. "It hasn't been three years since we passed, still within the time period before she can omit it."
"Barely," Ben said with a snort. "But these people are definitely going to buy. Look at how much interest they're showing in everything. And it sounds like they're from out of state. They probably have no clue about this place's reputation as a 'murder house'."
"Just like us," Vivien said. "It's a shame. They seem like a nice family. Weird, but nice. I really hope they decide not to go for it."
"Yeah," Violet agreed. "Because this house is going to eat them alive if they do."
Marcy was beginning to smell a sale coming her way when the girl in the hazmat suit said something that made her blood run cold.
"Where's the basement?"
"Yeah! I wanna see the basement!" Henry agreed excitedly.
"What? Why?" Marcy asked warily, suddenly suspicious. Why would they ask specifically about the basement? Did they already know what happened down there? Were these sick people just messing with her to satisfy their own morbid curiosity?
"Sorry, they've lived in a city set below sea level their whole life, so being in a room underground is kind of a novelty for them," Steve explained upon seeing her startled expression.
"Oh," Marcy said, breathing a sigh of relief. "The door to the basement is on the first floor, under the stairs."
"Cool. We'll go have a look while you guys check out the master bedroom," Stella said, ready to lead the way. "Come on, Henry."
"Shit," Ben cursed as they watched the kids hurry down the stairs. "They can't go down there by themselves. Thaddeus is down there." It had been days since any vermin snuck into the house for him to eat. He was hungry.
"On it," Violet said, immediately following after them.
The door stuck but the two teens managed to get it open after a few tries. "Geez, haven't these people ever heard of WD-40?" Stella remarked, pausing for a moment to examine the stiff hinges. She looked up and saw Henry standing frozen in the doorway.
He looked down at the narrow stairs that led into the dark, dusty, and extremely creepy-looking basement. "I changed my mind. I wanna go back," he said, abruptly turning on his heel in an attempt to get away. He was stopped by his older sister.
"Wait," she said, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. "If you're scared, then we can just turn on the lights. It's not like I'm sending you down there alone. You want me to hold your hand?" she asked a little teasingly.
"I want you to go first," Henry retorted seriously.
Stella shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Violet stayed a couple feet behind while she kept an eye on them. She watched Stella tread carefully down the creaky steps, with one hand on the railing and another on the wall to steady herself. She told Henry to wait there for her when she reached the bottom and used the dim light streaming through the open doorway above to find the light. She pulled the string, and Henry was disappointed by how little the illumination had improved their settings.
"Wow, this place is huge!" Stella said, venturing deeper into the basement, while Henry stayed close to the stairs. "I wonder why they boarded the windows up?" She didn't know whether or not they had hurricanes in California, but that was the only reason she could think of for blocking the windows from the outside.
"I can't believe you're not weirded out by this place," Henry said.
"Basements are supposed to be creepy," Stella replied. "Besides, I'm used to the dark."
"Ah, that's true," Henry said. Stella was so sensitive to the light that she was actually more comfortable in the dark. And they were about to start their summer schedule soon, so she'd be trading day for night. "Maybe we should put your room down here, then," he teased.
Stella smiled. "Actually, I was thinking this would make an awesome game room. If we soundproof it, then Mom and Dad won't complain about how much noise we make."
"That's a good idea," Henry said, wishing he had thought of that. "But only if we get more lights in here. It's creepy as hell right now."
Stella laughed.
Violet's eyes flicked to a shadowy corner when she saw movement out the corner of her eye. "Go away, Thaddeus!" she said immediately before he could crawl out from his hiding place, making sure only he would hear. She was relieved when he slumped back in his corner to sulk. That thing still made her hair stand on end. She had begun to feel a measure of pity for the deformed creature after learning his story, but it hadn't made him any less frightening.
"When I saw the arrangement for this floor online, I thought maybe we could give it to Stella," Steve said when the adults reached the third floor. "That way she can feel like she has a sort of safe haven, because she'll have more freedom to move around without having to wear her sunglasses. And this room would be perfect as a studio for her," he added, stepping into a large room, which had neutral off-white walls. It was an L-shaped room. The wall farthest away from them was round with windows, indicating it was part of the rounded turret-like part they saw on the outside of the house. There was plenty of space and plenty of windows for ventilation.
"Hmm. I'll think about it," Cecilia said. "There's a reason why we set her last one up in the garage, remember?" Their daughter could sometimes get very messy when she went on a creative spree.
"There's a utility sink and shelves already in the basement," Marcy suggested, hoping this might add some more incentive to buy.
"How's the ventilation down there?" Cecilia asked.
"Well, there are several windows, and there's also a door leading to the outside that she can open," Marcy replied.
Cecilia smiled at her husband. "There you go, honey. Problem solved."
"Yep, problem solved," Steve agreed as they moved on to the next room.
"I wonder what the backyard is like," Stella said, unlocking the bolt on the basement's side door so they could go out.
"Yeah, it looked like a small forest from the front," Henry said, happy to have an excuse to leave the gloomy basement for some fresh air and sunshine. They shut the door once they were out, and Violet, out of habit, locked it behind them.
"Huh?" Henry said, pausing on the concrete steps to look back at the door when he heard a muffled click. "Did you hear that?" he asked his sister.
"Hear what?" Stella asked, only stopping because she realized he wasn't following.
"That noise. It sounded like the door locked itself," Henry answered, looking nervous. "You seriously didn't hear that? You're not starting to lose your hearing, are you?"
"Don't even joke about that," Stella snapped quickly, afraid it might be true. Hearing loss was another fun symptom of mental degradation that she had been warned to watch out for.
"Oh, sorry," Henry said, instantly realizing his mistake. Stella always tried to act brave for them, and she hid her fear well most of time, but he had heard a small sample of it in her voice just now. And that reminded him of how serious her condition was. He had been trying not to think about it and what would happen to her if the new medicine didn't work, but now he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry, Stella."
"Whoa, hold on," Stella said, panicking a little when she saw tears forming in his eyes. "I'm not actually mad at you, okay?"
"I know, but…" Henry sniffled and clamped his arms around her in a hug. "I don't want you to die."
Stella tensed a little, but made herself relax. "Hey, it's going to be all right," she told him, patting his back. "Dr. Trudeau said he thought the serum could help me, and when has he ever been wrong? You can't get rid of me that easy. So don't go killing me off yet." She gave him a few more minutes to pull himself together. Then Henry dried his eyes, and they tried to go back inside.
"Huh? It's stuck," Stella said, twisting the knob and pushing then pulling on it with her full weight.
"No way, don't tell me it's really locked," Henry said, completely weirded out. "Is this place haunted or something?"
"Relax. It's an old door with an old lock. The bolt probably fell into place because we shut it too hard," Stella said calmly. Henry had a wonderfully creative mind, but sometimes it worked against him when he fell into the habit of overthinking things. "Come on, let's try the front door. It should still be open since I didn't see Marcy lock it earlier."
"So, Marcy," Steve said while the group of adults descended the stairs. "After seeing the whole house, I can't help but ask. Why is the asking price so low? What's the catch?"
"There isn't a problem with mold or radon, is there?" Cecilia asked as they reached the first floor.
"No. Nothing so simple," Marcy replied, wishing it was. "In the interest of full disclosure, I must inform you that a couple of the previous owners passed away in the house almost three years ago."
"Oh," Steve said, a little taken aback.
"How?" Cecilia asked.
"The wife died during childbirth, and the husband, in his grief, committed suicide. He hung himself from the second-story balcony. It's a tragically romantic love story," Marcy said tentatively, trying to look sympathetic, while she attempted to make the incident seem less horrible. Cecilia instinctively tightened her grip ever so slightly on her own baby, while Steve unconsciously took a step closer to his wife. "This is their dog, Hallie," Marcy added, glancing down at the dog in her arms. "She's the only remaining member of the Harmon family. I've adopted her."
"Wow, she actually did the right thing for once," Vivien said, surprised.
"Color me impressed," Ben said dryly. The right thing would be to stop trying to sell this deathtrap to unsuspecting families.
"Well, at least they weren't murdered," Steve said, trying not to let the tragedy bother him.
"Who wasn't murdered?" Stella asked as the kids entered through the front door to rejoin them.
"Two of the previous owners died in the house," their mother replied calmly.
"What?" Henry asked with wide eyes, stopping short.
"You didn't have to tell them that, Celia," Steve said with a sigh.
"I feel this is where I should also mention that there have been several owners who have occupied this house without incident since then," Marcy said quickly, worried the Mexican kid was about to ruin the sale for her.
"Only if you don't count them fleeing in terror one or two days after moving in." Violet commented with a derisive laugh when she joined her parents on the stairs to watch.
"I assure you, this house is perfectly safe," Marcy continued. "But the current owner has had so much trouble with the house's reputation, that he's decided to level it and sell the land if we can't find a buyer within the next ten days." Personally, Marcy was all for it. This house was a misery. But she also wanted her commission. "So, if you are thinking of buying, I'd make the offer as soon as possible if I were you."
The Harmons were shocked. Destroy the house? This was their first time hearing of it. While some of the spirits trapped there might welcome the idea, the Harmon family had begun to grow attached to their haunt. Despite the twisted and terrifying events that had happened to them there, the house had become home to them. It was the place where they became a real family again. What would happen to them if the house was destroyed? Would that really set them all free to pass on to whatever other place was waiting for them in the afterlife? Or would they still be stuck there, forever tied to the land the house was built on. After all, Hayden hadn't died inside. She had died outside on the lawn. As bad as it might seem to be trapped inside the same house forever, the idea of being stuck outside on the same plot of land through all kinds of weather for the rest of eternity seemed even more miserable. At least the house gave them shelter.
"Man, I'd hate to see a house with so much history be torn down," Steve said, feeling sorry for it. He ran his hand over the chestnut trim. "It's old enough to be a historical landmark."
"Yes," Cecilia agreed. "But I think we should see the rest of the houses on our list before we make a decision."
"Mrs. Cabrera. I'd be happy to show you another house," Marcy said patiently. "But no matter where you go, you'll be moving into somebody's history. Only this one can be had for $200,000 less than the last time I sold it."
"That's true," Steve said, giving his wife an imploring look.
Cecilia sighed and turned to face the kids. "What do you think?"
Stella shrugged. "I don't mind sharing." It just depended who she was sharing with. She didn't think she would mind a ghost or two, as long they weren't the violent revenants of homicidal maniacs. "And I like this house. I think it has character."
"Yeah, the character of a serial killer," Ben quipped.
"Well, I think this is how people die in horror movies," Henry said seriously.
"Okay, that one's obviously the brains in this family," Violet remarked while her parents nodded in approval of the boy's quick assessment of the situation.
Stella laughed. "True, but that's Hollywood for you. I think we'll be okay." She didn't think Henry needed to be so scared. They grew up in a city where you couldn't throw a rock without hitting something that was supposedly haunted, and they'd never come to any harm going into those places.
"Need I remind you that we're in Hollywood at this very moment?" Henry asked pointedly.
"Actually, we aren't," Cecilia corrected him. "I think we're closer to Koreatown, right?" she said, glancing at her husband for confirmation.
"Right. And we're also near that great taco restaurant we stopped at on our way to your Aunt Jean's house last time," Steve added, knowing the way to his son's heart was through his stomach.
"I do love me some tacos…" Henry said, beginning to waver.
"Oh course you do," Marcy muttered condescendingly under her breath, but it was still loud enough for Stella to catch it, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at the older woman.
"Okay," Henry finally relented. "But I get to pick my own room."
"Deal," Steve said, shaking his hand.
"I never said we were buying," Cecilia reminded them, slowing their roll before it got out of control. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she didn't want to let herself be talked into making a final decision before seeing everything else that was on offer.
"I do have a very nice mid-century ranch," Marcy said, "but it's in the Valley, and you're going to get a third of the house for twice the price." Cecilia pursed her lips.
"Come on, Celia," Steve said. "It's an amazing house. With six bedrooms it's twice as big as our old house. You know we'll need more space as Dalton gets older. And we'll be saving it from extinction if we buy it."
"Plus, tacos," Henry said, backing him up. Apparently he had completely abandoned the idea of moving into a normal house.
"But it'll mess up our schedule if we don't see the other houses," Cecilia said with a frown. Steve and Henry sighed. Always with the schedule.
"We can make a new schedule," Stella said. "Instead of seeing the houses, we can have a mini vacation."
"Daughter, I like the way you think," Steve said with a grin, giving her a thumbs-up.
Seeing she had been outnumbered and surrounded on all sides, Cecilia sighed in defeat. "Fine. I guess we'll take it."
"Now what do we do?" Violet asked her parents. She was relieved their home wouldn't be destroyed, but she didn't want another family to fall victim to the darkness in the house. She didn't think the new kids would last ten minutes on their own.
"We need them to stay in the house," Ben said. His priority was to protect his own family. "We can't let the others scare them off."
"What if the house starts to get to them, Ben?" Vivien asked, concerned. "We can't let such a happy family get torn apart just to save ourselves."
"Fine," Ben sighed. "We'll keep them here for as long as we can. If the house starts to get to them, then we'll chase them out. Until then, we'll do our best to protect them. Deal?"
"Deal," Vivien and Violet agreed.
With that decided, the Cabreras returned to their home back in Louisiana so Stella and Henry could finish the few weeks they had left in the school year. They thought that should give then enough time to say goodbye to their friends or make arrangements to stay connected with them over the long distance. Steve and Cecilia started packing and putting their affairs in order to make the move go as smoothly as possible. Cecilia had already prepared her patients for her departure by making sure they had all been referred to new dermatologists before her last day at the office. When she wasn't packing, she was looking for job openings and office space so she could continue practicing in California.
By the time the Cabreras returned to move into their new house with all of their worldly possessions, the Harmons had managed to convince most of the ghosts to refrain from doing anything to harm or frighten them. Some agreed out of kindness. Others agreed out of fear of the unknown. The twins startled some of the workers who came in to install a clear film over every windowpane in the house (including the stained-glass and the ones in the basement), but it was pretty harmless since all they did was throw a few snap-pops around. The main two problems were Tate and Hayden. The Harmons weren't sure how to handle Hayden, given their rocky past with her and her unstable personality. And Tate… well, given his talent for lying and manipulation, they could never be sure what he was really thinking.
"Did you talk to him?" Vivien asked Ben when he returned from trying to find and convince Tate.
"Yeah. He was in the attic with Beau," Ben replied. That was usually where Tate spent most of his time these days, since no one else could stand him. "But I don't know if he'll listen."
Violet was quiet for a moment. "I'll talk to him."
Tate looked up in surprise when Violet appeared before him. 882 days. That's how long it had been since Violet banished him from her presence. That's how long he had watched her and her family have their perfect little afterlife without him. Despite the unnatural and violent circumstances that had led to each of their deaths and the darkness hanging over them all, the Harmons seemed to have found their niche. Cooperating to scare away potential new homeowners had brought them closer together. They were good at it. Too good. No one ever stayed more than a night. And even though no one else had died during that time, the house had been on the market for several months before the latest buyers snagged it. During all that time, Violet had never once sought him out. And, now, here she was. Finally deigning to speak to him because she needed a favor. Tate realized he had some leverage over her again and decided to use it to his advantage.
"What do I get out of it?" He asked once she had finished explaining the situation.
"What do you mean?" Violet asked, frowning and crossing her arms. The question had instantly put her on guard.
"I mean, I don't have any particular attachment to this house. I couldn't care less if it was bulldozed or left to rot around us. So I'd only be doing this as a favor to you," Tate replied. "I think I deserve a favor in return."
Violet's frown deepened. "What kind of favor?"
Tate suppressed a smirk. "If I do this, you can't tell me to go away anymore." He had said he would wait for her forever. But forever was lasting a lot longer than he thought it would. Violet had made it very clear that she didn't want him anymore. And the truth was, he had started to resent her a little for it. He knew this request would annoy her, and it would give him a chance to get close to her again. Two birds with one stone.
Violent was silent for a long time. "Fine," she agreed grudgingly. "Just try not to rape anyone this time." She disappeared while she had the last word.
Tate frowned, but he had gotten what he wanted. And he fully intended to take it out on the new family if Violet tried to go back on her promise.
Marcy was just adding sold to her agency's sign in front of the house when a second car pulled into the driveway, and the two Cabrera kids piled out of it with bags of tacos. The little bioterrorist had been driving.
"There you are," Cecilia called out when she saw her kids, marching straight over to them, with Dalton strapped to her front in a papoose. "Where have you been? We were starting to worry."
"Yeah, what took you so long?" Steve asked, wandering over to join them.
"We stopped for lunch," Stella said, and she and Henry held up the bags of tacos for evidence. They could hear their two pugs begging for one in the back of the car.
"You're forgiven," their father said immediately.
"Call first next time," Cecilia said strictly, but the effect was ruined by her growling stomach. "Oh, all right," she relented, and they opened the rest of the car doors so their pets wouldn't bake in their kennels. They made sure the pugs and guinea pigs still had plenty of food and water in their cages, then retreated to the gazebo to eat while the movers continued to work, distributing the furniture with the diagram their mother drew for the layout of each room as a guide. They would have let the pugs out, but they were housedogs, and the Cabreras didn't want them to get lost in the new neighborhood.
Tate stood in the morning room on the second floor and stared out the window, watching the endless parade of crap the movers had already begun to carry into the house. He looked at the new family sitting together in the gazebo. The parents appeared to be in their forties. Their children were a mishmash of rejects who looked like the human equivalent of escapees from the Island of Misfit Toys. He didn't think they would be any different from the rest. Even without the other ghosts actively trying to scare them away, he knew they wouldn't last long. They didn't stand a chance against the darkness in this house.
"Aw, isn't that sweet," Hayden remarked with a sardonic smile, sidling up to Tate while he continued to stare out the window. "They're having a little picnic on my grave. I wish I had some tacos. Of course, there's something else I could be eating…" she whispered in his ear, nibbling on it.
"Cut it out," Tate said sternly, pushing her away.
"Oh, right," Hayden said, rolling her eyes at him. "I forgot. You're supposed to be in love. News flash, Romeo—she isn't into you anymore. She's never taking you back."
Tate glared at her, but she was completely unfazed. In his opinion, she was probably the craziest ghost in the house. And definitely the biggest bitch. What really pissed him off was that he knew she was right. Violet was happy without him. She didn't need him anymore. Which made getting her to take him back a whole lot harder.
"Aw, cheer up, lover boy," Hayden said with a salacious smirk. "Maybe the new girl will let you screw her instead. Although, I wouldn't touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. I mean, look at how she eats. That is not normal." Tate did look, and he saw what she meant. The girl was eating with her gloves and hood still on. Instead of taking the hood off, she slid the taco up through the opening at the bottom and held it under the hood while she munched on it. He had no clue why she was dressed like that or why she didn't just take her hood off. It made her look like something out of a lame science fiction movie from the 50s or 60s.
Marcy coughed when someone blew smoke in her direction, and she turned around to find herself face to face with Constance Langdon, the eccentric woman who lived next door. From the bags Constance was holding, it looked like she had just returned from picking up a few things at the Korean store. "Who are those people? Don't tell me they're my new neighbors." Constance thought the Cabrera family looked like a traveling sideshow. Not that she could talk with the kind of monsters she'd popped out over the years. She didn't like the idea of a Mexican kid moving into her neighborhood, but she did feel a sort of tender curiosity towards the little mongoloid. He reminded her of her Addie when she was that age. She didn't know what to think of the one in the strange suit—she couldn't even tell whether the person inside was a boy or girl.
"Yes, they are. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare them off," Marcy said stiffly.
Constance laughed. "Oh, I'm not the one who scared them off. You should know that by now. But I am shocked you managed to sell that lemon again." She gave the realtor a knowing look that set the other woman on edge and sauntered off to return to her own home.
"God, I hope they're planning to redecorate, because that sofa does not go with that wallpaper at all," Chad groaned while he passed the time by examining some of the new family's belongings to see what they had to work with.
"This-this is wrong," Nora said, glancing around anxiously at the strange and unfamiliar items. "What are they doing to my house?"
Chad sighed. Nora was in danger of losing her shit again. This always happened whenever someone moved in. "Calm down, it's just the new owner's stuff."
"New owners?" Nora asked, looking scandalized. "This is my house!"
"I feel you, sister," Chad said. "But that's the way the cookie crumbles. If these people don't move in, we're going to lose our house for good. Vivien already had a talk with us about this, remember?"
"Ah, yes," Nora said, calming down a little as it began to come back to her. "Speaking of that woman, where has she gone with my baby? It's time for his feeding."
Chad sighed again and shook his head while he watched her walk off in search of Madame Vivien and little Jeffery. Why did he even bother?
"Hey. So what do you think?" Violet asked, popping up next to him. Given the severe limit on quality company in the house, the two of them had sort of become friends. At the very least, they were on better terms than when he had tried to steal her baby brothers. It probably hadn't hurt that they had both had their hearts broken around the same time. Shared suffering could sometimes bring people together as well as push them apart.
"I'll give them a week," Chad said with a short laugh. "But at least they have better taste than the last guy." He had taken particular pleasure in chasing that cretin out. Who in their right mind would ever think it was remotely okay to bring knotty pine into a house like this? And he had tacky plastic covers on all of his furniture. It was absolute heresy.
"All right, well, that should be everything," Marcy said brightly as she and the Cabreras entered the house, handing the last copy of the keys over to Steve. The Cabreras thanked her and said their goodbyes.
"I'll see you out," Stella offered with a sweet smile. They couldn't see it, but they could hear it in her voice.
"Oh, thank you," Marcy said. She wished more of her clients would show this much gratitude.
Once the realtor was through the door, Stella said, "By the way, that hairstyle ages you." Then she slammed the door shut in her face. Stella felt satisfied now that she had repaid the older woman for the rude comment that she made about her brother the other day.
Chad laughed and Violet smiled with amusement. The expression on Marcy's face had been priceless. "Okay," he said, "I think that one might be my favorite."
The house saw Stella's face for the first time later that evening. After the movers had left, and she and her family had finished replacing all the light bulbs, she pulled out a small electronic device and moved through each room of the house, pausing and waiting for it to beep before moving on. Stella smiled. Now that the sun was setting, and the door wasn't constantly being thrown open, the UV radiation levels in the house had reached a safe level, and she could remove her suit. When she removed her goggles and lifted the hood, they saw clean, pale skin sprayed with freckles, rosy lips, and lively green eyes. Strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up in milkmaid braids. She was a little sweaty from wearing the suit all day during the summer, and her hair was a little messy, but she was still a reasonably attractive girl, even without makeup and that galaxy of freckles.
Stella squinted and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the light. "Mom, have you seen my…" A pair of sunglasses with heart-shaped lenses was in her hand before she could finish her sentence. She smiled and put them on. "Thanks, Mom."
Cecilia reached out and tucked a strand of stray hair behind her daughter's ear. "Your dad's just ordered pizza. Why don't you go have a shower and change, and then we can finish putting up your blackout curtains after supper?"
"Okay," Stella said, happy to have a chance to wash away the sweat.
"Hm. Is it just me, or does she look nothing like either of one her parents?" Chad asked.
"Perhaps she's adopted, too," Moira said, alerting them to her presence.
"And where have you been all day?" Chad asked.
"I was keeping Beau company to make sure he wouldn't disturb the new homeowners. It should be all right now. I've read him his bedtime story and put him to bed," Moira replied. It had taken him a while to understand, but Beau knew now that they were counting on him to be nice and quiet.
"Good," Violet said. Beau was a sweet kid—the kindest soul in the house—but his jarring appearance was hard for most people to get past. One previous owner had fled without the rest of them having to lift a finger after he came down to ask him to play. "We're my mom and dad?"
"They've taken your brother down to rest in the basement," Moira replied. She imagined the little dear would fall fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow after all of today's excitement.
Tate was lounging in the soft chair that had been moved into his and Violet's old room along with the rest of the furniture currently in it when a girl he had never seen before walked into the room. He supposed she was moderately attractive. Not beautiful like Violet, but she was okay. He saw the suit's hood and goggles rolled up under her arm and assumed she must be the daughter that he had heard about and seen with the family earlier. She set the goggles and hood on top of the dresser. He noticed that she hadn't bothered to turn on the lights. She simply removed her sunglasses, a bracelet, her gloves, the ring she had been wearing underneath on one hand, white converses, thick socks, and started stripping off the suit. That was another weird thing about her. Who wore sunglasses at night? Only douchebags, in his experience. Beneath the suit she was wearing a white tank-top and a pair of soft, pink and red paisley shorts. But the feature that really stood out to him was the tattoo that he could now see on her lower upper-arm, just above her elbow, of a moth, framed by the words always find the light, which formed two semicircles above and below the moth's body, broken up by its wings. He wondered what its significance might be while he watched her lay the suit out on another piece of furniture and open a box marked clothes. She stopped rummaging around in it when she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a pair of grey cotton shorts, a powder blue t-shirt with a V-neck, and a light pink, lacey cotton bra with matching panties. Then she grabbed a pair of slip on leather sandals and headed for the bathroom down the hall.
Stella stopped with her hand on the door when she remembered there weren't any towels in there yet.
"Need something?" Henry asked as he reached the top of the stairs, carrying the set of clean towels that their mother had sent him to deliver.
"Thanks," Stella said, taking them from him with a smile. "You gonna shower too?"
"Yeah. So I guess we'll find out how that affects the hot water tonight." Henry said. And then he turned and raced back down the stairs. Stella ran into her bathroom. The race for the hot water was on.
After they finished hanging the blackout curtains, the Cabreras said goodnight to each other and went to bed, tired after a long day of driving and moving into their new home. (The pugs were tuckered out too after running around to explore the house the minute they had been released from their kennels.) But Stella had always been a night owl, and she wasn't ready to sleep yet. So she decided to go down to the basement to get started on unpacking some of her art supplies. The lighting in the basement was dim, so she removed her sunglasses and starting cutting open boxes. She paused when she thought she heard a baby's cry.
"Shhh, it's all right," Vivien cooed, rocking her son in her arms to calm him down. Jeffery usually had a nice and quiet temperament, but strangers made him nervous.
"Do you think she heard that?" Violet asked. Her question was answered when Stella stepped out of her section of the basement and approached them very carefully. Ben put his arms around his wife and daughter when she came right up to them and stopped. For a moment, the Harmons thought she could see them, but, judging by the confused look on her face, that didn't seem to be the case.
Stella looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. Her first instinct was to think she had just heard Dalton, but the nursery was on the second floor, and this noise had sounded very close to her. She stared at the antique cot in front of her for moment. It had been lined with fresh linens and was free of the dust that covered most of the other forgotten odds and ends down there. She decided one of her parents must have cleaned it up, because they were thinking of using it for her brother, and went back upstairs to check on him, just in case.
Despite being dead, the Harmons breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Steve and Cecilia Cabrera were up early the next morning. It was her first day at her new office, so Steve made her an omelet while she got ready to face the day. The pugs were up and begging for scraps the instant the fridge opened.
"I guess we know who the breadwinner is in this family," Chad remarked to no one in particular. The wife appeared to have some measure of taste. She was the picture of professionalism in her gray suit, pale blue silk blouse, and minimal pearl necklace with matching earrings. But she appeared to have chosen function over fashion with it came to her shoes, because she was wearing loafers instead of heels. The husband, however—well, he was clearly hopeless. The man was wearing a black t-shirt with a picture of a bowl of soup and the words phō shō. His pants were red and patterned with black hearts. And he had zombie slippers on his feet. Their oldest son wasn't much better. When the kid stumbled into the kitchen, he was wearing a baggy white t-shirt that said: Come to the nerd side—we have dragons and stuff, and green shorts with little yellow dragons on them. Instead of slippers he wore yellow socks.
Stella rolled over in her bed and opened her eyes. For a split second she thought she saw a blurry figure sitting in her armchair, and quickly rubbed her eyes to clear the sleep from them. There was nothing there when she looked again. Of course there isn't, she chided herself. Her anxiety over her worsening condition must be getting to her. Her sense of balance had gotten worse, and she almost cracked her head open on the edge of the bathtub when she slipped in the shower last night. She couldn't wait for the medicine trials to start. She felt like they were her only hope. She got up and got dressed for the day in a pair of jean shorts with daisy chains painted on just above the cuffs and a short-sleeved cotton blouse with knitted lace inserts, knitted lace sleeves, and bohemian style flowers embroidered on it. She slipped on the sandals from the night before and stuck the sensor for her UV ray detector under the gap between the door and the floor to make sure it was still safe before opening it. Then she brushed her hair and teeth, washed her face, and applied her special sunscreen and some light makeup before putting her sunglasses on and heading downstairs, taking more readings as she went. So far, so good.
"Hey, look who's up," Steve said when his daughter finally entered the kitchen. "How many pancakes you want?"
"Three," Stella replied, pouring herself some coffee before joining her bother in the breakfast nook. "Mornin'."
"Mornin'," Henry answered back, already tucking into a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The baby monitor receiver their father had clipped to his pants rang with their brother's cries.
"Uh-oh. Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I'd better go get him," Steve said.
"Go ahead," Stella said, getting up to take his place in front of the stove so he could retrieve their little brother.
"Is it just me, or is that baby staring at us?" Ben asked his wife while they stood over Dalton's crib.
"It's probably just a coincidence," Vivien said, cradling their own son in her arms. Jeffery was looking at the crying new baby with an open expression of curiosity.
"Shhh, shhh," Steve told his son as he entered the room. "Hey, it's okay, buddy. What's gotten you so riled up, huh? Are you hungry? Let's get you some breakfast," he cooed, grabbing a clean bottle from the baby bag to put in his pocket before gently scooping up his son up to hold him securely against his chest.
Violet was leaning against a counter and watching the other two teens eat. Stella had dropped some scrambled eggs on the floor for the pugs so they would stop pawing at her for a taste of her food. Violet thought the awkward little one was kind of cute. It occurred to her that she would actually be older than Stella if she hadn't died. Violet pushed that feeling aside. There was no point in dwelling on something she couldn't change. Fortunately, by the time their dad returned, he had already managed to calm the cranky baby down.
"Can you hold him while I get his bottle ready?" Steve asked Henry, since he had already finished his breakfast, and Stella was still eating.
"Sure," Henry said, taking him. Steve then went to the fridge and removed a container of breast milk, pouring some into the bottle. Then he ran it under some hot water until it was the right temperature, and returned to the nook to feed Dalton.
When they had all finished eating, they set up Dalton's playpen in what they planned to make the sitting room so they could keep an eye on him while they worked. With the movers' help they had managed to finish setting up their furniture yesterday, so now all they had to do was decide what rooms they wanted to repaint before unwrapping it and unpacking the rest of their knickknacks. They already knew for sure that they wanted to redo the sitting room, so they started removing the old wallpaper while they talked.
"So, what do you think about the nursery?" Steve asked. "I heard it's been that way since that couple died here. Should we redo it?"
"No. I think it's cute," Stella said. "And don't you think it'd be sad if it never got used?"
"Whoa!" Henry exclaimed, drawing their attention to his side of the room.
"Wow," Steve said, eyes widening in surprise when he saw what had startled his son. He had gotten a lot farther than them since he had focused more on removing the wallpaper than talking, so he had a better view of what had been hiding behind the wallpaper.
Stella raised her eyebrows at the macabre and twisted mural. It looked like a scene straight from hell. "Someone clearly had some issues."
"Yeah," Steve agreed with a short laugh. Suddenly, the pugs started barking in the kitchen and ran into the sitting room with their tails between their legs, whining and hiding behind their owners.
"Hey, what's gotten into you guys?" Steve asked.
"It looks like something spooked them," Stella said, leaning down to give them some comforting petting. "Is that it? Did something scare you, Penny and Peggy?"
"I know the feeling," Henry said, eyeing the eerie mural on the wall.
"You're gonna die," a small child said with a giggle, causing the three of them to turn around, startled. The culprit was a beautiful little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes who looked about two or three.
Realizing a door must be open somewhere, Stella quickly pulled out her UV ray detector and took a reading. The radiation level was still safe, but barely. She showed it to her dad and brother so they could stop worrying on her behalf.
The Cabreras' attention was quickly drawn away from the strange boy and the UV detector by the blonde woman who had come stalking into their house. "Michael? Michael!" she called.
"Uh, is this who you're looking for?" Stella called out to her when she was about to pass the room.
"Oh, Michael," the woman exclaimed with relief, rushing over to take his hand before he could run off again. "You had me worried sick. You know you're not supposed to wander off without me. I tell you, he's been such a handful ever since he learned to walk," she rambled, finally turning to address her new neighbors.
"Ah, yeah, they can be a handful at that age, Mrs.…?" Steve said, making an effort to be friendly even though two strangers had just let themselves into their home, resulting in his daughter possibly being endangered.
"I'm Constance, your neighbor from next door," the older woman replied, inviting herself to have a seat on one of their chairs. "And this is Michael. He came to me through tragic circumstances—he's the child of distant cousins on my mother's side. The DeLongprees of Virginia. Evaline and Steve. They were both taken before their time by a highway accident outside Richmond, leaving this poor little angel an orphan. I've raised him as my own since then."
"That's terrible," Steve said with no small amount of sympathy.
"Yeah, it must be hard," Stella agreed, also feeling empathetic for their new neighbors. But she noticed her quiet brother was unnerved by the way the toddler kept staring at him with those piercing blue eyes like he was trying to bore a hole through him.
"Yes, I've been almost completely housebound as of late. It's so hard to find good help these days," Constance said with a sigh. She was relieved that they seemed to be buying the cover story she had made up in case of a situation like this. "You must have it hard, too. With that little one over there," she added, nodding at the Down's baby.
"Uh, yeah, he can be a handful," Steve agreed with a glance at his little son in the playpen. At the moment, Dalton was busy gnawing his one tooth on a teething ring. "But health issues aside, he's usually very well behaved. Unlike this one," he added with a playful grin, giving his older son a light elbow to his side.
"Hey, most of it was Stella's fault," Henry said in defense, while his sister did her best to look innocent. "By the way, how did y'all get in here?" he asked Constance. Stella thought that was a good question.
"You left your back door open," Constance replied rather quickly.
The three Cabreras found that suspicious since they had made sure all of the doors were locked last night before going to bed, and no one had left the house except for Cecilia, who had used the front door. But they were too polite to call her out on it and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt for now. Maybe someone had made a mistake.
"Although, I have to tell you, Michael will always find a way in. He has a bug up his little ass about this house, always has," Constance added. She found it worrying that he seemed so drawn to the terrible house, but it was hard to refuse him when it made him so happy. She then noticed the chubby fawn pug and the little brindle pug puppy hiding behind their owners' legs. "I see you have two dogs. I run a little kennel out of my house, doggy daycare kind of a thing."
"That's nice," Steve said.
"Well, I prefer purebreds," Constance said. "I adore the beauty of a long line, but there's always room in my home for mongrels." She finished with a smile that Henry felt was pointed mostly at him and wasn't entirely friendly.
"It's been so nice to meet you," Steve said, deciding it was time to end the conversation. "It's just, well, we weren't really prepared for guests yet." He motioned around to all of the strategic clutter surrounding them.
"I'm gone," Constance said, taking the hint. She moved Michael from her lap and kept a firm grip on his hand while she stood up. "Oh, I brought you this," she said, pulling the same black trinket box that she had given to the Harmons out of her purse. She had snuck in and taken it back after their deaths, along with a few valuables to help keep her and Michael sitting pretty. She figured the new owners might be worth introducing herself to since they had managed to last more than a night.
"Oh, thank you," Steve said, accepting the gift.
"I would've baked you a pie, but I couldn't find the time. So I thought this would be better," Constance explained. "Help get rid of some of that bad juju." She turned to leave but paused for a moment. "I don't remember your name."
That's because you didn't ask, Henry and Stella thought.
"Right, no, we never got the chance to tell you our names," Steve said.
"Oh," Constance said innocently.
"My name is Steve Cabrera," he said, "This is my daughter, Stella, and my son…"
"Anyway…" Constance said, turning to leave with Michael in hand, not nearly as interested as she had pretended to be. "Relax and enjoy. Let me know if you need any help with those pups."
"Will do," Steve said with a somewhat forced smile, a little annoyed at the way she had cut him off before he could finish introducing his children.
"I'm glad you're getting rid of that wallpaper," she added on her way out. "Some people have no appreciation for art."
Seeing that she was about to open the front door, Stella dashed into the office down the hall to take cover, leaving her father to explain her odd actions.
"Oh, Constance," Steve said, handing the black box in his hand to Henry so he could chase after her and put a hand on the door to keep her from opening it. "We don't mind having visitors once in a while, but could you please wait for us to let you in next time? My daughter has a condition where her skin can't tolerate the UV rays from sunlight, so we have to be careful about opening doors around her during the day. She gets a first degree burn after only a minute of exposure."
"Oh. I'm so sorry," Constance said with as much sympathy as she could muster. "I had no idea. That poor child. Is that why she was walking around in that awful suit the other day?"
"Yes. It's the only way she can go out when the sun's up," Steve replied seriously. "Even certain types of artificial lighting can aggravate her condition."
"We'll try to be more careful then, right Michael?" Constance said, smiling down at the boy. Michael giggled and laughed as if she had said something funny. She then let Steve lead them out through the back door instead, so they could keep the UV levels down in the front room. "It's sage," she said when she saw Henry opening the box. "For cleansing the spirits in the house." A melancholy expression came over her face for a moment. "Too many bad memories in here."
There was an awkward silence after the door shut behind their eccentric new neighbors. "Well, that was odd," Steve said with an amused smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.
"It was more than odd, Dad," Henry said. "I mean, what the hell? Who just comes into someone else's home and says stuff like that? Is she trying to say this place is haunted?"
"Well, people did die here," Steve replied a little too carelessly for his son's taste. "You ready to come out, Stella?" he asked, approaching the office door. He could see that she had cracked the door open to take a UV reading. It beeped, and she withdrew the device and shut the door to read it.
"Yep, all clear," Stella said, coming out after a moment. "It's a good thing this house is so big." That had probably helped dilute the incoming radiation, keeping it on the borderline instead of pushing it over into her danger zone. "Is that a smudge stick?" she asked when she spotted the contents of the black box in her brother's hand.
"Yeah, sage," Steve replied while they walked back to the sitting room to continue their work.
"Apparently this place is haunted," Henry said glumly.
"Oh, is that all?" Stella said, causing him to gape at her. "Relax. Just because our neighbor's superstitious doesn't make it true. We can light the smudge stick later if you want."
"And I can find a priest if it gets serious," their dad added.
"No, I don't think I'm that desperate yet," Henry said, deciding he was probably being silly.
They went back to working on removing the wallpaper, but this time, they turned on the radio and tuned into a station they could all agree on. They started rocking out when Uptown Funk! came on. Henry was a particularly enthusiastic dancer, and Steve and Stella formed a two-person dance circle for him while he broke it down.
"Jesus, they're like that mythical perfect family you see in commercials," Chad remarked while he observed their progress with Moira. He and Patrick could have been like that, if they had gone through with their plan to adopt and hadn't bought this hellhole. He hoped the new family painted over that hideous mural for good.
"Yes," Moira agreed. "They're going to need all the help they can get to stay that way."
"Are you planning to make an appearance soon?" Chad asked curiously. "That might have the opposite effect, you know."
"I know," Moira said. "But at the very least, I may be able to help the wife and children, if they'll listen to me."
The Cabreras had stopped for a lunch break and were about to order in some Chinese when the doorbell rang. Henry and Stella took the takeout menu and phone upstairs to finish ordering while their father answered the door.
Steve pulled the door open once they were a safe distance away and found himself looking out at an older woman with a kindly face and vibrant red hair. She reminded him a little of his mother (well, apart from that ghostly eye) and was, despite the warm season, wearing a light-weight black coat that was buttoned up all the way to her neck. "Uh, hello. Can I help you?" he asked.
"I'm Moira O'Hara," she said. "I'm the housekeeper."
"Oh," Steve said, surprised. "I didn't know the place came with a housekeeper."
Moira smiled. "I work Monday through Thursday. Thanksgiving on, Christmas off."
"Um…" Steve said, sounding unsure.
"That was the deal with the last fellow," Moira said.
"I'm sorry. I'm just not sure we're gonna need a housekeeper," he said.
Moira smiled. This was usually the part that convinced people to hire her. "What have you been using to clean the floorboards?"
"Uh, nothing so far," Steve admitted. "We just moved in yesterday, so we haven't gotten around to cleaning anything yet. But we used Mr. Clean at our old house."
"Oh, no," Moira said. "White vinegar. Those chemicals are too harsh on the wood."
"Oh," Steve said again.
"Have you ever owned a house this old before?" she asked.
"No. But my wife grew up in one," he replied. "She and the kids used to go over and help her mother fix it up every now and then."
"Well, then I'm sure your wife is already aware, but a house like this has a personality, feelings. Mistreat it, and you'll regret it. May I come in?"
"Of course," Steve said, stepping aside to let her in. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot my manners there."
"It's all right," Moira said politely. "My cab's left, so I'd like to call another." She noticed he was behaving rather peculiarly when he led her into the kitchen to let her use the house phone. At least, it was peculiar in her long line of experiences with men. His eyes never left her face to roam over the rest her body, and his smile was polite and sincere.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said when he reached for the phone and found the cradle empty. "I forgot my kids took it. I'll go get it. Would you like something to drink while you wait? Coke? Iced tea?"
"Iced tea, please," Moira said. He quickly retrieved the pitcher from the fridge, poured her a glass, and set out the sugar and a plate of lemon wedges for her.
"Help yourself," he encouraged her with another smile before rushing off to retrieve the phone.
"That was interesting," Vivien commented from the seat next to her. "I think that's the first time a new, straight male in this house hasn't ogled you."
"Yes, I believe it is," Moira said, pleasantly surprised. From his behavior, it was obvious that he was seeing through to her old soul instead of focusing on superficial appearance and treating her as an object like many men before him.
"I'll admit, I was concerned how this would turn out," Chad said, joining them. "But it looks like we've finally found someone impervious to your usual charms. Which means, he's either secretly gay like me and Patrick, or genuinely devoted to his wife. I hope it's the latter, or we'll be prying Patrick off of him with a crowbar soon."
"A housekeeper?" Stella said when Steve informed her and Henry of the situation downstairs. "What are her prices like?"
"Why? You think we should hire her?" Steve asked.
"Well, we'd have to ask Mom first, but yeah," Stella answered frankly. "I mean, not only is this an old house, but it's big. And I think we all know that Mom and I are the ones who're gonna have to pick up the slack when it's time to clean. And I'd rather not have to."
"I don't know," Henry said. "Wouldn't it feel weird having a maid? I don't feel comfortable with the idea of a stranger coming into my room."
"Then we'll tell her it's off limits," Stella said reasonably.
"Why don't you come down and meet her, Henry?" Steve suggested. "She's a sweet old lady. Reminds me of your grandmother, actually."
"Which one?" Henry asked.
"Just go," Stella said, giving him a little push. "It'll be good for you to have some social interaction outside the family."
"Then why don't you go?" Henry asked.
"Because the delivery guy will be here soon, so the UV level's gonna rise again," Stella replied.
Henry sighed. "Okay, fine."
"So, you worked for the previous owners?" Steve asked, picking up the conversation once Moira had finished calling a cab. Henry was sitting on the other side of the kitchen with the pugs, forming his opinion on the new maid from a safe distance. She seemed nice enough, but small talk with strangers made him nervous. She also seemed a bit old to still be working as a maid, but she had removed her coat, so they could see that she already had the uniform and everything.
"I've been the housekeeper here for years," Moira replied, sipping her iced tea. "They come, they go, I stay."
"Is this place haunted?" Henry piped up from his end of the kitchen.
"What makes you say that?" Moira asked.
"Ah, one of the neighbors stopped by—Constance from next door," Steve replied with a small laugh. "She brought us some sage and ended up spooking my son a little."
Moira had to fight hard to keep the pleasant smile on her face at the mention of that woman's name. "I see. No doubt you've heard about that poor, unfortunate couple by now. But they were a very nice family. You needn't worry." The expression on the son's face was rather amusing.
"Is that a yes?" Henry asked anxiously.
"Don't worry, Henry. I'm sure she's only teasing you," Steve told him with a good-natured laugh, before adopting a more serious expression as he turned back to Moira. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Yes," Moira said quietly. "Constance was the one who found them. I cleaned the mess. You'd never know."
Henry decided right then and there to never get on the new housekeeper's bad side.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Steve said after a pause. "Don't you ever get tired of cleaning up other peoples' messes?"
"I'm a woman, it's what we do," Moira replied. "I just get paid for it."
"Yeah," Steve said, smiling in agreement. That was one way of looking at it. He was pretty sure his wife and daughter would charge him too if they could. Then they heard the doorbell ring and a car honked outside.
"That'll be my cab," Moira said, standing up with her coat over her arm.
"And our Chinese," Henry said, perking up and rushing to answer the door.
"I'll use the laboratory first, if you don't mind," Moira said to Steve.
"Go ahead," he replied, pulling out his wallet as he went to pay the deliveryman.
Moira found the daughter of the family upstairs. She was coming out of the bathroom, so they nearly bumped into each other. "Oh, excuse me," Moira said politely.
"No, I'm sorry," Stella said. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be on the other side of the door. Do you need to get in?"
"Yes, if it's not too much trouble," Moira replied. She didn't really need to, but she thought it would give the father more time to consider her offer before she left. It would be awkward to have to leave him a telephone number that didn't work if he decided to wait until later to call her back.
"No trouble," Stella said, stepping aside to let her through.
"Stella! Food's here," Henry called, coming up the stairs with a giant brown paper bag cradled in his arms. The smell of shrimp dumplings, beef lo mein, and General Tsao's chicken was heavenly. "Dad said we can eat in the entertainment room."
"Okay," Stella said, following him over to the second set of stairs that led to the third floor. They had decided to make the room their father had originally intended to give her for a studio into a family gaming/entertainment room instead. "So, what do you think of the new housekeeper?" she asked.
"I asked if the house was haunted, and she told me not to worry because the ghosts were nice," Henry said, giving her look that spoke volumes about how he felt about that.
"Sage burning after lunch?" she asked.
"Sage burning after lunch," he responded with a firm nod for confirmation.
"So, when can you start?" Steve asked Moira while seeing her to the door. He had decided to give her a chance, because he knew Stella was right. Since she would soon be busy with the medicine trials, and Cecilia would be busy with work, the house's order would soon devolve into chaos without extra help.
"Thursday would be good for me," Moira replied, putting her coat on.
"All right. See you the day after tomorrow," Steve said, giving her a friendly wave goodbye before shutting the door behind her.
"I can't believe this thing doesn't weird y'all out," Henry said after they had resumed their work on removing the wallpaper covering the disturbing mural in the sitting room once they all finished eating and put Dalton down for a nap.
"Well, putting aside the state of mind of the person who painted it… from an artistic perspective, it isn't completely without its merits," Stella said, thinking it over while she stepped back to have a broader view of what they had uncovered so far. "There's some nice use of chiaroscuro, and the color scheme complements the content in a way that helps provoke an emotional response. The mural in its entirety resembles Luca Signorelli's fresco The Damned Cast Into Hell and The Resurrection of the Flesh. The image of the demon and the old man is reminiscent of Francisco Goya's Two Monks. And the image of the woman with the demons at her head has some similarities to Henry Fuseli's Night Mare."
"Glad to hear those art classes paid off," Steve said. "You know, I remember hearing somewhere that people tell stories to cope with their fears. That all art and myths are just creations to give us some sense of control over the things we're scared of.
"Yeah. I can see that," Stella said thoughtfully. She often vented and shared her feelings through her paintings. Her most recent ones were about her deteriorating mental state. Painting helped her express the things she couldn't bring herself to put into words.
"Is that why you write horror stories, Dad?" Henry asked.
"Maybe a little bit," Steve said. In fact, a number of his stories had been based on his fears as a parent, about all the awful things that could happen to his kids. Especially Stella, since she had formed a habit of roaming the streets after dark with her friends. "Actually, this mural gives me an idea. What do you think about a story where a family moves into a new house, they find a mural like this one, and then it turns out to be prophetic, because they start dying in all the different ways portrayed in the mural?"
"Yeah, and you can base two of the characters on our neighbors. You can use that 'you're gonna die in here' line and make the kid like Damien from The Omen."
"Okay, stop," Henry said quickly before the story could get any darker. "I'd really like to sleep tonight, so can you two wait till I'm not in the room to do this?"
They turned the radio back on after that to spare Henry, and they managed to finish cleaning up by the time Cecilia returned from work around six. "It's been a beer and barbeque kind of day, so we're eating out tonight," the tired dermatologist announced after dropping her purse and plopping into a chair to get off her feet.
"I'll go get changed," Stella said, bounding up the stairs to layer up. Since the sun was going down, she could get away with regular clothes that covered her arms and legs if she covered them with a reflective spray that repelled UV rays. She would probably still have to wear the hood, goggles, and gloves, but she liked to dress up when she could. Stella reapplied her sunscreen and makeup and pulled on bellbottom jeans, a faded graphic navy t-shirt with a high neckline tucked into the jeans, a light tan suede belt, a close-knit open cardigan with a western/bohemian pattern and stripes in cream, beige, mustard, rust, and brown. Over the usual thick socks, she pulled on some brown leather booties. Then she stuffed her protective gear in a leather purse along with her phone and wallet and bounded back down the stairs. "Ready!"
With the help of Yelp! The Cabreras managed to find a decent smokehouse. Dinner was lively, and Cecilia's mood improved with every sip of her beer. Poor little Dalton kept sneezing because of the smokey smell in the air, so they asked to be moved to a seat near the open door. Stella had to wear her gear because of the neon and florescent lights, so she started with dessert and had her messy barbeque packed up to eat at home. The brownie sundae she ordered was so good that her family was more than happy to help her finish it off.
When they returned home, Cecilia finally noticed the mural. When Steve joked that he might have made his office in the wrong room and suggested leaving it up, Henry shot him a look like he thought he was crazy, and Cecilia promptly nipped that idea in the bud and told him to paint over it. He could take pictures if he wanted to use it as inspiration for a story, but she was not having that as the first thing that people would see when they came into their house. Stella was happily devouring her ribs in the kitchen when her father got around to telling their mother about how he had hired Moira. Cecilia took that news a lot better and thought it was a good idea, but she wanted to meet the woman that she would be trusting around her family and personal belongings. Steve agreed, and decided to ask Moira if she wouldn't mind staying late when she came. The family watched TV together for a while before they split up and wished each other goodnight.
Instead of bed, Stella went down to the basement again to pick up where she had left off the previous evening. Stella put on her headphones, turned on her iPod and started unpacking more of her art supplies. She let out a small shriek and nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind, and she quickly spun around to face whomever it was wielding a palette knife. Stella was surprised to find herself staring at another stranger. It was a boy dressed in a vintage 90s grunge style. He looked around her age. He had curly, dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes that were so deep they almost looked black, and cute dimples that made him look extremely charming when he laughed. And he was laughing. He was laughing his ass off at her reaction. She ripped her earbuds out so she could hear.
"Did I scare you?" he asked.
"Yeah, you scared the crap out of me," Stella admitted frankly, still holding the palette knife out in front of her. She wondered how long he had been down there. "Who are you?"
"I'm Tate," he replied, clearing his throat to quiet his laughter. "Who are you?"
"Stella. What are you doing in my basement?" she asked.
"Well, this house has been up for sale for months, so I kind of started hanging out here," Tate replied with a shrug. He looked away as he added, "It beats going home."
"Oh," Stella said, lowering the palette knife. She decided she was safe enough with her family upstairs. Her mother had a gun, after all. She wondered if the lock on the basement door was so finicky because he had done something to break it a while back so he could get in. (They should probably change it.) She figured he must live a block or more over since he didn't see the moving vans. "Well, the house has been bought, so… try knocking first next time."
Tate could see sympathy in her eyes when he looked back at her. He had been hoping she would read between the lines and take the bait. "You're not going to make me leave?"
Stella shook her head. "I don't know anyone here yet, so I guess we can hang out, if you want. But no more sneaking up behind me like that, or you're gonna regret it. Okay?" she said with a rueful smile.
"No promises," Tate said with a smile. He took in the details of her clothing style. "So are you supposed to be a hippie or some shit?"
"Are you supposed to be a less attractive Kurt Cobain or some shit?" she retorted, raising an eyebrow at him.
Tate looked down as his smile widened. They finally had someone in this house who knew something about music. The last few kids didn't have clue. "Fair enough. Speaking of Cobain, got any of his songs on that thing?" he asked, pointing at her iPod.
Stella glanced at it and saw that Nirvana's Come As You Are had just started. "Does that answer your question?" she asked, reaching out to hold one of the earbuds close enough for him to hear.