There once was a house that stood in Los Angeles, California. It had a reputation that many would find troubling but tourist love taking The Eternal Darkness Tour to learn its history. You see, this house has a dark past and a nickname to match it; The Murder House.

"Now onto one of our most exciting destinations the infamous Murder House." The tour host says. "There were many unfortunate occurrences ranging from murder suicides to the deranged mind of a doctor with a strange Frankenstein complex." He continued. "The most recent story affiliated with The Murder House is that of the Harmon family. Mrs. Harmon died during child birth and Mr. Harmon and their teenage daughter killed themselves out of depression." His eerie voice enticed a mixture of emotions. Some awed, others shook, and a group of four teenage boys discussed whether the house would be haunted or not. The tour host seemed to hear their query. "As a matter of fact, it is said that Nora Montgomery, the wife of Dr. Montgomery, still roams the halls of the house searching for her baby that was stolen from her." As the group of tourists sat and listened, a petite woman stepped out of her silver car and placed a "For Sale" sign on the property as The Eternal Darkness Tour bus drove away. Many of the patrons still had many questions but kept their mouths shut.

-Three Days Later-

A small family, one that consisted of an older woman, a girl with down syndrome who was in her late thirties early forties, a deformed possibly twenty year old adult, and a teenage boy, was greeted by their realtor, Marcy. "Welcome, welcome." She wore a cheesy smile. "My name is Marcy. It's nice to meet you." She extended her hand, her cheeks forcing her eyes to squint. The older woman took it gingerly as she took a drag from her cigarette that was planted in her other hand.

"Hi, I'm Constance." She answered. "These are my kids, Adelaide, Beauregard, and Tate." Marcy nodded at all of them wearing an expression of discomfort. Constance glared at her and flicked her bud into the road. "Feel free to give us the tour of the house at any time." She spoke with a very sophisticated, old southern tone. Marcy simply nodded and pursed her lips. As she gave the new family the tour of the house, Tate wandered around on an adventure of his own; peeking into rooms, sliding through crawl holes, peering through the many windows in the house when he caught a glimpse of something moving around the corner. "Addie?" He called out. As he turned the corner, whatever he seemed to now be pursuing. "Addie." He said once more. He turned into another room and nearly tripped over his kneeling older sister. "Damn it, Addie." He mumbled. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Playing." She said simply. Tate stared a little confused at the empty space in front of Addie. He rolled his eyes and let his sister be, not caring what his sister was doing. He wandered back to his mom and listened to the realtor go on and on. He really started tuning in when Marcy began talking about the history of the house.

"The law requires me to tell you about what has happened in this house." She mentioned. "The family who previously lived in this house died terrible deaths. Mrs. Harmon died during child birth and her husband and daughter killed themselves. Such a tragedy." She shook her head and held a small dog in her hands. "This is Hallie." She indicated as she held up a small dog in her hands. "She's the only surviving member of the Harmon family. I adopted her as my own after the tragedy." She wore a solemn face as she thought about the family. "They were all very pleasant to be around. But the youngest was depressed and upset all the time. I don't think I saw her smile once since I met her. Her mother could be pleasant when she wanted to be. She spoke to me with disrespect often but sometimes she was a delight to be around. The father use to be a psychiatrist. He didn't have many patients though." When she finally finished, Constance lit a match and started puffing on another cigarette. Just before Marcy could protest, Constance blew smoke into her face.

"I'll take it." Constance signed the proper paperwork and the house was hers and her families. But did they know what she was getting her family into? Not one of the neighbors stopped by to share hellos, something that deeply annoyed Constance. She was one of southern hospitality. Manners were a large part of her life. While Constance told the movers exactly where she wanted her furniture, Tate unpacked his boxes. The kids' rooms were the first to be furnished. Constance wants them out of her way so she could get the rest of the house finished.

Beau was given the attic, a dark dusty room with hardly any windows at all to keep him hidden from the world. He wore a collar on his neck with a chain attached to it so he couldn't escape from his room. He could, however, roam about his wide open room in peace. He didn't talk much, mostly because not many people would come close enough to talk to him. But his brother and sister kept him company. Tate acted like his big brother and protected him while Addie read him to sleep at night. Constance would come to see him periodically and hold him and tell him that she loves him.

Addie set up her room like she always did. Like a princess with more yellows than pinks. She hung pictures of models on her walls and smiled at them, so longing to look like they do. It was her life-long want. To be a pretty girl. Her name hung over her bed in fancy font. She walked over to her mirror and sat in front of it, letting her brush slide through her soft hair as she prayed that she'd transform into what she longed for.

Tate stood in his box filled room on the second floor. Dust had collected on the windowsills so he took the sleeve of his sweater and dragged it across the windowsill, ridding it of dust and letting it fall to the floor. As he began putting all of his music and movies onto his bookshelves, he would constantly look over his shoulder. Although he was never one to be paranoid, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in the room with him. "Seriously, Addie. Go back to your room." He whispered over his shoulder as his bedroom door opened. When no footsteps sounded of someone's retreat, Tate turned to find an empty threshold. Perplexed, he walked to Addie's room and opened it. "Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you leave my room." He chuckled.

"I wasn't in your room." She responded. "But she was." Tate looked around her room. "She's a pretty girl." Addie smiled behind him.

"Awe. Thanks Addie." said a petite teenager behind Tate. Startled, Tate jumped into Addie's room and stared. She was much shorter than him. The top of her head just barely reached his shoulders. Her hair laid pin straight over her shoulders. She wore a long, pale lace dress with a grey sweater.

"How'd you get in here?" Tate asked. For reasons beyond him, she chuckled.

"You know, they say this house is haunted." She stated.

"Whatever. How'd you get in here?"

"Relax. I live in the neighborhood. Just stopped by to say hello." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'm Violet." She extended her hand and he took it.

"Tate." He replied. "Your hand's cold."

"Well, you know what they say: cold hands, warm heart." Tate couldn't help but chuckle. "Your hands are warm." He shrugged.

"Wonder what that means." Violet just shrugged and started walking away. "Where're you going?" Tate ran to the threshold and peered down the hall.

"Don't want your mommy dearest to find out her precious son snuck a girl into the house." She chuckled and descended the stairs and out of view.

"She's a pretty girl." Addie said to Tate. He agreed.

"Yeah. Yeah, pretty girl." Tate chuckled and returned to his room and flopped down on his bed. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until Constance came pounding on his door.

"TATE! Come out for dinner!"

"Alright." He said in a bored tone. Though he didn't want to, Tate stood and dragged his feet towards his door and shoved it open. Beau stood in front of him as he opened his door.

"Play." He smiled. Tate chuckled and shook his head.

"Nah, buddy. It's dinner time." Beau nodded and took Tate's hand as they walked down the stairs and sat at the table. Tate rolled his eyes as he watched his mother's pathetic attempts at looking richer than they actually were. Setting out expensive dishes with decadent foods on it. He simply sat down and stared in front of him as his family gathered around the table.

"Who wants to say grace?" Constance asked with a smile plastered on her face. Tate just rolled his eyes and shook his head. Addie rolled her eyes as well and Beau asked to play. "After dinner Addie will play with you, Beau." They took each other's hands as Constance spoke. "Let's thank the Lord for this meal and our happy loving family." Tate scoffed and Constance recoiled her hand. "For once, Tate, could you at least pretend that you're part of this family?" He couldn't help but laugh aloud.

"Family? Happy and loving? Ours? I think you're confusing us with your other family." He scooped a spoonful of whatever was in the bowls in front of him onto his plate and ate it quickly so he could leave. Once he finished, he got up and started walking away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Constance challenged.

"Away from you." He muttered quietly.

"Get back here!"

"No!"

"You're just like your father!" Tate paused.

"I'd rather be like him than a bitch that doesn't care about anyone but herself."

"You think I don't care?"

"No, I know you don't. You chain Beau up in the attic all night, you constantly degrade Addie, and you treat me like shit!"

"You know, Tate, unlike your siblings you were graced with so many gifts. How is it that you can't bring yourself to use them? Just a smile or a kind word could open the gates to Heaven." She said as tears built up in her eyes. That's when he broke. Tears formed in his eyes as he stared at the piece of shit he was forced to call mother.

"No matter how much you want it, I will never be your perfect son." He stormed off into his room and locked his door. In a frenzy, he opened his drawer. The bottom of the drawer popped open to reveal a small box with four razors in it and a small bag of white powder. He looked at the items and shook his head, slamming it shut and laying down on his bed to bury his face in his pillow and release his anger. Sometime around midnight, his mind wandered to the next day when he was expected to start school. Whatever gets me out of this shit hole, he thought. He drifted off to sleep with his face in his pillow, shirt discarded onto the floor, and covers scrunched at the root of his bed. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, nor did he care at the moment. All he wanted was to run away and find his dad. He wished he'd known better at the time and left with him when he was six.