Hello all and welcome to the Apocalypse installment of the Misery series! Thank you to all for the continued support with this series.

I'm not going to lie, I was a little disappointed in the season because we were given three really great episodes about the apocalypse and then the rest was just Michael's backstory. This story will not be delving into Michael's history as much.

Expect some darker themes than the other stories in this series, as well as a touch more humor.

PROLOGUE

It was a gray day; gloomy. No birds, not even a glimpse of sun. The air was thick, threatening rain but not following through. It made Isabel want to scoff. When her father died, the saddest day of her life, the sun had been bright and shining. Now, on a day Isabel was doing everything but grieving, the darkest clouds blocked the golden beams, casting everything in a cool shadow.

Isabel stood at the freshly filled grave. It had been the world's smallest funeral: only her and a man. Everyone else Constance knew was already dead.

Burn scars were etched in the man's face, a constant reminder of pain. He kept an appropriate distance. Isabel knew him as Larry Harvey and for a long time, she didn't know why he mattered. His presence in the cemetery gave her the answer.

He was her father.

Well, her birth father. Derek Noble was her father; a single parent raising Isabel like she was his own before his untimely death three years ago.

Isabel worried the entire time that Larry would try and approach her, give condolences; maybe he would hug her and cry. Instead, they locked eyes and came to an understanding: this wasn't a sad time. Bitter, perhaps, but not sad and comforting each other was unnecessary. Both of them knew that Constance wasn't really gone.

And maybe Isabel would talk to Larry Harvey someday. But that day, she had other plans.

She got into her black Chevy Impala, and drove back home.

Should she cry? She did just attend her birth mother's funeral. And she was the one to find the body. There was a small part of her that was shaken and sad, but tears just wouldn't come. Instead, Isabel got out of her car and stared at the Murder House, which stared back. It didn't challenge her; did not dare her to try and survive. It accepted her. This was home, and she would always end up back here.

With a heavy sigh, Isabel went in.

"How did it go?" Constance asked as Isabel kicked off her heels in the foyer, shrinking by two inches when she did so.

"Small, just like you asked." Isabel smoothed out the plain black dress she wore to the funeral. "I'm still mad at you," she added, walking past Constance to get herself a drink from the kitchen.

Constance rolled her eyes, following her daughter to the kitchen. "Still mad? A grudge will get you nowhere, dear. Aren't you being rather overdramatic?"

"I leave for a week and come back to find that you've killed yourself in the house. But yes, I'm the dramatic one." She poured herself a generous amount of deep red wine that she always kept stocked in the house.

"For Christ's sake, get ahold of yourself."

"You want me to get ahold of myself? You're dead!"

"And you should be in mourning. Honestly Isabel, have you any ounce of compassion?" Constance asked as she took the wine glass from her daughter, stealing a sip for herself, to which Isabel responded with a less than amused expression. Setting the glass down, Constance cupped Isabel's cheek. "Chin up, dear. We're together now. As it should be."

"Because you living right next door wasn't enough?" Still, Isabel leaned into Constance's touch.

Their relationship was complex and there was too much to unpack. But despite the bitterness and hostility that remained, it was oddly comforting to Isabel to no longer be alone. Her adoptive father was dead. Her birth father wasn't involved (though she was sure that he wanted to be) and while she enjoyed the company of the tens of ghosts in the Murder House, having her mother who was constantly making a conscious effort to be present was… nice.

"Well, you can't do anything more insane than killing yourself in the house so I guess I don't have to worry about you pulling any crazy shit anymore."

"Honey, I'm your mother. I will always be pulling crazy shit."

Constance was pleased. There was nothing Isabel could do to change this, and now she was in the house with three of her children: Isabel, Tate, and Beauregard. Her heart ached for her darling Adelaide, who didn't make it to the property on the night of her passing, but now she would be with the rest of her family forever.

But forever was a lot shorter than any of them realized.