...
1980
"Ow," Addie complained.
Constance didn't slow down. She whipped the curling iron from her eight-year-old daughter's dark hair, set it down and fluffed the fat curl that it left behind. Then she affixed a bright yellow bow, patted it and stepped back to eye her work.
"I hate the curling iron. Why do you have to curl my hair?" the little girl grouched.
"Because it looks pretty that way," Constance said. "Don't you want to look pretty?"
Adelaide had to stand on a little stool so her mother could move around her and style her without having to bend over, which gave the child a perfect view of her own reflection. She didn't like looking at herself. She hated it, in fact. It only reminded her of how different she was. The frown she wore only worsened her appearance though so she forced herself to put on a smile. It was a fake smile but it looked better than the frown.
"You don't curl Tate's hair."
The three-year-old boy had entered the room, dragging his favorite digger toy and sucking his thumb. He smiled at Addie around the wet digit when he heard her say his name.
"Tate already has curly hair, sweetheart," said Constance without missing a beat. She clamped a bow onto the other side of the girl's head.
"Why do we have to go over there?" Addie said since she was unable to argue her mom further on the hair issue.
"Because," said Constance. She stepped back to admire her work. "It's Charles' birthday and we're invited to his party. It would be rude to refuse."
"But he's dead. Dead people don't have birthdays."
Constance frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Adelaide, just because a person's dead doesn't mean it's all right to be rude to them. In fact, the dead are best handled more politely than the livin' because they're more sensitive and they're more temperamental. But you should be especially respectful of Doctor Montgomery. We're gonna live in his house someday."
"Why?" Addie wanted to know.
Tate came over and dropped his digger so he could hook one arm around Addie's knees. Then he pulled his thumb out of his mouth and gave her a well-intentioned kiss on her knee. It made her giggle and smile a real smile. Having a baby brother wasn't as big of a horror as she'd first thought when he'd been born.
"Because it's my home, sweetheart," Constance said. She gave her daughter another critical eye. "You'll do," she decided then she shifted her attention to the little boy still hanging from Addie's legs. "It's your turn to get dressed, honey."
Tate didn't particularly want to get dressed up any more than Adelaide did but he never fussed when his mother wanted to make him look nice. He didn't really care what he was wearing so long as he didn't have to do it himself. Clothes were confusing and he didn't like it when he got them wrong.
When his mother put her hand out to him he let go of his sister and took it. He popped the thumb of his other hand back into his mouth and let her lead him back to his room. It was going to be his first trip over to the Montgomery Mansion that he'd make on his own two feet. He would spend most of that time there playing hide and seek with Addie and Beau in the attic and exploring the old junk up there.
Tate got his nice clothes dusty while playing but by the time Constance came for them, she wasn't of a mind to care. She just took them back home. Spending a whole evening in the company of the dead was exhausting for the living, even when things went well.
...
░A░m░e░r░i░c░a░n░ ░H░o░r░r░o░r░ ░S░t░o░r░y░
...
2018
Thunder growled menacingly as a huge storm front swept over the city of Los Angeles. It was as if the elements themselves knew what was happening at Murder House and were conspiring with the darkness. Within the house the very fabric of reality was tearing apart, reweaving itself in a tapestry of fear and violence. A battle for the future had erupted.
Within one bare room on the third floor Father Jeremiah clutched his prayer pendant and retreated from the twisted, gruesome forms of Maria and Gladys. The erstwhile nursing students had been warped by the influence of the unholy presence within the house and they staggered toward the priest menacingly. He breathed a prayer for strength - for help. He heard no response but he felt the pendant of Samael warm slightly in his hand. He cast about for a weapon of some kind but he was in the room Chad and Patrick had placed Tate in. There was nothing in the room remotely like a weapon within reach but there were the twin windows right beside him.
"Where ever God closes a door, he opens a window," Jeremiah muttered sardonically.
He tried to pry open the window but it wouldn't budge even though he unlocked it. One of the nurses made a swipe at him with her long, black claws and he ducked to the side. Then, using the same strength he'd called on to restrain Michael - and occasionally Constance - in the past, he pounded the side of his fist against the window. The glass cracked. The skinnier of the nurses gurgled and grabbed for him. Her claws tore through the ritual robes he'd donned in order to bless Tate's room and he felt them rake his back. It was just a slight wound but it burned like fire.
The priest hit the glass again, as hard as he could, and it shattered outward. He hauled himself through it with superhuman rapidity, heart hammering so hard it felt like it could leap from his chest. He scuttled up the roof and away from the broken window in case the demonic nurses tried to follow him.
As he moved over the rough old shingles he felt chilly raindrops; just a few at first and then the downpour came. Thunder rumbled low and fierce and close. He made it to the top of the roof and crouched there, looking down. The nurse monsters hadn't followed him but he couldn't get down to the ground from so high up. He didn't want to leave the building anyway. He had to find Michael.
There was only one place he could think to try for in his position: The attic.
…
Author's Note:
You made it. This is The End of the world as we know it.
But if I've learned anything while writing this fanfic, it's that no good story truly has an end. For every question that I had at the end of Season 1 that I've answered in the past 11 episodes, I've discovered more questions. I know there will be more left after this last episode too and I do apologize for that. I hope to answer a few in future one-shot stories but chances are there will always be issues unresolved because the stories of so many characters just don't end abruptly. But hopefully this Season Finale' episode will be enough to satisfy the worst of the 'what about..?' itches.
The description of this episode is paraphrased from Disney's Haunted Mansion (the original record, not the movie). If you haven't heard the recording, you should. It's what turned me on to paranormal fiction in the first place. I still listen to it every Halloween, though on CD now.
If you've somehow managed to miss it, please check out my Profile for music to listen to while reading. It really does help the mood along. Next chapter, chaos continues.