It's funny, how things can change in an instant. One little mistake can start off a whole chain reaction.
In the spring of 2011, things were relatively normal for Violet Harmon. She was waiting for summer to start, she was focused on school, and her life seemed just like any other. Her mother was pregnant with a baby boy that they expected in June. She wasn't very involved in the pregnancy, but she was glad to see how happy it made her parents.
At the baby shower she'd sat in the corner, reading a Russian novel and trying to avoid chatting with her mothers annoying friends. When she was invited to come along to the ultrasounds, Violet would decline, hiding away in her bedroom. It wasn't that she wasn't happy for the arrival of her baby brother, she was just frightened by the change that would take place. Little did she know, change was unavoidable.
It was April 19th when Violet got the text from her father. It was urgent, saying she needed to find a ride home from school as soon as it ended. The rest of the day she couldn't focus in class. She was so worried. What if something had happened to her mother? Had there been an accident? Was she hurt? All these thoughts rushed through Violet's head on the way home. She'd gotten a ride from a girl named Ashley, someone she was friendly with at school and would sometimes eat lunch with. Violet didn't have many friends. She was far from popular, but she was happy that way. She didn't feel that she needed anyone. Frankly, she looked down on her peers. She didn't enjoy keeping their company.
"You getting out?" Ashley had asked, a worried look on her face. Violet hadn't realized they'd arrived. She'd been a daze the entire car ride. "Yeah, um, thanks. See you Monday." Violet had mumbled, hopping out of the silver Toyota and grabbing her bag. Violet had run up the steps, not even needing her key, the door was wide open. "Mom? Dad?" She'd called up the stairs. No answer. Her heart beat fast in her chest. She slowly made her way up, only to be met by her father at the top. His face was as white as a ghost. "Vi, your mother is very weak right now, mentally and physically." He'd told her, his voice almost a whisper. "We'd gone to our final ultrasound and the doctors-" His voice cracked his eyes began to fill with tears. Violet instantly understood. "Oh no, Daddy-" "We, we lost the baby. They think it happened about a week ago. The doctors had to induce labor, and your mother had to deliver our son." Violet had flung herself into her father's arms, feeling him shudder as he sobbed into her hair. "I'm so sorry." She began to cry with him. That was the last time Violet would hug her father in months.
"Vivien!" Violet was just pulling the house key from her bag when she heard her father yell. "Stop! Stop this! Come on!" "Stop what Ben?! Stop being upset!? Stop wanting to fucking slit your throat open!?" Violet's head jerked up. What the hell was going on in her house? She pressed her ear to the door, not wanting to walk into the eye of the storm.
"Put the goddamn knife down, Vivien!"
"My God, could the bitch be anymore of a drama queen?" A third voice, one Violet didn't recognize, had spoken up.
"Hayden- Now's not the best-" "It's fine Ben. I know when I'm not wanted." A woman Violet guessed was Hayden began to walk to the door. Violet quickly backed away, standing on the edge of the concrete porch. The door opened violently, swinging and slamming into the wall. If Violet hadn't moved, she'd have been flattened.
"Who the hell are you?" The woman hissed. Violet didn't answer. She just stood there, a flat expression on her face as she tried to register what was going on. Hayden was an average height, an average beauty. She had thin lips, a bump in her nose, but wild eyes. She wasn't much older. Maybe by three or five years.
"Vi? Violet?" Her farther called from inside the house. Violet broke her staring contest with the redhead, looking over her shoulder. She couldn't see anyone, but nothing looked different in the front entry.
"Ohhh, so you're the depressed little brat I've heard so much about." Violet's eyes shot back to Hayden. She took a deep breath, her toes curling under. She'd never even seen this woman in her life and she'd already had the nerve to judge her.
"Well, I've never heard much about you." Violet hissed, crossing her arms. Hayden only smirked, walking past her. Her shoulder slammed into Violet's. "Call me later, kay Ben?" Violet heard from behind her.
"Violet?" Violet focused, looking into the house. Her mother was standing in the entry, her cheeks streaked with the red patches she got when she cried. "Mom, what's going on? Are you and dad okay?-" Then she noticed the knife her mother gripped. "Woah. What the hell..?"
"Violet, we're leaving." Her mother said, grabbing Violet's wrist with her free hand. She began pulling Violet into the house and up the stairs towards Violet's bedroom. She flung open the door, an open suitcase sitting on Violet's bed.
"We're going to stay with your aunt in Florida until your fucking father can-" "Mom! Stop!" Violet yelled, jerking her arm away. "You're acting crazy! What the hell is going on?!" Vivien only turned and began pulling things from Violet's drawers, throwing them into the suitcase. "I'll tell you on the plane. Can you please just-"
"Vivien, please. Please stop this. Just talk to me… Please." They both turned. Ben stood in the doorway, his head slumped like a beaten puppy. He was shirtless and crying. He held an old dishrag against his arm.
"You're scum Ben." "I know…" "Oh do you?" Violet just sighed, throwing herself down onto her bed. She had enough to deal with.
The fighting continued throughout the night. Ben had passed out on the couch, and Vivien had fallen asleep on Violet's bed. The sun was coming up, but Violet hadn't even thought about closing her eyes. Instead, she sat in the center of an empty room. The walls were a cheery baby blue, but to Violet they just looked cold and sad. The room faced the forest behind their house and had a large bay window that almost touched the floor. Violet liked to sit here some nights, when the house was pitch black and everyone was asleep. She liked to go there to think. She could just sit there for hours and look out at the dark trees illuminated by the moonlight. The room was originally a guest bedroom, then a baby's room, and now it just sat empty. It probably always would. Her parents couldn't step foot in it. Not since the loss of the baby.
The baby. That was all she heard about these days. Her parents had clung to the death of their little fetus since the tragedy happened four months before. The unborn baby boy was like a ghost who would always haunt them. That was the excuse her dad had used hours before, the baby.
"Things haven't been right with us, Vivien. We've both been so fragile since we lost him. I was so weak." Weak was the perfect way to describe Ben Harmon. Violet had found out that only ten minutes before she'd come home, her mother had walked in on Ben in bed with the woman named Hayden. A student of his, her mother had said. Violet wished she'd known all that earlier. She would have loved to shove the bitch down the porch steps into oncoming traffic. But she hadn't. And Vivien hadn't finished packing the bags, and they'd never gotten on that plane to Florida. Her father had begged Vivien to stay. They'd work things out. Ben would never see Hayden again. They'd have a fresh start. They'd be happy. He just needed a second chance.
Bullshit.
It was too cold out to be the middle of August. All of Los Angeles was under a heavy cloud cover that day. The mist raining down made everything hazy… Softer. In the soft light of the rising sun, the Victorian home known as "Murder House" almost looked cozy and safe. Almost. That was, if you ignored the deceased gay couple that stood out in the middle of the lawn, screaming their heads off.
"Oh no, don't you walk away from me Patrick! Not this time! Not again!" The dark haired man known as Chad Warwick screeched. The blonde one, Patrick Cook, stood a head taller. He turned quickly, pushing his hands against Chad's plaid clad chest. "You do this to me! You drive me insane!" Patrick yelled, shoving Chad into a half dead hydrangea.
"Jesus H. Christ, you'd think this house would have better upkeep. When I lived here the grounds were absolute perfection. Who's the gardener anyways? Does he know there are homosexuals in the flower garden?" Everyone's head turned to look at the woman standing at the gate, including a shaggy blonde who sat on a stone bench on the lawn. Acrylic nails on hips, she easily pushed through the iron gate. It was five in the morning and Constance Langdon was perfectly made up. Her blonde hair was smoothed to perfection and pinned back. She stood tall in her white heals, and her classic yellow dress swished around her knees as she walked up the brick pathway to the house.
"Oh goody, Mommy dearest has decided to grace us with her presence." Chad snickered, pulling himself from the dead plant. "To what do we owe this honor?"
"Hold your bitchy little jabs to yourself, Chad." Constance said, not even looking at him. She had her eyes fixed on someone else. "I'm here for my boys."
"Pat and I will leave you to it then- Oh and Connie, Hon? Please mention to that daughter of yours to stop bringing those mangy little dogs over. I don't care to step on dog shit." Chad said, turning on his heal and walking to the front door, Patrick following behind him.
"You're fine with marrying it, though…" The blonde boy sitting on the bench muttered under his breath. He was replied with Patrick's middle finger and the door slamming behind them.
Constance hadn't noticed her son sitting there. He'd been completely silent, hiding behind an old book he'd found in the attic the day before. It was old and leather bound and the pages were yellowed from age and an unkind environment. It was an outdated book on human anatomy, which Tate had found fascinating. He loved the pictures. They were from autopsy's in the early 1900s.
"Sweet pea?" Constance's southern drawl poisoned his ears as she walked closer to him. Tate grimaced, closing the book and setting it next to him.
"What do you want?" He sneered at his mother, standing up. Despite the heals, Tate was much taller. Constance was no coward though. She held her ground, not one to be intimidated.
"Oh, nothing. Thought I'd come by… Have a little chat." She hummed, smiling stupidly. "I've missed you so. I'd visit more, but dear Addy is such a handful." Tate ground his teeth together. The last thing he'd want was for her to visit more often.
"You have something to tell me. Just cut all the bullshit and spill it, mother." Tate said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You're still wearing that ratty old thing?" Constance ignored him, reaching out and touching the tattered edge of his sleeve. Tate wore one of his favorite -and only- sweaters over a faded pair of jeans that were ripped on the knees. The sweater was a beige camel color, made of a scratchy material. It was something he'd had since he was alive.
"That just won't do. I should really go out and get you some new clothes. Does my Beau need some too? And my Lord, look at that ratty 'ol book. I'll go out and get you some new reading material. I heard that Twilight book is very good-"
"Stop, stop, stop." Tate said, waving his hands and crunching up his face as if he'd just smelled something fowl. "I'm really not in the mood to deal with you." He muttered, staring at his mother coldly.
"Tate-" She began, but she was silenced by his hand over her mouth, his nails digging into her cheek.
"Go."
After Constance left, Tate had gone into the basement to play with his older brother Beauregard, a mongoloid who'd died in the house seventeen years before, only a few months before Tate himself had passed. Tate sat on the cold ground, his back to the wall as he rolled a red rubber ball back to his brother. A light at the stop of the basement stairs came on, and Beauregard instantly hid away into the shadows, taking the ball with him.
"Oh- Oh my. It's quite chilly today." A voice came from the top of the stairs. Tate looked up to see Nora Montgomery, one of the houses first victims, descending the stairs. She held a white handkerchief over her heart. That was something Tate always noticed with Nora. The woman was always crying into that damned piece of cloth. He couldn't stand to see her so sad.
"Yeah, they said it might rain today." Tate smiled gently at her, slowly rising and meeting her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Who said that?" She asked, her face plastered in bewilderment.
"The weather gu- Oh." Tate smiled bashfully, remembering. In the early nineteen hundreds, there weren't TV's and weather men. It'd be impossible to describe it to her. "Never mind."
"Who are you?" She asked him. Tate rolled his eyes. You'd think she'd remember after the past thirty years.
"Tate, Nora. I'm Tate. I'm your friend."
"Oh, yes, that's right. You're the- You used to be so small… What happened?" Tate laughed. "I grew up."
"Where's my baby?" Nora asked, her eyes getting watery. Oh no, not this again. When she was alive, Nora had lost her infant son Thaddeus. He was brutally murdered and then brought back to life, like something out of Frankenstein. Now he was a mutilated monster baby, terrorizing anyone who set foot in the basement.
"I promised you a baby. I'll get you one. You just have to give me some time." Tate comforted her, rubbing her back. "Someone's going to move in soon, and then I'll get you as baby. I promise."
"You ready, Vi?" Vivien's voice called from downstairs. Violet stood in the center of her room. Well, what used to be her room. Today was the day the Harmons started fresh. They were moving across the country to Los Angeles, California. Only God knew why. Violet's parents had done a great job at choosing the shittiest state in all of the United States to move their family too. Violet had to leave everything behind for something she knew wouldn't work out, and she was pissed.
"No. I'm not. I never will be." Violet yelled back, walking to her open door and leaning against the frame. She heard her mothers footsteps coming up the steps, and Violet quickly made sure her sleeves were completely rolled down. There were fresh red cuts, carelessly covered in bandaids. She'd made them that morning. Cutting wasn't a new habit for Violet. She'd been doing it since she was thirteen, and she had multiple white scars going up both arms to show for it. Her parents would sometimes get a glimpse of the old scars, and they never asked questions. They just exchanged sad glances and treated Violet like a china doll. They didn't want her to break.
"Really sweet heart, you need to cheer up." Vivien appeared in Violet's doorway, pulling her stubborn child into a tight hug. "This'll be good for us, you'll see. We'll get a nice house, you'll start at a new school and make loads of new friends, and hey, we'll be super close to the beach."
Violet shrugged out of her mothers embrace, looking at her bitterly. "New school. Wow, great. It's not like anything was wrong with the old one." She muttered, her arms crossing over her chest like a defiant child. "And you know I hate the ocean. Yeah, I love to look at it, but sand and salt water isn't really my thing."
"Ladies, come on! The moving truck is probably half way there! Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Ben called up the stairs, clapping encouragingly. Violet sighed, looking at her bedroom one last time. She never really liked her house, but it would probably feel a lot more like home than anything in California.
Three days, three Marriott's, and multiple McDonald's later, the Harmon's had finally arrived in California. The drive had been long and unbearable for Violet. It took everything she had not to throw herself out the window by the time they'd gotten to Tennessee. To make matters worse, her mother's dumb dog had developed a bad case of car sickness. Halley wasn't much fun to share the back seat with.
"Violet, look out the window!" Her father called cheerfully from the front seat. Violet turned her attention to what was going on outside the moving vehicle. They were driving down Hollywood Boulevard, and for the first time Violet couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with all of these people?" She laughed, looking at the people who walked down the sidewalk. There was a large mixture of tourists, snapping pictures at every little street sign or piece of dog shit on the ground. Then there were the locals. They looked like something from a sci-fi movie. One woman was so skinny she look like she'd drop dead any moment. Her hair was a puke green color, and she wore a black mesh top over red glittery booty shorts. Then there was a large group of transvestites posing for a picture with someone dressed as Michael Jackson.
"Welcome to Hollywood, Violet." Her father laughed.
They were almost to their new house. They hadn't bought it yet, but they were going to see it in person for the first time. Ben had found it online and fell instantly in love with it. Violet didn't even know what it looked like. She'd been too pissed off by the idea of moving to check. They were five minutes away now, finally getting out of Hollywood and onto the freeway.
"The lighting is different here. It's softer." Vivien commented, staring in awe out the window.
"It's called smog, Mom."