A/N: Hello everyone, and thanks for clicking on "Silver Eyes"! I recently watched American Horror Story and the show HOOKED me. I thought about the show long after I stopped watching and soon the idea for this fanfiction popped up. Though I will give y'all a fair warning: the is the first time I'm going to write a suspenseful story and I'm kind of going with the flow here. But who knows where this story will end up, maybe it'll be awesome. Okay, I think I've held y'all up by chatting to much. So sit back, grab a snack, and I hope you enjoy "Silver Eyes" :)

I've been able to see dead people for as long as I can remember. To me, they look just like normal people. Alive people, that is. I've had conversations with lots of them. But I never go out and find them; they find me. Mostly they tell me about how they died; which, according to them, isn't gruesome enough for young children to hear.

I think the first one I met was when I was four. I was in preschool on the playground, when I saw a man in a military uniform standing nearby. At first, I was confused. No one else was paying him any mind. They were out right ignoring him! My four year old mind couldn't grasp the concept that no one else could see him.

I ended up walking up to him to ask him what he was doing. At first, he kept blinking at me and gasping, "You can see me?" No matter how many times I said yes, he still seemed shocked. But in the end he told me that he wanted to see his daughter, a girl in my class named Briana. He wanted me to let her know that he loved her, and that he would always be there for her. So I did just that.

Unfortunately, Briana thought I was making fun of her. She screamed at me about how her dad had been in the army and how he died fighting. It had landed a very confused me in a conference between my teacher and my dad. Afterwards, I had to apologize to Briana and her mother. And my dad kept telling me over and over how disappointed he was. That was the worst part of the day.

Over the years, several ghosts found me to tell me about themselves. I don't remember all of them, just the ones that stood out. There was a man in a white suit who told me about his long lost love. An old, weepy woman once told me how much she hated being without her husband, who had died earlier, but she couldn't find him. And then, when I was ten, there was a group of teenagers with massive bullet wounds who told me that they were looking for their killer. I had wished them luck and they were on their way. I actually liked talking to all of them; at least I did, until I turned twelve.

I was talking to a beautiful woman with dark hair. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I guess it doesn't matter now. Then my dad walked in.

"Taylor! What are you doing?" He asked, his voice rising to an unnatural high pitch.

"I was just talking to," I started but turned back to the woman. "What was your name again?"

"Lucia,"

"Okay, Lucia then," I replied, looking back at Dad. His lips were a thin line on his face.

"Taylor," He said after a moment of silence. "There is no one there."

I had frowned at him. "Yes there is. "Can't you see her?" Lucia waved at him. Dad shook his head.

"No, Taylor. There is no one there! You are too old for imaginary friends! Now I've dealt with this for too long now. No more of this 'talking' to these imaginary people!"

"They're not made up!" I had yelled. I could feel the tears sting at my eyes, but I tried to hide them. Dad hated it when I cried.

But he saw. "First imaginary friends, now this? It's about time you grew up!"

The tears had been falling freely now. "And what if I don't want to?" Lucia tried to dab away my tears.

Dad's eyes widened and he stooped down to my level. "Then you can go ahead and leave this house. Otherwise get your act together, and stop being such a freak."

Freak. I've heard that word before from girls in school and from my stepmother and my stepsister. But not from my dad. That hurt too much. So after Lucia left, I swore off speaking to any other ghost. But because I couldn't tell the difference between the living and the dead, I started avoiding anyone new who came up to me. This made making friends almost impossible.

And now, five years later, Dad was making us move cross-country for his job.

The house was huge. It towered over me and I assumed it was three stories high. Beside me, my twin sister stared at it with judging eyes.

"It looks like those houses from the horror films," She said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes at her; according to her, all horror movies had wild sex in it.

"Yeah," I said sarcastically. "From those corny and cheesy horror movies."

Tess shrugged but dropped the subject. My sister and I were as different as night and day. Sure we had the same facial features, except our eyes; hers were hazel and mine were an odd icy silver. She was popular, athletic, and charming enough to make everyone around her like her. I, on the other hand, was very clumsy, an outcast, and awkward around others. The only people I've ever been able to talk properly to was all the ghosts I've met. But there was one thing my sister and I agreed on.

Our stepmother was a certified bitch.

Yes she was gorgeous and rich and seemingly perfect, but that woman was just plain evil. She hated both me and Tess, while she treated her own brat of a daughter like royalty. I despised both of them with a passion.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Hannah appeared, staring at the new house with distaste gleaming in her eyes. "I don't like it," She said. She always seemed to think that if she announced that she didn't like something, then everyone around her would break their backs to try and please her.

"Honestly, Hannah," Tess said sharply. "No one cares if you don't like it." She narrowed her hazel eyes at the house. "But I must admit, it does feel creepy."

I knew what Tess meant; the house just screamed "Stay away" it would seem. But something about it just made me want to go inside, to explore it.

"I think it's cool," I said. "Creepy, yes. Dark and depressing, yes, very much so. But it's got something about it that I like."

"Figures you would like it," Hannah muttered but I ignored her. I stared at the windows, as if in a trance. There was something about this house that was pulling me towards it like a magnet.

All of a sudden there was a flicker of movement in one of the windows. I whipped my vision to it, but whatever caused it was gone by the time I located the drapes fluttering. I glanced over my shoulder; the moving men were still unloading the truck. There was no reason for anyone to be in there yet. But I was pulled from my thoughts as a cherry red convertible pulled into the driveway.

Great, I thought bitterly, cue the evil stepmother.

Joan Mayer stepped from her car and surveyed the house. Her bright brown eyes were gleaming; that meant she like what she saw. I never really saw that look. But she had that strange look as she looked at the house. It was weird.

"It looks better than it did online!" Joan exclaimed to our relator. "I hope the inside is just as beautiful as it is out here." She walked off with the relator trailing after her. Dad wasn't here; he was working. So Joan was in charge of everything.

"How many bedrooms are there?" Joan asked. The relator jumped in fright from being addressed directly to. What was with her?

"Uh, there are five bedrooms and four baths." Joan let out a small noise of delight. I didn't know why; this house was smaller than the one she was coming from.

"Hannah, dear," Joan called over her pride and joy. She completely ignored the two teenage girls standing a little ways away. "Go pick out whichever room you want." Hannah flounced off and Joan turned to us. "You two can go pick out your rooms. But Hannah gets first choice."

Tess grabbed my arm and squeezed excitedly. "C'mon Tay, let's go find some good rooms before the brat gets it." I nodded, despite the forbidding feeling I was getting from this house. And without another word, we entered the unreasonably large house.