Hannah could hear her dad and step-mother screaming from the street as she approached the house still dressed in her high school's track jersey and shorts. Practice had been grueling, but the thought of walking in that house while another world war was brewing twisted Hannah's insides. Instead, she put her back pack on the porch, and began jogging down the street – all screams fading away.
Running had turned out to be Hannah's hidden talent; she was the fastest on the team, but had only started training at the beginning of the season. The worse her father's marriage got, the more she escaped into these peaceful suburban runs and it was looking like it was all going to be worth it as more and more colleges showed interest in her abilities. Hannah had already decided she'd take the offer that took her the furthest away from LA.
Slowly, the sun sank behind the hills and the street lamps flickered on, but Hannah kept running. Sometimes she'd pretend that she could run into oblivion – just keep going until she was in a totally different state where she could be a totally different person.
Exhausted, she finally collapsed onto a beautifully manicured yard. It had to be close to nine o'clock – she had been running all day. Sweat flowed freely across her face and her knees ached. Tomorrow was going to be hell. After a while Hannah picked herself up and stumbled over to the house's garden hose. This was her favorite part, feeling the cold water work its way through her hair and down her back. The twitching of overworked nerves calmed slightly and she began to drink deeply from the flow of water, slurping like all sexy ladies do.
When she had had her fill, Hannah carefully placed the hose as she had found it and made her way back to the street. Home still didn't feel like an appetizing option, so she continued her stroll. A few houses up the street she came to THE house of the neighborhood. It's yard was over grown and several of the windows had been knocked out. The kids at school called it the Murder House.
Hannah could remember when it was a nice place, she had even talked to the daughter of the tragic Harmon family once before. Hannah had only been twelve, but she remembered the girl being nice. As she stopped in the drive way, Hannah wondered where the hell Violet Harmon was now. Rumor had it that she had gone to Alabama where a teenage girl could raise a kid without too many questions. Over the years, Hannah had heard a lot of other stories about Murder House, too all of them fascinating. She didn't think she had the courage to pull a B&E on the place, but walking around the grounds wouldn't be too bad - just one more weapon in her arsenal of avoiding home.
The windows looked like black voids ready to suck her in. She was reminded of all those corny real life ghost story shows on TV when they talk about faces appearing in the windows. A chill ran down her back and she decided to focus on the other parts of the house. Like the crumbling brick and how little of it she could actually see. Luckily, the back yard was slightly more inviting as it was hit directly with moon light. In the center was a gazebo where Hannah decided to rest for awhile.
Once you get used to the looming house of death, it's really kind of peaceful, Hannah thought. LA never really varied in weather, but now that it was firmly Fall things got quieter much sooner. The whole energy of the neighborhood was different. Hannah missed listening to the kids scream and laugh with the joy of summer. A gentle breeze kissed her cheeks and coaxed her to lie back on the gazebo bench. Home felt like such a far way to go and it felt so nice and peaceful here; this was the first time in months Hannah was able to feel peace sitting still. Slowly her eyes began to droop. Her thoughts became sluggish and disjointed. Just before she slipped into a sleep, Hannah became aware of the person standing over her.
"Holy shit," she hissed as she was jerked back awake with shock. Without waiting for an introduction from who she could clearly make out now to be a boy around her age, Hannah bolted over the side of the gazebo and began to make for the street. As the drive way came into view Hannah saw that the boy had somehow gotten there first. Hannah made a sharp turn to jump the wooden fence, but suddenly the boy's hands were grabbing her shoulders and throwing her to the ground.
"Fuck you," Hannah shouted. She got to her feet, ready to fight, but the boy just gave her a cold stare. "You're not gonna do shit to me, you got that?" He looked like one of the hipster kids from school with his flannel and greasy blonde hair. "If you're, like, doing drugs or whatever I won't say anything. Just let me go."
"What are you doing here," the boy asked finally.
"Killing time."
"You go to Westfield?"
The question caught Hannah off guard, but then she remembered she was still in her jersey. "Yeah…yeah, I do. Do you?"
"I got thrown out."
"Lucky." The boy's hard stare softened slightly.
"It's a shithole, right?"
"What high school isn't, though?"
The boy's face softened even more. For a second Hannah was sure he was going to smile. "Do you always kill time by sleeping in random backyards?"
"It could become a hobby. Do you always scare the living shit out of ladies just trying to catch some Zs?"
He finally cracked a smile. "It's basically my thing."
"Nice," Hannah looked up at the moon, unsure of what to say next. "Well, I should go."
"I'll show you the house if you want," he stepped forward and suddenly had a pleading look on his face. Hannah didn't know how to take this hard guy suddenly turning into a desperate little boy.
"I – uh…?"
"What? Are you scared? I promise I won't murder you or anything."
"How do you get in?"
"I live here."
Hannah's eyebrows shot up and she scoffed in exasperation. "You live here?
"Okay, well I don't exactly live here. I just sort of inhabit the place." The guy was suddenly acting very nervous and Hannah was starting to feel the same. Who the fuck did he think he was?
"You're losing me, pal."
"What's your name?"
"Hannah…."
"I'm Tate."
"Nice to meet you…what do you mean you 'inhabit' this place?"
"I'm Tate Langdon."
Hannah's eyes widened and suddenly it felt like all of the blood in her body had turned to concrete. She remembered exactly who Tate Langdon was from the plaque outside of her school. "That's not funny."
"I'm being serious."
"Fuck off," Hannah began backing away.
"You just seemed cool and different and I just wanted to be honest," the desperation was getting more intense in his eyes as he moved forward towards Hannah.
"You're acting like a fucking psycho."
Tate suddenly had razors for eyes and his jaw tightened, "Don't say that. Don't CALL me that."
"I'm leaving," Hannah began walking fast towards the street. She heard Tate's footsteps behind her. "I'll kick you in the nuts, dude."
"Please, I'm sorry. I just want someone to hang out with! I just wanted to tell the truth."
"Fuck off, crazy," Hannah took off running down the street as fast as she could.
Tate bellowed furiously behind her, "DON'T CALL ME CRAZY!"
