I was born in 1997.

At the age of four, I laid my eyes on a small bundle of fluffy blankets, a little red wrinkly hand poking out, and my Dad said he's my brother, Liam.

At the age of five, I saw my mother being burned alive.

At the age of nine, I told my Dad I was afraid of the monster hiding in the trashy motel room's closet. He gave me a gun.

At the age of eleven, I started seeing ghosts everywhere. When I told the teacher in my school I saw the janitor who died in an accident a few years back, she called in my father in the afternoon for a "grown-up talk".

At the age of sixteen, after a huge fight with my father, I ran away to my uncle. He took me in.

At the age of seventeen, I graduated and got a scholarship for the Washington State University.

At the age of nineteen, my father went missing.

The same year, I've fallen in love.

And after that, I died and went to Hell.

May 25, 2016.
Seattle, Washington

I dragged my feet across the stairs, one by one, they all seemed to conquer my strength and still, I managed, somehow. I never got why Reese had to have the top apartment rented; he said something about views. After a ten-hours shift at the supermarket on the corner, stacking the shelves, I couldn't give a fucking damn about the view, how the night sky was littered with shiny stars, like a black canvas with silver glitter, nor how the moon looked like a glimmering pendant.

All I felt was the dull ache in my heels, and instead of how it'd have been in a sonnet, there were no crickets, not in the smokey neighborhood we lived in. No, the noises of the night were some drunk guys hanging out behind the building and the cars passing down the road. An ambulance car passed through the street, shrieking with red and blue lights, as I finally reached the tenth floor and dragged out my keys after some rummaging in my sports bag which smelled of my sweat.

I couldn't care. I was home.

So was Reese. And judging by the pair of red high-heels (even the sight of them made my legs scream in pain), he wasn't alone. This conclusion of mine was soon confirmed by feminine giggling coming from the short corridor. The voice was followed by the appearance of a blonde, really beautiful woman and my uncle, Reese, laughing and kissing in a drunk haze. That is, until they saw me. I loved how my appearance caused them to try to look sober. They failed miserably, but still, I appreciated the effort.

"Hey, Charlie!" he slurred, immediately taking his hands off of the woman's hips. "You're home already?"

"Yeah, I worked till 10PM. Liiiike always," I smiled tiredly, dropping down the heavy bag containing my work stuff, and throwing my keys to the bowl next to the TV.

"I thought you said you were single," the woman remarked, looking beat-up and nervous right away.

"No, I am, I am, eeeh… Jessica? This is my niece, Charlotte. Charlotte, this wonderful woman is," Reese smirked, his greenish blue eyes tinkling with mischief, making the woman named Jessica giggle again," Jessica. We met at Macintosh's."

You simply couldn't miss the hint in his words. "Yeah, I figured. Actually, I thought I'd pay him a visit," I lied without blinking an eye. I wasn't twenty-one (though at Macintosh's, barely would anyone ever care about that, Reese has been working there for years and they knew me), but false words always came easily to my mouth; it was the only way of survival in our world, after all.

"Wonderful," Reese repeated, "my wallet's over there, take some money and have fun!" he waved me goodbye with joy (and, much to my disgust, clear desire) written all over his features as he looked down at Jessica and started herding her to his room. Before he disappeared from my sight, he mouthed 'thank you' to me.

I kicked my bag away from the middle of the room, and after getting some money from Reese, just-in-case, I hurried out, closing the door in the same moment as some disturbing sounds hit my ears. Although I grimaced (Reese was family, after all, like a second dad or the big brother I never asked for, sometimes the two in one person), I was happy to give him a few hours of peace and joy, a good night, before all went dark and gloomy again.

I was sure it would. It's been good for years now, and seeing how Karma was a bitch, I knew it would go bad again, pretty soon. I didn't expect 'soon' to be 'the moment I step out of the building' soon, though. All I wanted to find was a bench I could sit down to, because per usual, the elevator would not work when I was most exhausted and my feet were killing me, but, of course, I ran into unwanted company.

"Heeeey! If it isn't Lotte-Lotte!" I closed my eyes as soon as Travis's voice hit me, slapping me out of sleepiness at once. He was practically tangled over a bench, and some of the dickheads and cunts around him (how were there so many of them? Did they clone themselves in a basement or something?) chuckled. See, they were your typical asshole kids from around the block, partying and doing drugs and whatnot, whom you had only one look at they didn't like, you're their new favorite thing to toss around. I made the mistake, when I got here a few years ago, that I went to a party with them (see, I was desperately trying to fit into society, and since they were the popular kids, I stucked with them for a while) and in a half-drunken state, I told them I see ghosts. Ever since then, they think I'm a freak, that I'm mental, and started bullying me. Only I didn't let them toss me around, not getting anxious, no fidgeting, no nothing – there were so many things outside of them in the world I knew of or met personally, that I just couldn't care about their shitty attempts to higher their otherwise low self-esteem.

Tonight however, I just really didn't want to deal with them. Work has been awfully messed up, getting a supervision and all, it was a mad-house, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Actually, all I ever wanted to do was sleep, because, let's face it, I had no other source of joy around; sleep was good, sleep was nice, sleep never tried to hurt me.

I ignored Travis, and took a turn to walk into the other direction.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Travis shouted before I heard multiple footsteps rushing toward me. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before turning around to be welcomed by Travis' smirk. He thought he looked hot and intimidating, I guess. I thought he looked like a giant gecko with a fake mustache. "What? You don' wanna hang out, eh?"

"Ah, no, she must be rushing to some Ghostbusters meeting or some shit," Travis's fucktoy, Jayla commented with a wild grin.

"Oh, no, no, no, she's havin' a date with Casper!" another boy, Flynn, I guess, added. They laughed. "You betta' start fuckin' a ghost too, Jayla, so you don have to use condoms no more. Or those pill-shits, those fuckers cost a fortune, man!"

"You must know, you have, what, three kids?"

"Only two, man, I swear that other fucker's ain't mine!"

"Enchanting," I remarked with a stern face.

"What? You think you better than us, bitch?" Jayla asked, or more like snorted.

"Let me not answer that question. Please."

"You think you're some hot shit, right?" Travis took a step toward me; he was so close I almost got intoxicated from the alcohol in his breath. "You look hot, alright. Nice tits, meat to grab… So you got into college, with some scholar-shit. So what? That ain't makin' you smart!"

"It actually does imply I have a high IQ," I sighed, getting really tired of them already. "That's why it's called 'higher education'. FYI."

Travis smirked as some of his band scoffed. I knew I was taking it too far, I should have simply let them bark at me for some more and then they would get bored and eventually leave, but I felt like my bullshit-o-meter was already full that day.

"Smart mouth. You know how to put it to better use?" he asked, making wet, squelching sounds with his lips. The others, as expected, laughed.

"Yup. Telling you good bye. Good bye," I said with a waving motion of my hand and took a step back, ready to turn around when Travis grabbed my shoulders harshly and yanked me forward. I felt rage slowly creeping into my veins.

"You ain't goin' away for fuck, babe."

I stared at his hand, slowly blinking. "You have one chance to take your hand off of me."

Travis and his pack let out a hyena-like laugh. "Or what? You'll tell Mommy and Daddy? Oh, wait – you don't have either!"

And that was what set me off. I grabbed his hand and twisted it with a swift motion, dislocating his shoulder. He let out a shriek, and pulling him closer, I kneed him in the chest, knocking out the air from his lungs momentarily.

Like how my Dad taught me.

The only thing Dad didn't teach me was how to pretend I didn't just beat up a guy when a police car pulls up next to me.

Travis' band, although a moment earlier they were trying to leap on me, ran away like rats from a sinking boat. The car put on the lights (or were they on earlier? I didn't hear nor see anything from the sudden wave of rage) and beeped before two officers jumped out, blinding me with their flashlights.

"Miss, this is the Seattle PD, put your hands up!" one of them shouted.

"Get her! She murdered me! She murdered me!" Travis screamed in a raw voice, still out of breath. I closed my eyes and cursed myself.

When I walked out of the station, the sun was already getting up, and Reese was waiting for me by the end of the stairs.

"I'm sorry," I muttered when I reached him, my head hanging low. Reese stood with his back to the railing and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking up at the pale morning sun rather than me.

"He has bruised ribs," he said. I immediately felt even worse, which was soon turned into concern as a wide grin made its way onto Reese's face. "Damn, girl! You rock."

I've tried to hide my smile of triumph upon hearing the pride in his voice but I failed. "So how bad do I get it?"

"Well, Travis isn't happy," he commented, pushing himself away from the railing. I scoffed; of course, I knew that he wouldn't be happy and our next meeting could be unpleasant, even more so than it ever was before. After a few moments of thinking, Reese waved in resignation. "But that fucker had it coming, let's face that. Police knows, too, and seeing how you have no previous criminal record, I've managed to convince them to let it slip. They insisted to keep you in for a few hours to 'make you think over what you did', but you shouldn't feel any consequences. Definitely not at college, they won't hear about it."

We walked silently for a minute before I quickly confessed, "I don't know if I wanna get back there."

"Jail? You should definitely get back there. I heard they have spaghetti on Tuesday."

"No," I chuckled, hitting Reese in the shoulder as he crackled on his own joke," I meant college. I know I wanted to get in, to get a life, but… I don't know. I just don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. It's like everything is dull and grey and meaningless? I dunno."

"Look, I know you always reject the idea… But you should just try to get professional help," Reese offered in a much more softer way than how he usually did anything.

I cracked a sad smile. "They wouldn't know what's really outside, so what's the point?"

"I know. No one does and that's the part that sucks. But here's what I do know: you're a smart, young girl, who's capable of so many things, who has so many gifts… You should just decide what you want. I'm not rushing you, take your time, you still have a lot, but… I don't think your Mom would've ever wanted you or Liam to get the type of life we had, or more like we didn't have. "

"I know," I nodded, trying not to focus too much on my mother and changing the subject before I could get too emotional. I grinned up at Reese." You're not helping me narrowing down my possibilities, are you?"

"Nope," he smiled and threw a hand over my shoulder. "You can be anything you want."

"A panda?"

"Especially a panda."

"President of the States?"

"Told ya: anything you want."

"And if I want to be a hooker?"

"…Almost anything."

So, maybe Reese didn't help me decide what to do with my life, but he did make it clear I can't wait for him to tell me. The next one I asked what I should do was the Universe itself – I didn't really believe in any religion, but I desperately wanted to think there's something out there, and whatever it was, I hoped it would help me.

As so many times proved before, help comes in unexpected ways. For example, how my phone started to ring in the afternoon. The caller was unknown.

"Yeah, it's Charlie?" I frowned. Nobody called me, except my boss.

"Charlie?" The voice was familiar and new at the same time; an echo from my past, a giggle of a little boy shadowed by mutation of teen age. My heart stopped beating for a moment when he confirmed my thoughts. "It's me. Liam."

I felt like all the thoughts from my brain were flushed down the toilet before coming right back, only more than before, roaming up and down, making me feel dizzy.

"L… Liam?"

"Yeah. Sorry to disturb you, but…"

"Liam," I cut in, pinching the bridge of my nose. The words were heavy to say but I braced myself and forced back my tears. "I don't know why you called me, but I really don't care. I'm not coming back. Please, leave me alone, and…"

"Dad's missing. I haven't heard about him for weeks. He's just gone… Please, Lotte, I need your help!"

May 28, 2016
Los Angeles, California

When I knocked on the wooden door of the mansion-sized house and a red-haired woman opened the door, I knew immediately that she was a ghost. I actually saw her other form – not the old lady who was blind to one eye, which she wanted others to see, but the young, beautiful woman with a bullet hole instead of her right eye. It was vibrating and waving, two images at once like a bad, old television before I gathered up the power to concentrate on one (the old lady form) so I wouldn't get sick of the sight.

"May I help you, Miss?" she asked in the voice of a stern but sweet granny who lived a lot. I knew she didn't, well, not exactly, not outside the house like she should have.

I took off my aviator sunglasses and tried to smile. It wasn't easy, not with all the dark mojo of the house hitting me on the face with the gentleness of a battling ram.

"You must be Moira, correct? I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Blake."

"Mr. Ronald's daughter?" she asked, seemingly happy and relieved. "Please, don't stand on the porch, Miss!"

I stepped past Moira. The black energies, what I liked to call them, were even more intense inside, though I should have expected it. So much death, so much agony and anger packed inside… Shame. The house itself had a potential, if you didn't mind how it earned its name, 'Murder House'.

As I turned my attention to Moira, I realized something; she seemed pretty much alive. She seemed like she was actually there, not only her spirit; the ghosts I've met, some who've tried to kill me and others to seek my help, they could lift objects and all, but they weren't actually there. They were simply spirits, and you could wave an iron bar through them.

"The young lord will surely be thrilled about your arrival, and… Miss? Are you alright?" I heard Moira ask me and only then have I realized how I was staring at her blankly for a while. I blinked rapidly and nodded.

"Yes, yes, sure, I just… Would you mind…? If I…?" I asked, but before she could answer, I slowly poked her with my finger. She felt soft; cold, but still, soft and most importantly, material. How could this be?! She was dead, I've read all about them, how they died, when they died, and she's been dead for decades, and still, I could feel her! Something wasn't right here. And I started to feel that this something will bug me until I can name what it is exactly; it always did.

"Miss?" Moira repeated, raising an eyebrow.

My mouth formed a soundless 'wow'. "You have a body. You actually have a body! This is fascinating. In a sad way of course, but…"

Something just wasn't right about it; not normal.

These worried thoughts were pushed to the side when I heard footsteps approaching.

"Charlie?" Liam poked his head around the corner, soon joined by his body as he inched closer. I haven't seen him in years, but still, I knew it was him, they were his features though he's changed so much! All of his cute baby-fat was gone, and actually he seemed really lean. How did a fifteen year old even have muscles? Wasn't he supposed to be lanky?

"I, ah… Hiya, Liam!" I waved awkwardly not really knowing what to do. Was I supposed to be hugging him? Wouldn't that be too much intimacy after I simply walked out of his life a few years back and ignored all his attempts to contact me? I was still thinking about what I should do and say when suddenly, he bolted right toward me and all I knew was that in the next second, he was crying against my shoulder.

"Soooo… Nice house," I commented. We were sitting at the kitchen isle while Moira was preparing some sandwiches Liam asked her to do; fortunately, her first instinct was to offer me some coffee and I accepted it gladly. I've been driving for almost two days, and I was afraid I'd fall asleep right away as I sat down. "Really nice. Well, if you don't mind how it makes people kill each other and their souls roam the estate for forever… Then it's really nice… Are they all here? Whom I've read about on the internet?"

"I don't know what you've read," Liam mumbled, his eyes still red and puffy from crying," but yeah. There's like what? Twenty of them? Probably even more. Some even the others don't encounter. I don't know if that thing downstairs is alive or dead, but whatever, throw him in, too…"

"That's an awful lot," I stated with an uncomprehending grimace. "How do you keep them in bay?"

"We don't have to." Well, that was an interesting statement. "I'm sure you've realized they are different from ghosts we've met before…"

"Yeah. They have physical, bodily essence, well, I've only met Moira," I said, looking up at the maid who nodded with a small smile." It's almost as if…"

"As if they are still alive? Yeah. Dad believes there's something around here that keeps them in this strange half-alive form. That's why we're here."

I closed my eyes to soothe the storm in my soul before letting out sigh. I knew where this was heading. "Dad thinks this place can help him bring Mom back?"

"Yeah," Liam mumbled, tapping his fingers on the counter absent-mindedly.

I licked my lips, and took a sip of my coffee. "And you?" Liam jerked his head up. "What do you think about it?"

"All I know is that this place is nothing like I've ever seen. Something keeps their souls here; something eats at their human side and sometimes makes them do really wicked things, but…" He looked up at Moira, looking for support. I kind of found it weird, how my little brother, who came from two family with long lines of supernatural hunters, was waiting for approval from a ghost. I had to admit, though, that Moira was a new kind of ghost. And she made awesome coffee. "We've explained to them who we are, what we usually do, and made a deal. If they help us find out what's going on around this house, then, when we find the solution, we'll bring them back to life as well. Or, if they want to, we can unbind their souls so they can finally rest in peace. Whichever they prefer."

"And you all just agreed? Simple as that?" I asked Moira who placed a plate in front of Liam.

"We are more reasonable than you would believe, Miss."

I shook my head and lent back in my chair. "The ghosts I've met so far… Some tried to seek my help, sure, but most of them tried to kill me and my family, and they were all delusional. Your thoughts seem to be clear, though."

"I do not know what's different in this house, but we all hope your family will find out the truth and I can finally rest, whatever awaits me. Now, that you're here, our hopes are even brighter; we've heard of your abilities…"

"I'm only here until we find our father," I cut in, shooting Moira an apologizing glance before continuing. "Two and a half week he's been gone, you said? We'll trace back what he was doing, find clues, find him, bring him back and I'm headed off to Seattle again. That's all I can offer."

"But Charlie…" Liam started, pleading.

I shook my head furiously and stood up. "No! You said you need my help to find Dad, and I'm okay with that, but don't forget: I've quit. I'm out of the game. Now, I'm merely a smartass fan from the grandstand, shouting in instructions for the players… Whatever Dad is doing with his agenda, that's none of my business."

"Of course it is!" Liam forced, anyway, and stood to look me straight in the eye. We were the same height, now; maybe he was an inch taller, even, and I knew he'd grow some more. His grayish blue eyes, perfect mirrors of mine, raged with emotions. "We're a family, Charlie; all we have is each other! Please… don't leave again."

My heart wrenched, but I couldn't let my emotions take over; nothing good ever comes of that, they just make life harder, and decisions impossible. I had to pull my steel-armor over my heart and soul, or more like a wire fence, and let my head take charge. It was an awesome trick I've learned; instead letting emotions fuck you over and spit you out, just ignore them. It will still be awful, but you won't care.

"I love you, Liam," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder as I bored my eyes into his," but I can't get involved, not again. I have to go back to college. I can make a difference there." Lies, lies, awful lies; I grossed myself out, sometimes, but I had to. I couldn't do it any other way; I was too weak for facing this entire burden which fell upon me.

"You don't think you can make a difference here?" His voice was so hopeful I almost cracked. I couldn't let that happen, so I sighed and rubbed my temple.

"Look, killing supernatural beings for the rest of my supposedly short life sounds like a really attractive idea, but then again, so was getting on the Titanic, and look what happened… The point is: I'm too tired for serious life-decisions right now. Could you show me where I can camp while I'm here? I swear I won't go anywhere and we can figure out something tomorrow. If your ghost friends don't kill me in my sleep, I mean," I added the last part light-heartedly, although I didn't fancy the idea of sleeping in a house full of ghosts. Ghosts weren't roomies. They were enemies; that's what I was taught. It's a hard job, overwriting a core program.

A part of me actually wasn't afraid of ghosts killing me in my sleep; more so, looked forward, partly because, like other humans, I've always wondered what death was like, what happened afterwards, and partly because I always saw death as not the end, but the beginning of something. The end of the dull grey mist hanging over everything, maybe. These parts of me, however, I held locked away.

"They won't. Believe me, all of them really want to get rid of this house," Liam sighed. "Still, there's salt in the kitchen if you'd like to be cautious…"

I did.

An hour and a shower later, I closed the door of my new room behind me, the oversized t-shirt and loose pajama pants soft like a blanket on my tired limbs. I kicked into the bag I've brought with me, and fell freely on my bed.

I felt the presence before the ghost spoke, so I wasn't startled.

"I see you haven't made your salt-circle yet," he said, and with a groan, I sat up. The ghost who came to visit me was a boy around my age, give or take a few years, with fluffed blonde hair and eyes so dark brown I couldn't find his irises. He was standing casually by the shelves, looking at the CD collection I've brought with me here, wearing dark blue ripped jeans and a huge, stripped sweater; for a moment, though, he appeared in all black glory, his sweater torn by possibly bullets, blood leaking from the wounds before it went back to normal. He looked like he owned the place; remembering how he was a ghost, and recalling my research, I had to remind myself that he did own it once.

"Seems like I should have," I commented harshly, making him chuckle. He had dimples. Actually, I never saw a ghost with dimples before – maybe because they were only trying to kill me, and not smile or anything. "How come you know about it?"

"I watched you," he confessed without shame. Guess it was natural around here, living-sighting, almost like a grotesque Animal Planet documentary.

"Wow. Stalker much?"

He shrugged. " I've been called worse." I watched as he slowly went through all the CDs, taking a good look at half of them, reading some track lists and seemingly getting amused. "Is this band any good? You seem to have a dozen of their CDs and their covers look cool…"

"My Chemical Romance? Yeah, they're awesome. You can take those CDs, if you want to and listen to it somewhere you can?" I offered, hinting how I would prefer to be left alone. He either didn't realize it or didn't give a shit about what I wanted.

"I can borrow them? Thanks, awesome," he smiled at me with a strange mixture of cuteness and gloom.

"Can I offer you anything else?" I asked then, leaning slightly to the side with a raised eyebrow. "A cup of tea? Therapy session? A joke? A kick in the ass?"

He chuckled again, sending a shiver down my spine; whether it was with pleasure or fright I couldn't quite decide. "I got that all covered, thanks. A joke would be nice, though; most around here don't seem to have a sense of humor."

So I've managed to find a ghost who was thirsty for a joke. I really wouldn't have guessed this would happen when I woke up in the morning this day.

"Alright. How do you search for literature? You must be very Thoreau." I've tried to find the lamest joke I've ever heard, hoping it would make him believe I was humorless as well. Of course, it wasn't easy. I mean, I'm naturally hilarious.

When he actually laughed, he managed to startle me.

"That was horrible," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Almost like the 'What does Edgar Allen write? Poe-try' one."

"Great. A book-geek ghost. It gets better and better," I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. "Look, I kind of had a rough past days, would you mind leaving me alone to sleep and then tomorrow I can continue to try to convince you that you actually hate me?"

"I don't hate you," he stated matter-of-factly."You seem interesting."

"Just wait and see," I grinned. He mirrored.

"I'm Tate, by the way. Tate Langdon."

"I know. I'm not happy to meet anyone, but I'm Charlie."

"I know." After a few more moments of him staring at me, and me finding it creepier by the wake, he eventually took a step toward the door. "Well then, I'll get going. You shouldn't forget the salt-circle, this time."

"I won't", I half-promised, half-threatened, and with a final, dimple-showing smile, he disappeared.

The ghosts in this house were sure strange.

I made a double-circle of salt. Just in case.

Sooo, hello, guys! I've been a fan of AHS for a few years now, but recently I watched the first season again (definitely my favourite), and since I've been having the urge to write, I ended up making this. As you can see, there's not that much of interaction between my OC's and the others. It will change, since this is a Tate/OC story, but I don't just want to write something where the main goal is getting the OC into the canon hottie's bed. I'm trying to put together some enjoyable background-story as well, using all kind of supernatural resources including shows like Supernatural. Maybe I can give a satisfactory explanation as to what made the Murder House? And also, taking away some of the darkness and trying to give everyone a kind of pleasurable ending.

Anyway, it's long as it is. I hope you'll stick around, and please, please, let me know what you think about it! It would mean an awful lot. After all, if no one likes is, I might as well just keep it to myself, right? :)

Thanks for reading, and I, sadly, don't own anything!