Disclaimer: None of the characters portrayed are of my own creation. American Horror Story is the creative property of Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. Rated T.


Chapter 2:

The room was dark, barely illuminated by the little light that came from the other side of the door. All of the windows were shuttered. Maybe so you couldn't see the dust that had collected over time and was settling on books and furniture like grey snow. It wasn't like it mattered to anyone anyhow. Her dad hardly ever entered the room that used to be his office and nobody else cared to leave their chosen spots around the house.

At first she didn't know what she was looking for, but something drew her there, and as she stumbled around in the dusty, black mess that was a room, she accidentally knocked the coffee table, which was stupidly placed between an armchair and the couch.

Standing in the dark she cursed.

As Violet bent down to pick up books and papers she had sent into disorder, she had to search the ground with no light to indicate where she had to look.

There was of course the option of opening the shutters on the windows, but she didn't want anyone to see and disturb her.

Kneeling on the floor, she slid her hands across the wood, mainly gathering up dust. The couch to her right was the next place she looked. However, as she moved them under the piece of furniture, her fingers met something, which immediately made her flinch. What she had touched felt a lot more like skin than paper.

She pulled back her hand and clasped it over her mouth so she wouldn't scream.

However, there was no one but herself in the room, as she heard no breathing or movement.

Violet carefully walked to the door, always facing the couch.

She wondered why she was shaking so much.

Stop being so stupid. It was probably just a leather-bound book or something. Come on now. Go and pick it up and have it done with. What are you so afraid of?

She walked back to where she had fled from a minute ago; slowly at first, then, rolling her eyes at her behaviour, at a normal pace. Without giving herself time for second thoughts, she dove under the couch and quickly grabbed whatever was lying there, determined to be able to leave straight afterwards.

What she held in her hands was indeed a book, but it was bound in a material that lacked the tough and dry texture of leather. It was soft and warm like the skin of a living, breathing person. She could hardly tell the difference between the material that had been used for the book and her own skin.

Wide-eyed and fingers shaking, Violet stared at the book in her hands. She had two possibilities: a.) leave it where she had found it or b.) take it with to her room.

She chose the latter: Partly because, for some weird reason, she didn't want anybody else to find it; but mainly because she was bored with her life; or should she say death. Nothing ever happened and this would entertain her for at least a few hours. There was also something that seemed slightly off about the book, which she liked.

Deciding that nobody would notice it tucked under her bulky cardigan she left the room and slipped into hers as quickly as possible.

This, for some reason, gave her a sense of privacy, although she knew that anyone could come in at any time and there wasn't really much she could do about it.

Her eyes slowly adapted to the bright sunlight that was pouring into her room from the window, which she couldn't remember having opened.

But this didn't concern her at that moment and was briefly noticed yet not thought about.

She still stood leaning onto the bedroom door, unconsciously digging the nails of her left hand into the wood, while the right one supported the weight of the book.

Her beating heart and fast, shallow breathing expressed her feeling of impending disaster, which wasn't founded in anything going on at that moment.

The longer she stayed in that position, however, the stronger this anxiety became. Waves of goose bumps raced up and down her body; her mind voiced its frightened thoughts as a whisper in her ear. The ordinary features of her room seemed to be warped into something surreal, despite not changing their appearance.

These moments left her gasping for breath, as if she hadn't breathed for several minutes.

In one swift motion she flung the book away from herself, without even having thought about doing anything of the kind. Something made her think that it was responsible for what she had felt just then, but she quickly dismissed the thought telling herself not to be ridiculous.

Exhausted and confused by this experience, her knees gave in under her weight and she slid to the ground unable to break her fall. Her arms hung limp by her side. Before she could do anything, consciousness slipped away from her and was replaced by blackness.

When she awoke later on, she noticed that some time must have passed, because her room looked much darker than it had done before.

There was still no power in her limbs. Despite that she tried to drag herself across the floor to where her bed was. Any movement resulted in a stab of migraine to her left temple.

All this was too much for her to bear and she, once again, collapsed on the ground; this time right next to where the book had landed on her carpet, not quite knowing what to do.

The volume lay there and Violet decided to read it, as that was what she had dragged it to her room for, after all.

Dismissing her behaviour as some sort of panic attack, she slowly straightened up from her cowering position. As she looked around the room, her eyes fixed on the bedside cabinet, where she remembered having a pack of cigarettes.

By stretching her arm out far, she managed to reach the drawer of the cabinet and open it. But she couldn't reach inside from her position and tried to pull the drawer out further, which resulted in her pulling the whole cabinet towards herself. It toppled over and crashed onto the floor right next to her.

Violet cursed under her breath, hoping the noise hadn't raised the suspicion of any of the ghosts. The contents of the drawer were scattered on the floor. Among them was something she recognised to be a pack of cigarettes.

Pulling out the last one from the pack and lighting it with a match from a box she had in her trouser pocket, she hoped it would calm her down. She almost dropped the lit match onto the floor because her hands were shaking so much.

A few minutes were enough for her to calm herself down again. The cigarette was a lot steadier in her hand and she frequently glanced at the book on the floor, deciding what to do.

Violet had grabbed hold of the book before even deciding to do so. She held it in front of her face. For the first time she had the opportunity to examine it closely. It looked like any ordinary leather-bound book. The gold lettering on the front and spine bore the title "Tales of the Pure, the Obscure and the Sinister". However, despite its ordinary appearance, she still thought that the red material the book was bound in felt like the skin of a living creature.

In some places the material looked worn and she could see that the pages were yellowed. Overall it appeared to be quite old; possibly as old as the house.

Violet's interest was rekindled and the goose bumps she got when touching the book weren't uncomfortable anymore. They were more like those one would get when witnessing something especially exciting.

Feeling a lot more at ease and like herself again, she almost laughed at how ridiculous she had acted only hours ago. She supposed the excitement of something new in the house, coupled with the fright she got when finding the book in the library had simply been overwhelming to her.

Lost in thought Violet had forgotten all about her cigarette and was harshly called back to reality by being burnt on the finger by the glowing stump. She laid the book back onto the ground and walked to the window to throw the cigarette butt out into the garden.

A crow that landed on a branch of the tree opposite her window made her think about what she had been told about the freedom of birds and she, more than ever before, longed to have that freedom.

Something, however, was weird about the bird, as it stared straight at her, not moving once. Its beady eyes fixed on hers.

Violet shuddered and closed her window and the curtains. Despite all this, she still felt like she was being observed.

Her room was now completely dark, but she couldn't open the curtains again. The bird was, no doubt, still there.

There was really no reason why she should be afraid of it, but she felt like she needed some time alone to make up her mind and calm down and the bird disturbed that.

There was only one light switch and it was on the wall on the other side of the room, which was still in a mess with half her possessions scattered across the floor.

In a few strides she crossed the room and reached the light switch, but noticed it didn't work.

She stood there frozen for a moment, then realised their electricity must have been cut and cursed under her breath. There was no way she could read the book without a source of light.

On top of being haunted by a bloody history, the house was now also enveloped in darkness for 12 hours of the day, which undoubtedly added to its many charms.

Violet once again found herself in a dilemma. She wanted to read the book on her bedroom floor, but she would need candles to do that. However, she didn't know where she would find any and didn't really feel like searching for them in the pitch-black house, never knowing when a ghost might jump out at her and also didn't feel like accidentally falling down the staircase or tripping over something that was left on the ground by someone.

Given the situation she didn't really have a choice and decided to wait until morning.


He didn't really know what lead him there. It was kind of also his room, which actually gave him the right to be there, but he would hardly believe thoughts like this. Everything about it spoke of her. From the clothes that lay scattered on the floor by the bed, to the laptop on the desk.

This was hers and he had no business to be there. There was nothing he could do there anyhow and what sense was there in being in her room, if she wasn't with him?

But Tate couldn't bring himself to leave, no matter how well he knew he should. He was held there by some weird combination of hope and remembrance.

Remembrance because of a stack of CDs he saw standing on a table. Because of her bed. And hope because he also saw a book about birds, which he picked up and held in his hands, his body being racked with sobs.

More than anything else, this showed him she hadn't forgotten about him. And perhaps his presence in her mind would, at some point, lead to forgiveness.

He could hear approaching footsteps and threw the book away in shock. His only possibility of leaving the room, without her knowing he had been there, was through the window.

He tore it open and stood on the window-ledge, jumping out before having time to think about the consequences. The two metre drop passed him in a haze and he felt the collision of skin with the pathway; the crunch of his breaking bones.

The feeling made his vision go black. In too much agony to even groan, he lay there. But in death pain passed faster than it ever had in life and after this first sensation of being crushed to a pulp, he quickly recovered.

The physical suffering was gone, but the tears on his cheeks, the devastated look in his eyes betrayed that it was still felt; although the origin of this pain had nothing to do with his fall.

His hands scraped the ground while Tate tried to get a grip onto something so he could drag himself up. As he lifted his eyes off the ground, there was someone standing over him.

"Now, has the strength of your passion brought you to your knees or is there some other reason you're crawling around in the dust?"

He knew her voice and without looking at her face Tate could tell Hayden had a smirk on her lips and eyes dark from disappointment and the resulting hate.

"Don't think the girl will be too thrilled when she finds out you've been creeping around her room. What'd you do there anyhow? Jerking off to her cardigan?"

Every syllable was mocking him and Tate could feel anger well up inside. Still on the ground he charged at her and exclaimed something that was a cross between a groan and a scream.

Hayden easily dodged him by stepping aside and let out a bitter laugh.

Tate didn't try to get up; he didn't think he was strong enough to. He felt Hayden crouch down next to him and jab her elbow between his shoulder blades, making him exhale sharply in slight pain and a rage that was becoming stronger with every second. Hayden's mouth moved close to his ear.

"Look here you little shit: Don't even think about it. You all think you can do what the fuck you like. I'm not having it. So hold back your fucking anger issues."

She still held him in place with her elbow, but Tate knew he was a lot stronger than her anyway.

Hayden moved her mouth even closer and he felt her reduce the pressure of her elbow.

"Why'd you even bother with her anymore, anyhow? You could have me, you know. Don't you want that?"

Her elbow was now only resting on his back.

"I could make you feel better than she ever has. What's so special about her anyway? She's-"

In one moment he gave way to his rage and whirled around punching her in the face pushing her away from him. The strength of the blow sent Hayden crashing to the ground.

His breathing heavy, Tate tried to keep his voice quiet.

"Don't you dare speak about her. She is so much more than you could ever be. You are nothing."

Hayden moved a hand to her face to stop the trickle of blood from her temple, which is where her head had collided with the pathway. She then started:

"She doesn't want you, Tate. Violet hates you and she's right to do so."

He put his hands around her throat and Hayden hissed through gritted teeth, this replacing her previous screaming.

Tate held her by the neck, lifting her off the ground slightly. In his eyes Hayden could see such rage, as she had never known to exist.

"Shut up. Shut up, you- never say her name again. And don't shout; I don't want her to witness this or I swear I will hurt you more than you ever knew was possible."

The lack of air in her system made Hayden's poker face dissipate into one of suffering, begging for mercy. Tate thoughtlessly threw her to the side and left the garden as quickly as possible, hoping his run-in with Hayden hadn't drawn Violet's attention.

When he found his way back to the basement, his fury still hadn't subsided and Tate tried to find some outlet for it. However, punching the walls did little to make him feel better and it was only after he had bashed his head against them a few times, that his pain and anger were removed for a while by him fainting.


A/N: So this chapter is a bit longer. I hope you like it. Thank you for all the views and the review. It means a lot to me! :)

It might take a while until chapter three is up, because I am on holiday for the next three weeks, but I'll see what I can do!