"Hey, Dad, I need-," Mallory began as she headed into her father's room that night only to be stopped in her tracks by some blonde woman (undoubtedly just a few years older than Mallory herself) bouncing on her father's dick. "Oh, of course," she moaned.
"Wha- Mallory?!" Her father hollered and Mallory rolled her eyes.
"When did she even get here?!" Mallory exclaimed.
"She came while you were locked away in your room like I said you would be," Michael huffed. "This is why you need Westfield High."
In truth, Mallory had actually been talking to Violet about when the girl had died and how she had lead what she thought was her life before Tate showed her that she actually was dead.
"Never mind that," Mallory sighed. "I came to ask where the spare pillows in the house were but clearly you're busy."
"Yes, so, you would do well to get your ass out of here!" Michael hollered.
"Oh, give her a break, Mikey," the blonde cooed as she rubbed her hands up Michael's chest. "She's just a little kid."
"A little kid?" Mallory scoffed. "I'm probably around the same age as you."
"Really?" the blonde smiled, glancing back at Mallory with wide eyes. "I'm twenty, how old are you?!"
"Eighteen," Mallory sighed. "Really?" She moaned, looking back at her father. "Twenty?"
Her father just rolled his eyes, undoubtedly thinking he shouldn't have to listen to his own daughter judging who he was with.
"How much did he pay you because you gotta be walking out of here fucking rich for fucking someone like him," Mallory hummed.
"Oh, just my usual rates," the blonde shrugged.
"Ah, so you're a hooker," Mallory nodded. "Figures," she scoffed. "Nobody would want to sleep with him if it wasn't their job."
"Mallory!" Michael hollered.
"I've actually always wondered, do you guys take pills like those ones guys take to get their dicks up just so you can fuck guys like him?" Mallory asked. "Or is it just a lot of alcohol."
"Sometimes both," the blonde smiled. "Why, do you want one?"
"Nah," Mallory smirked. "See, I just saw two horrifyingly disgusting things in one day so if I try to eat I'll probably throw up the vomit I've been holding back," she said calmly and Michael rolled his eyes. "But just a word of advice so you can get things over quick with him. I know you're not having a good time so just act like you came and finish yourself off later. If you drag it out he'll just keep asking for you again and again," she sighed.
"Mallory!" Michael barked. "Are you going to leave?!"
"Not until you tell me where the pillows are because as much as I hate this," she said, gesturing to the woman on top of her father. "You making out with the old maid earlier was enough to stop me from vomiting up my dinner at the sight of a twenty-year-old having a horrible time."
Michael groaned and tossed his hands up in the air as though he was asking whatever God he believed was out there why he had to have children. "The pillows are in the goddamn attic, now for Christ's sake, leave me alone!" He roared.
"Gladly," she huffed and was all too happy to slam the door and turn away.
She headed down the corridor to where the attic laid and after a quick hop up to grab the staircase, she headed up into the attic and frowned at her dark surroundings.
"Oh, why is it always the attics and basements that are dark and creepy?" Mallory moaned, rolling her eyes at the area. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and used its light to peer through all the boxes piled up in the attic. "Damn it," she muttered. "All the previous inhabitants must have their stuff left up here."
It was going to take ages for her to find the box of pillows when her father hadn't marked any of the boxes filled with household items.
As she glanced around the piles of boxes to see if she could spot which ones appeared to be clean and not covered in cobwebs or piles of dust, a small rubber ball bounced as it rolled down the floor and hit her feet.
"What the-?" Mallory frowned. She glanced down and picked up the ball before turning to look at its origins.
She couldn't see anybody lurking behind the dark black shadows so she had no way of knowing if someone had really rolled the ball or it had just slid down the floor once she had entered the attic.
Mallory shook her head and dismissed the manner, rolling the ball so it wouldn't go too far, but it was out of her way.
Just as she began to continue looking through the boxes, the ball rolled back to her.
Mallory stared down at it with wide eyes before picking it up once again. Slowly, she crept away from the boxes and glanced across the shadows searching for a face.
"Hello?" Mallory implored. "Who's here?"
Rather than a verbal response, she just received a strange clanging of chains.
"Can you not show your face?" Mallory guessed. It was likely that the chains were keeping him tied to one spot, incapable of moving too far. In response, once again, the chains clanged. Mallory glanced down at the ball in her hands and frowned. "Do you just want to play?" She asked.
The chains clanged, but this time they were much more frantic as though whoever was chained up was jumping.
Mallory smiled. "Okay, I think I've got some time on my hands," she hummed.
She walked over to the center of the attic floor and sat down before rolling the ball towards whoever was chained up. It was easy to assume that this was another one of the ghosts, otherwise Marcy had left out quite a major detail about a person being chained up in the attic and Mallory hoped full disclosure at least required her to mention that.
Mallory's only concern was who had chained some poor innocent person up in the attic and who had killed them?
She grinned as she rolled the ball to the individual and it was quickly rolled back to her. Little did she know, at that exact moment her father had decided to enter the attic and show her which box was filled with pillows.
"Can you show your face?" Mallory asked as she continued to roll the ball. "I'm not going to hurt you and I won't be afraid," she assured the person.
"Mallory?" Michael implored and Mallory jumped up with wide eyes. "Who the hell are you talking to?"
"I-uh-I, nobody," Mallory shook her head fiercely just as the ball rolled back to her and hit her in the foot.
Michael frowned at the ball before shaking his head and sighing softly. "You're talking to yourself now?" He deadpanned. "We really need to get you some friends."
"I had a friend back in Florida," Mallory snapped. "Before you yanked me from my home and drove to the other side of the country just so you could get away from the memory of my mother."
"We are not having this discussion now," Michael sighed. "In three weeks you'll be heading back to school and I won't have to deal with you lurking around every corner and interrupting me when I'm with somebody."
"You were with a hooker," Mallory scoffed. "I hardly feel like that's important."
"Oh, just-," Michael huffed and shook his head. "I'm showing you where the pillows and then I'm going to bed. Something I suggest you do if you know what's good for you," he warned.
Michael pulled himself up and into the attic and hunted through the boxes before glimpsing at one box in the center of the pile. He smirked and climbed over the nother boxes so he could pick it up and toss it to her.
"There. All the pillows you could ever need. Now, go the fuck to bed," Michael instructed and Mallory rolled her eyes as he headed back down the steps.
Mallory took a deep breath and leant down, rolling the ball one last time to the person in the shadows. "I'll come back tomorrow so we can play," she smiled. "Maybe, then you can show me who you are," she proposed with a nod.
With a final sigh, Mallory headed down the steps and closed up the attic for the night.
She headed back to her room and after she placed the box on the ground she noticed yet another person lurking in her room and looking through her things.
"A Clockwork Orange," the blonde boy remarked with a nod. "Nice."
"Do you guys just like appearing in people's rooms?" Mallory moaned as she opened up the box.
"Nah," the boy smiled. "It's just Violet and I in this room since it used to be ours," he shrugged. "Well, originally it was mine, then it was hers."
"And now it's mine," Mallory nodded. "So, tell me why you're here looking through my things just like her."
The blonde boy glanced down and took a deep breath. "I'm Tate," he said and Mallory's eyes widened.
"You're the ghost who managed to have a kid after death?" Mallory implored and Tate nodded. "Damn," she snorted. "I've never heard of a potent ghost before," she mumbled.
"Yeah, well, Violet hates me because of what I did," Tate huffed.
"That's no surprise," Mallory shrugged as she placed her pillows on her bed and pulled down her sheets. "You raped her mother, I mean I think that's how a normal person would react."
"But I'm not like that anymore," Tate insisted. "I changed, I mean, she changed me."
Mallory eyed Tate curiously for a moment. "Do you regret what you did to her mother?" She asked.
"Yes!" Tate exclaimed. "Of course! I-."
"No, wait," Mallory paused him, holding up a hand. "Do you regret it because you know she didn't like it or because you know it was wrong?" She asked and Tate faltered. "Exactly," Mallory smiled. "You haven't changed from what you did, Tate. You only want Violet to stop hating you," she shrugged.
"You sound like Dr Harmon," Tate mumbled.
"Oh, God forbid I sound like some shrink," Mallory moaned. "I love my mom but she had me see one the entire time I was a teenager and only stopped when she got sick because she couldn't afford it."
"Didn't you hate it?" Tate smirked.
"Of course," Mallory chuckled. "I only really had one friend when I got to high school and before then let's just say I wasn't the most popular kid on the street," she sighed. "Because of that, I stayed home a lot and just hung out in my room and he said that meant I was completely antisocial. My mom thought it was horseshit, but my dad bought into it."
"So, what did you do?" Tate wondered, leaning against her bed as he listened.
"There wasn't anything I could do," Mallory shrugged. "When the shrink finally got the balls to announce I had antisocial personality disorder, my dad wasn't even living with us. He got the news regardless but he was only able to start doing something about it when he was actually taking care of me," she said and Tate nodded in understanding.
"I thought antisocial personality disorder had more to it than just not talking to people," Tate mumbled.
"Oh, it does," Mallory nodded. "I'm also hostile, irresponsible, and irritable," she smiled.
Tate smirked. "Well, I was diagnosed as 'the worst kind of psychopath' according to Dr Harmon," he said and Mallory snorted.
"Good to meet you," she hummed, holding out her hand and shaking Tate's while he laughed.
"Now, I know where you get your interest in Clockwork Orange," Tate said and Mallory chuckled.
"Yeah," Mallory sighed. "Alex is great, but I like him better in the movie than the book," she shrugged.
"I think that's the first time anybody has ever said that," Tate chuckled and Mallory smiled.
"The book ending just seems so phony," Mallory muttered as she laid back on her bed and stared up at Tate. "I mean sure it's great he went back to being good, but it didn't really feel like the book lead up to that. I like the movie ending where he went back to being bad again much better."
Tate grinned. "Me too," he nodded. He glanced around the room and took a deep breath. "Do you think I stand a chance at getting her back?" He wondered.
Mallory sighed softly and shook her head. "You raped her mother, Tate, and then her mom died during childbirth. If it weren't for you, her mother would be alive."
"I didn't want to kill her mom," Tate muttered, walking over and sitting on Mallory's bed by her side. "I just wanted to give Nora a baby."
"Who's Nora?" Mallory frowned.
"Oh, she was-she's the original lady who lived in the house," Tate shrugged. "Her husband built the house for her."
"Ah," Mallory nodded. "And she wanted a baby?"
"Yeah," Tate mumbled. "I just wanted to make her happy," he sighed.
"Well, according to Violet, her mom was pregnant with her dad's child and your child so technically she could have had a baby even if you hadn't raped her," Mallory reminded the boy.
"I know that," Tate nodded. "I know that now, and my mom is raising the kid but I still want to apologize somehow."
"Constance is your mom?" Mallory snorted.
"Yeah," Tate mumbled. "She comes over to visit now and then," he shrugged. "She'll also go upstairs and visit Beau even though she was the one that killed him."
"Oh, so that's who's upstairs," Mallory hummed, nodding in understanding. "He wouldn't show his face when I was playing with him."
"He rarely does," Tate shook his head. "Ever since mom chained him up and made him feel like a monster he's been afraid to show his face," he muttered bitterly.
"God, and I thought she wasn't that bad of a parent," Mallory scoffed. "Maybe, that's just because she's raising another psychopath," she shrugged.
"What?" Tate frowned.
"Oh," Mallory winced. "Yeah, your son did this to me," she said, revealing the stitches on her arm. "And he tried to murder my dog."
"Why would he do that?" Tate wondered.
"Violet said something about the antichrist," Mallory shrugged. "Apparently when a dead guy and a living woman make somebody he's gonna be the antichrist."
"Oh, shit," Tate moaned, pulling his knees up to his chest and rubbing his forehead. "I made the antichrist?"
"Only probably," Mallory said. "Don't beat yourself up. There's every chance that he's only as psychotic as your mom."
"Oh, great," Tate scoffed and Mallory laughed.
"Don't worry about Violet," Mallory sighed. "She seems okay right now and maybe one day someone else she likes will die in the house and she'll be able to be happy."
"There was this other kid," Tate mumbled.
"Violet told me," Mallory nodded. "Another family that lived here that you guys scared out."
"Yeah, and they had a son that I could tell Violet liked. I tried to kill him so she could have him forever, but I just couldn't do it," Tate muttered. "He just kept looking at me and I didn't want him to die looking so afraid."
"That makes sense," Mallory nodded. "And Tate, as much as I'd love to keep up this conversation, I really don't want to end up going to bed at two in the morning because I stayed up talking to a dead guy all night."
Tate chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah that makes sense," he sighed. "Can I by chance hang out with you tomorrow?" He asked, raising a hopeful brow. "I think I like talking to you."
"Sure," Mallory smiled. "It's not like I've got plans to do anything other than talk to dead people," she said and Tate laughed.
He headed out and Mallory grinned as she watched him leave. He was cute and despite the weird rape thing two years ago, Mallory could totally see herself developing a crush on him.
And it was with that thought that she drifted off into the first happy slumber she'd had since before her mother got sick.
When she woke up, she found Moira creepily lingerly at the foot of her bed and screamed.
"I don't mean to startle you, Miss, I just came in here to tell you that your father is demanding you go downstairs and meet him for breakfast," Moira explained and Mallory rolled her eyes as she shoved her sheets off her frame.
"You couldn't wake me up and tell me that?" Mallory grumbled as she pulled on some pyjama shorts she had laying on her floor already after two days of living in that house.
"He ordered me not to wake you up so he could see just how late you had stayed up," Moira recalled and Mallory groaned.
"Word of advice, Moira," Mallory sighed, grabbing the glass of water the maid held out for her and downing it in one gulp. "Just because you weirdly made out with my father doesn't mean you have to follow every little detail he commands. Especially, when he's not looking."
"I didn't make out with him he forced himself on me!" Moira exclaimed and Mallory turned to her with wide eyes. "Forgive me, Madam, but at the heart of all men is the wish to do what they want when they want without thought of any consequences."
"Ain't that the truth?" Mallory snorted. "And I know he has a sex drive that should be a crime when you're a parent," she sighed. "But what can I do?" She shrugged. "I'm stuck with him until I get enough money to buy my own place."
"You must wish for a more convenient way to rid yourself of him," Moira smiled and Mallory chuckled.
"Oh, almost always," Mallory hummed. "But never mind that, I have to go down and appease his royal highness before he throws a fit like a four-year-old and not the forty-year-old he is," she said and Moira's laughed followed her as she headed out into the corridor and down the stairs.
"Oh, finally!" Michael exclaimed when he spotted her. "She comes to graces us with her presence," he sighed.
"What corner store did you get breakfast from before trying to pass it off as your own?" Mallory retorted as she pulled some cereal out of the cupboard.
"Poppy and Rose," Michael mumbled. "Did you stay up again?" He asked.
"That's none of your business," Mallory sighed. "I'm eighteen and not in school, I should be able to stay up as late as I please."
"You'll be in school soon," Michael reminded her. "And as long as you're under my roof, you will live under my rules which means you go to bed when I tell you."
"You're a damn fool if you think this roof is yours," Mallory snorted as she pulled the milk out of the fridge.
"Mallory Blake, it's time you start realizing that I am your parent and my word is law," Michael snapped.
"I'll start acknowledging that you're my parent when you start acting like it," Mallory retorted. "But then again you were never capable of doing that were you?"
"Godammit Mallory!" Michael barked, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. "I am your father and you will treat me with some respect!"
"I'll treat you with respect when you, at the very least, give me some common human decency and don't fuck anybody and everybody that has a goddamn vagina!" Mallory yelled. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you haven't added me to your list of victims yet," she hissed, and that was Michael's tipping point.
Her father marched across the house and wrapped his fingers around her throat, pressing just hard enough to stop her from being able to breathe. He slammed her into the wall behind her and glared at her, pressing harder against her throat the more she struggled.
"Listen, you little bitch, if you want to keep me from leaving you on that bed in the attic and locking the fucking door you will do as I say. That means you don't walk in on me when I'm with somebody and you do what I say when I say it," Michael ordered. "If you can't even be bothered to obey your father there is nothing stopping me from sending you wherever I want and leaving you there to die," he hummed. "In fact, I could kill you right now," he smirked as he pressed down harder on her throat and Mallory let out a choked cry of pain. "You can join your little mommy and leave me here in fucking peace," he smiled, pressing down harder on her throat.
"Let her go," a voice commanded from the doorway leading into the dining room.
Michael's hands slid higher up Mallory's throat, but they didn't release her. "And who the hell are you?!" He barked.
Mallory fought to look at the source of the voice, but luckily he walked into her line of sight so she could notice him.
It was Tate. Tate was rescuing her.
"I'm her friend from the neighborhood," Tate shrugged.
"Since when do you have friends?!" Michael barked, jostling Mallory uncomfortably as though she could give an answer while his hands were around her throat.
"We met when you were moving in," Tate said. "Now, let her go or I'll call the cops," he said, holding up Mallory's phone and raising a brow at Michael.
Michael rolled his eyes and tossed Mallory onto the ground where Tate scrambled after her.
"I let her go, so if you breath a fucking word of this to your parents or the cops I'll put you both in the ground behind this house," Michael warned.
Tate nodded and raised his hands in surrender, silently assuring her father that he only wanted to make sure Mallory was alright.
Michael took a deep breath and nodded before marching out of the dining room and up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him.
"Are you alright?" Tate mumbled, pushing back Mallory's hair so she could breathe without sucking in a face full of hair.
Mallory coughed and as she struggled to regain her breath, she nodded.
Tate took a deep breath and glanced around the room before helping Mallory to her feet. He headed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before running back to Mallory and handing it to her.
"Here, drink this," Tate offered.
Mallory took a few sips before coughing and rubbing her throat once again. "It's hard to swallow," she croaked.
"It's okay," Tate nodded. "We'll go up to the attic," he assured her. "We'll be safe there."
Mallory could do nothing more than nod numbly as Tate took her arm and wrapped it around her shoulders so he could help her up the stairs towards the attic.