Early 2026
Purple Tide was what the news called the stuff that spread out over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a new breed of algae-like organisms that bloomed following a major underwater earthquake. The stuff resembled Crimson Tide in the way it grew but it spread a lot faster, encouraged by the surface temperature.
Global warming and pollution took the blame for the spreading organism but no one really understood it. It killed marine life where ever it spread: Fish, mammals, coral, even snails. It spread slower in colder water but it spread nonetheless, till it covered nearly a third of the planet's oceans. By the time scientists found a way to stop its spread, the fishing industry was devastated.
Dead fish, whales, and dolphins that washed ashore had to be incinerated by the tons, deemed unsafe for consumption when several sea birds dropped dead after scavenging from the carcasses. The cleanup efforts on land and out on the waves were heroic and awe-inspiring but, in the end, the people were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of death.
Worse: Underfed nations couldn't stop their hungry from feeding on the poisoned flesh. Emergency rooms, then morgues, filled up as desperate people did what they could to survive in a growing state of worldwide chaos.
Then the dead started to get back up. All massive ecological relief efforts ended as the governments turned their attention to handling the mounting zombie crisis. In Los Angeles, the living abandoned the city, either evacuating further inland toward the border states or retreating to the fortified mansions and cave bunkers of the Hollywood hills.
...
June 2026
The fog covered most of the United States. Other nations were struggling with similar fates: Japan's Aokigahara (Suicide) Forest spewed out enough of the gray mist to cover all of the islands and parts of neighboring areas of China, bringing with it all kinds of ghoulish creatures. China had no shortage of spectral weather of its own: A permanent storm took hold over one the Yun Shan Fan Dian hotel, prohibiting passage to and from the building. For days, hotel guests and workers used their cell phones to beg for assistance but rescue workers couldn't get near the building. Then the calls and texts stopped.
The Ararat Asylum in Australia leaked the same eerie fog to such a degree that it covered the whole landmass. It had a strange effect on the cane toads, bloating them to triple their size in some cases, without killing them. Elsewhere, Frankenstein Castle lived up to its spooky reputation by blanketing both Austria and Germany. In Russia, Black Dolphin Prison was the greatest source of the hellish vapor. Vesuvius, in Italy, erupted violently, taking out three settlements before shrouding the whole continent in more of the same fog that was taking over the planet.
The fog wasn't as easy to detect at first in places like the United Kingdom, but the onset of monsters that came with it was hard to miss. The Isla de las Munecas and Chichen Itza both contributed to the disappearance of South America. The Catacombs of Paris plagued the nation of France with some particularly disturbing creatures. Canada's Craigdarroch Castle may as well have been a historical twin to the Montgomery Mansion, and it spewed out the same spectral fog.
All around the world, things were going crazy.
Cities condensed. Outlying towns and villages were wiped out or fled for the protection of the bigger settlements. Individual hold-outs fell off the grid as power and WiFi became scarce. Television and radio broadcasts became popular again: It was easier for most to pick up those signals rather than the internet. Print also became more popular, as it was the most portable and reliable way to send news. There was a fortified settlement up in the Hollywood Hills, the only one like it in the state of California. There were several homes outside the sanctuary but their owners had to fight to keep them.
The ghosts didn't have to fight to keep Murder House. No creature wanted to risk coming close to that place. The mortals still needed things, though, which required having to go up to the compound for supplies. Jeremiah often took Michael and made a day of it. They could get supplies, catch up on local happenings, and have a nice lunch made by someone else for a change.
They were on one such supply mission, touring the fresh vegetable section of the market, when a man suddenly had a seizure. Michael had never seen anything like it before. One moment, the man was a background object. The next, he was on his back, twitching on the concrete, the center of everyone's attention. He hit his chin on the edge of a bin of grapefruits on his way down and was bleeding all over himself as he convulsed.
"Not again!" exclaimed a thick-set woman nearby. She owned the fruit stand and she came over, waving her hands frantically. She sounded mad, not worried. "I wish he would find someone to shop for him!"
Michael moved closer. Father Jeremiah followed his ward. The grocer looked down at the twitching man as more people gathered around. Nobody seemed to know what to do.
"What's wrong with him?" a skinny man in his late 50's asked.
"He has seizures. Epilepsy, I think," the woman answered. "He comes here and doesn't take his medication and this happens! I can call for the medics but by the time they get here, he'll be up again."
"He does this a lot?" Michael asked, curious.
She looked at him and her brows went up. "Yes and it's always a big pain for everyone. He should find someone to help him."
Michael didn't understand what she meant by that so he looked at the stricken man instead. He'd bitten his tongue and now blood was coming out of his mouth too. The fourteen-year-old tipped his head and then moved closer to the twitching person.
"Don't get too close," the woman cautioned. "It's better just to leave him. He'll get up eventually."
Michael ignored her. He crouched down next to the man and put a hand on his forehead. Then he put another one over the guy's heart. He could feel the brain and heart, wracked with arrhythmic spasms, just like the man's body was. Michael focused on trying to calm those sensations. It was like squeezing the worm-man's brain-heart only instead of popping the organs, he just restrained them.
The man's seizures ceased but Michael didn't notice. He was too wrapped up in the internal organs to care about the shell. The brain was faulty. It was missing little nodules on the neurons in some places. He didn't know the scientific names for the parts but he could tell what was wrong and reshaped those areas they way they should be. It wasn't a perfect job but it was a lot better than before.
The man stirred and took a deep breath as his thoughts cleared and his headache went away. His chin tingled as the flesh there knit up and his tongue itched with rapid healing as well. All around, the gathered crowd murmured and those who still had them recorded footage with their devices and texted friends. Video of the market miracle hit what was left of social media and went viral instantly.
"We should go," Father Jeremiah advised. The crowd was getting livelier as they discussed what they 'd just seen.
"Hey!" said a guy nearby. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a trilby. "Who are you? How did you do that?"
Michael got to his feet and backed toward Father Jeremiah but he looked at the man who was addressing him. "My name is Michael Langdon," he said. "I did it because I can."
He and Father Jeremiah turned to leave then. Several people stayed to help the fallen man and to talk to him about his experience. Others followed the man and boy.
"Can I get your phone number?" an elderly woman asked as she hurried after them. "My grand-daughter is deathly ill. Please! I can pay you!"
Michael kept walking mostly because Father Jeremiah had hold of his arm now and was trying to hurry him to the parking lot. The teen said over a shoulder to her: "Bring her to the fruit seller's stall next Saturday. I'll be there then!"
They hurried away then and the small throng fell back.
The next weekend Father Jeremiah didn't think it was a good idea to go to the market but Michael insisted. He wanted to keep his word to the little old lady. It made him feel in control and confident when he did the things he said he was going to do.
When they got to the Hollywood market, though, they were met with a surprise: The handful of people who had heard he would be there had spread the news. Nearly 300 people had gathered in the market, each in need of assistance. Many couldn't get proper healthcare, being too poor to afford it. Some had conditions that would have been treatable at a hospital but the only one that was doing business was located deep inside the Hollywood Hills compound where all the rich people fled. They didn't let anyone into that sector, not even to get medical care.
Michael was overwhelmed at first but, with the assistance of some of the able-bodied family members of people who came for healing, he was able to help everyone over the course of the day. The massive event was live streamed on the limited data services that still existed. Soon his name was heard in settlements and compounds all over the world.
...
2027
Despite living right next door, it had been nearly two years since Michael was inside the Montgomery Mansion. At first it was the fight that kept him away but then he just got busy. After the mass healing at the Hollywood market, people all over wanted to meet him. He got interview requests and photo requests and people wanting him to travel to them.
Father Jeremiah handled things like scheduling interviews but Michael had to show up and talk to people. He didn't like the publicity part. The people who managed that stuff were pushy and weird. He preferred to deal directly with the individual who wanted to know who he was and what he could do.
It was tiring, though, proving himself to a dying world. He started to miss the simple pleasures of his friendship with the boy next door, so he finally went over to pay him a visit, and to see if he could finally get his mother to talk to him. He wanted her to know the things he been doing. If she knew how he'd been healing people and killing rogue fog monsters with Father Jeremiah, maybe she would be proud of him.
Tate answered the door when the fifteen-year-old rang the bell. For the ghost boy, seeing Michael up close was weird. It was like looking into a warped mirror. The other boy was slightly taller than he was but had the same hair and eye color. They had similar builds. Michael was better dressed; Chad would approve of the pressed black pants and starchy gray button-down shirt the young man wore.
"Hey," greeted Tate when he got over the shock of how much the other boy had grown. He'd barely noticed the time pass. As such, he was still pretty sore over the argument they'd had. "What's up?"
"Hi," Michael smiled. "Can I see Ethan?"
Tate leaned on the door and thought about it. "No."
Michael's smile faded to puzzlement. "Why not?"
"I don't think he wants to see you," Tate shrugged. "He was pretty mad after you left last time."
"Well, will you go ask him?" Michael said. He found it hard to believe his childhood friend would still be grudging over a fight from years before.
"Okay," Tate said with another shrug. "You want to come in and wait while I go get him?"
"Yeah."
Tate let the other teen in then headed for the stairs. He started up but stopped when he noticed Michael was following him. "Go wait in the living room," he said, annoyed. He couldn't pretend to talk to Ethan if the other boy wouldn't leave him alone.
Michael didn't like being ordered around but this wasn't his house. He didn't know why Tate was being a jerk to him and didn't appreciate that either but he headed to the great room to wait as instructed. Tate disappeared into his room upstairs, where he paced for a bit, thinking about what he wanted to do. Finally he went back downstairs, putting on a rueful look as he headed into the sitting room.
"Sorry," he said to Michael, who was sitting on one of the hard gray couches. "Ethan said he doesn't want to see you."
Michael frowned. He wasn't terribly experienced with having real hurt feelings. He didn't know how to react to the torrent of emotions that came with the slight. "He did not."
"Yeah, he did," Tate pressed. "He said you're a dick and the devil's son and he doesn't like you anymore."
Michael was stung. He didn't want to believe Tate but he had been in the house for several minutes now and Ethan hadn't come around to say hi. He always knew when Michael was there. Which meant he didn't want the teen to see him.
"Oh. Okay." Michael's eyebrows burned like they did when he felt like crying. "I guess I'll go."
He got up then and hurried out of the room, hurt and angry. He didn't want Tate to see him cry. The ghost boy watched him leave and felt a pang of regret and self-doubt. But Michael hadn't acted at all sorry for not coming over sooner. He ran off quickly too. If he really wanted to see Ethan, he would have tried harder. That's what Tate told himself.
...
Michael didn't leave the house when he left Tate's company. He almost did, but instead of going out the front door, he went to the stairs instead. He sat down to compose himself before he went home. He didn't need anyone there asking him questions to make him feel worse.
Sitting there in the dark stairway, he wondered where his mother was in the house. Billie Dean had said Vivien didn't want to see Michael. That's what Tate said about Ethan too. It really bothered him that people he should be close to could so easily shut him out. He wondered, too, how they could even do that.
Then he got to thinking about his own strange abilities. He could do things no other human could. That was because he wasn't human, Father Jeremiah had taught him. He was special. He thought about it some more and tried to search for Tate's organs. The worm-man and the people in the market had organs that were different but they were still organs.
Michael couldn't feel anything when he felt for Tate's innards but he wasn't sure if that was because Tate had none or if it was because Michael was too far away. Searching for the insides of any of the ghosts he knew netted the same result. He sighed and propped his chin with one hand.
How could he find something that didn't want to be found? He thought about calling to her but he didn't want to attract unwanted attention from anything else in the house. He wasn't afraid; he knew he could handle anything that might want to hurt him. He just didn't want the company while he was feeling moody.
He thought some more. He was sure there was a way to find her if he just put his will to the matter. He'd cured a dying woman of cancer and brought a fish back from the dead. He homed in on that thought. When Morty was dead, Michael had felt his organs but he had also felt something else: The spark of energy that actually made the fish live.
Michael sat up and focused. This time, instead of trying to find organs, he searched for that energy spark. What he found dazzled him.
The space all around him lit up in his brain like stars. They were everywhere. Over thirty, he guessed, hovering around. Occasionally one would sparkle or dart through space to another spot in the house. They were all different colors, though most were muted hues. Some were round, some were oblong. A few clustered together, flickering like candle flame. Together they gave off a phosphorescent glow that pulsed steadily, like a battery.
He found the effect surprisingly tranquil and it took him several minutes to remember that he was searching for a particular one of those energy signals. He wasn't sure who was who just looking at them, though. He could guess the one in the great room was Tate. He studied that light pattern for a bit, to familiarize himself with it. Tate was like a Tesla ball: faintly purplish blue and giving off erratic sudden bursts of energy in varying sizes and intensities.
The rest of the lights had their own unique colors and brightness levels. Some sparked, some just sat there glowing steadily, or faintly. One, two floors above him, was almost white. It was the brightest of them all and it shimmered with opalescent tones. He oriented on that one, instinctively drawn to it. Soon he was heading up the stairs.
The light was in the music room, hovering near the center. The room, to him, appeared empty and dusty with disuse. He watched the light shimmer in his mind's eye for a few seconds then he stepped into the room. It was cooler in there, despite the sunlight coming through the wide windows.
"Mrs. Harmon? " he said tentatively. He hoped it was her or he'd feel really silly. "Vivien?"
The light dimmed and he could tell it was going to go away. Michael's frustration reached a breaking point and he focused on the energy source, just like he had with Morty. He pulled on the light, willing the soul into his reality with all his might.
She appeared then, fully visible to him. He swayed a little, dizzy from the effort of bringing a dead soul into the material plane.
"What did you just do?" she said, hugging herself.
He brushed his ragged fringe back from his eyes and looked at her. He had never even seen a picture of her before but he knew she was his mother. He could feel it in her essence. To him, she was perfection. She was radiant, like an angel.
"I just want to talk to you," he said.
Vivien looked at him warily. He was as tall as she was and looked so much like his father, she didn't have to ask who he was. She knew when he called to her. It's why she'd tried to retreat.
"I don't have anything to say," she said tightly. She'd never expected to have this conversation.
"Please," he implored. He took a step closer to her and she took a quick step back. "I just want to know... who my mother is."
Vivien looked away. She wasn't stone and the teen boy wasn't without charm. But Michael had caused her nothing but pain when she was alive and if what she'd heard about him was true, he would only bring more pain in the future to anyone close to him.
"I'm not your mother," she said in a shaky voice. She was still looking up at the ceiling so she couldn't see the pain on the teen's face when she said that. If she looked at him, she would cry. "You were a parasite that this house planted in me. You killed me, you killed my baby... and you'll kill again. You destroy things, Michael. It's what you were born to do."
His expression crumbled then and he hugged himself, much like she was doing. He could tell her about all the people he'd helped but to what end? She'd already made up her mind about who and what he was. A parasite. Her murderer. She would never want him, no matter what he did. His own mother thought he was a monster.
After a hard swallow, he found his voice again.
"When Mary was pregnant with Jesus, everyone called her a whore because she wasn't married. When she told them she carried God's baby, they all thought she was crazy. Even Joseph. Then when the baby was born, some crazy king sent murderers after her to kill the baby. It must have been awful for her." He turned and headed for the door. He paused at the doorway but didn't look back. "I forgive you, Mother. I hope someday you can forgive me."
He left then, with the intention of never returning to Murder House again. He spent the rest of the day in his room with the light off. He wasn't crying if nobody saw it.
...
Author's Note:
This chapter's title comes from Everclear's song by the same name. The content is largely inspired by Revelation and real life. I saw someone have a seizure in a store once, similar to what's above. And, sadly, similar to the above, the cashier had a response kind of like this. Frighteningly heartless.
At this point in the story I feel the need to point out the fact that Michael's the bad guy. Don't let his sob story distract you. It's a trap!
Next chapter: Crows and cults!
