Disclaimer: Don't own AHS.

A/N: Apologies for the long hiatus! But enjoy the new chapter :)

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CH 11- The Monsters in Our Home

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The stench was like nothing he had smelled before; pungent and sour. It made his eyes weep and his stomach churn something fierce. He could hear the writhing sounds of the maggots bursting from the animal's belly.

Johnny stared at the animal's corpse with no emotion. He had brought the animal into the shed in their backyard. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, lightly swinging back and forth. Slowly, Johnny's eyes left the animal and wandered to the tool box on the wooden table where he had placed the remains.

He looked back to the body, studying the reality of decomposition in front of him. That's what happened when something died. It's body slowly began to bloat and disintegrate; rotting within a matter of days. From solid to liquid. The smell and sight of putrefaction was repugnant and yet, the boy felt nothing. Aside from the disappearing nausea, he felt nothing. No remorse, no sadness, nothing. He was like a void vessel floating in a sea of emptiness.

Johnny had a flashback to the night his father stuck the needle in his mother's eye. In that moment, Johnny thought he had killed her. Countless nights after Johnny had nightmares of his mother dying. In those first days it he had felt like Lana had died. She was so lifeless in that bed, so unlike her old, vivacious self. Johnny knew she was never the same after that. It was like a new woman had come and taken her place.

Johnny felt the anger rise within him. The images of his mother's body decomposing filled his head like a record stuck on repeat. His hands clenched into tight fists; attempting to hold back the feelings of loss and confusion rousing within him like violent waves.

He lifted his hand and opened the tool box, grasping the first tool that touched his fingers. Staring at the dead animal, he took a step forward.

Lana entered the bedroom. She had just put the baby to bed for the second time that night. Olive was slowly getting better at sleeping through the night but Lana didn't seem to mind the hassle much. It was a mother's duty.

Oliver lay in bed, asleep. Lana stood at the foot of the bed staring at him with a blank expression. There were moments were her mind seem to freeze and restart itself like a broken radio. She felt her body slowly and mildly begin to rock itself back and forth as her blank eyes gazed into nothing. Her fingers twitched slightly.

Oliver felt someone watching him and slowly turned onto his back. He sat up, confused and concerned when he saw Lana rocking in front of the bed, dead eyes on him.

"Lana?" His voice was groggy from sleep.

She didn't hear him.

"Lana!" He spoke her name with greater force and she snapped out of it.

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

She smiled as if nothing had happened, "Yes, of course. What do you mean?"

Oliver remained hesitant. He had noted her acting strange and it was beginning to concern him. "Nothing. Come to bed."

"Yes." Lana did as she was told and climbed into bed with him.

Oliver lay awake long after Lana drifted to sleep. The baby didn't stir again that night.

Lana stood in front of the stove with the baby on her hip. To Oliver it was like a beautiful painting right before his eyes. He couldn't help to smile at what he had created for himself. Even though her behavior had been strange the night before, he had concluded it to just another result of her lobotomy. He was sure it would have caused some minor effects. Still, he would continue to monitor her.

Johnny came running down the stairs like a flash and out the door without a word.

Lana turned her head, as did Olive. Oliver called out to him, following him out the door. "Johnny!"

Johnny dashed down the driveway of their Eureka home and to the corner of the street where the bus arrived every week day morning to take him to school.

Oliver glanced at his pocket watch. Johnny was early and it was unlike him to leave without breakfast or saying goodbye to Olive. That morning he hadn't even looked at her.

"Johnny!"

Johnny slowed down and turned around, walking backwards, "I'm late!"

"The bus isn't even here, son!"

Johnny just shrugged and continued on his way. One of his friends was already waiting in the corner. Oliver shook his head and returned inside the house.

"That boy is in a rush this morning." Oliver commented as he entered the kitchen.

Lana had sat Olive on her high chair while she continued to cook breakfast. Oliver took his seat at the table, smiling at his daughter. Scout was scratching at the back door, whining. Oliver took notice and found it odd. At that time Scout was usually waiting by the front door as if Johnny would turn around and come back for him. However, Johnny had left and Scout was without a worry. His attention was on the other side of the back door.

"In a minute, Scout." Lana told the Beagle. "Your boy should have taken you out before he left. I'll have a talk with him when he gets back."

"Quiet down, Scout." Oliver told the dog but Scout was relentless.

Oliver stood and let the dog out. Scout did not hesitate and like a bullet shot out the door and into the yard. He ran straight to the shed in the back. Oliver watched as the little dog barked his way to the shed like a hound with a scent. He reached the shed door, barked and whined, scratching at the door. He let out a long howl like a true hound on the hunt.

"Hey! Thredson!"

Oliver's attention snapped to the fence where his neighbor peered his head. "It's a little early, don't you think?" He gestured at the dog.

Oliver stepped out the door onto the patio, not giving his neighbor much attention, "Mind your business, Bert."

"Agh!" Bert waved his hand at Oliver and continued to tend to his yard.

"Alright, enough is enough." Oliver reached Scout, waving him away from the shed. "What in the world has gotten into you?"

Scout glanced up at Oliver and exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he did. He then stuck his nose under the door of the shed and began to dig at the pavement beneath it. Oliver glanced up at the door. A red hand print was smeared on the handle. It then hit him, the smell of decay.