Tate wandered down the rocky path to the secluded patch of beach he liked to think of as his. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, he split his attention between the path ahead and the shoreline. Fog swirled over the sand and the waves equally, fully covering everything but not thickly. He could move freely but he could also see quite a distance that afternoon. When he got down to the sand he noticed that most of it was still covered in snow. He never imagined he would see snow in Los Angeles or on a beach.

He paused near a small blue-white drift and stuck his fingers in, wondering if there was enough to craft a snowball. Violet had stayed behind to talk to her parents about something, but she said she would join him when she was finished. It would be fun to pelt her with one when she came down. The stuff was too wet to compact into a proper ball though.

"Hell must've frozen over," he quipped, letting the mushy stuff dribble from his hand.

With no one around to appreciate his wit but the rolling waves of the ocean, he lost interest in the snow. As he moved closer to the surf, he noticed he could see further out than he had in a while, even at Halloween. He found himself a large flat rock to sit on and wait for Violet. Normally he would sit on the sand, but it was abnormally damp from the weather. He didn't want a wet butt. He could resist the damp effects if he really wanted to. It would be resisting his own belief in his realness though, so he generally avoided things like that when it wasn't necessary.

He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped both arms around them. He hoped Violet would get there soon. He didn't want to get too lost in his thoughts. Too many weird things had happened lately that he didn't understand, things he was pretty sure he didn't want to understand. Things like Patrick crying the other night, or the strange incident with Dr. Harmon at the beginning of the week. Stranger things than usual were happening at Murder House, which was why Tate and Violet decided to meet on the beach.

Despite not wanting to get lost in his thoughts, there was nothing else to do and Tate couldn't just not think. He tried drawing in the sand with his finger but that was hardly distracting. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Violet was anywhere in sight and startled when he saw several shadow people standing on the beach behind him, all in a silent row.

He scrambled to his feet and faced them, fists clenched in case they tried to jump him. But they just stood there. Silent. The mist swirled around them, so he knew they were there and not something he was imagining.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

They didn't move. None of them spoke.

Unnerved by the silent treatment and irritated by it as well, he bent to grab a flat beach stone. He tossed it and caught it, feeling its heft as he straightened again. "I know Hollywood's fresh out of celebrities but you dickheads have got to stop following me around," he said with false flippancy. "I don't do autographs."

With that, he lobbed the rock at the nearest one of the shadow people. He really put some curve and speed into the pitch. He wanted to see the thing's porkpie hat fly off. The stone struck and bounced harmlessly off the creature's head, landing in the sand nearby. The hat stayed put.

Tate gave the line of dark figures new appraisal. They were effectively cutting him off from physical access to the steps that led off the beach. They were between him and Violet. He could see her up on the bluff, heading for the stairs. She hadn't seen the shadow people yet. Taking a step to the side, he tried to shift himself to her side of the wall of cloaked figures. It was quite a surprise when he just took a step to the side. He was still between the shadow people and the ocean.

In order to get to Violet, he would have to cross the line of hat men.

—

Violet wasn't paying attention to what was down below. Her thoughts were still on the argument she'd had with her mother before leaving the house. The subject had been Michael. Vivien didn't like to talk about him, but Violet had to know what she thought about the new twins, and broaching that subject inevitably brought Michael's name into the mix. Things had spiraled downward from there.

Violet's encounters with the Antichrist were rare enough to count on the fingers of one hand. She didn't trust the vibe he gave off or his intentions, but she could tell there was more to him than crusty old religious prophecies and blood sacrifices. He held answers to the things that were going on, she was sure. Her mother couldn't care less. She wanted nothing more than to pretend she had nothing to do with Michael's birth and Violet wasn't cruel enough to shove in her face the fact that Michael wouldn't even exist without her.

After a long, heated, and ultimately fruitless debate, Violet had finally abandoned ship. She didn't want to keep Tate waiting too long. She was readying to call down to him when she reached the rickety stairway that led down the bluff to the beach. The words died on her lips when she saw the shadow people all in a line on the beach.

Violet, who had never seen one of the inky entities before, was put in mind of carnival barkers. The hat shaped outline atop their heads resembled the porkpie hat the carnies of the 1920's used to wear when trying to rope in customers for the side show. They had no other distinguishing features. They were simply dark forms rowed up on the frozen sand.

A cold wind whispered up the shore, silent under the roll of the nearby waves. The icy air would have chilled her if she'd been alive; she wore no coat and the thin, baggy gray sweater she wore was hardly proof against the winter. She wasn't inclined to let the elements distract her, though, so she simply didn't let the cold touch her. She started to call to Tate, to let him know she was there for him, but she hesitated. She didn't want to attract the attention of whatever had him hemmed in with his back to the surf, without knowing what was going on first.

She made it down to the landing that switched the steps back midway down the bluff where she paused. Through the fog, she could see a large wave rolling in. It was easily hip-high; twice as tall as the waves it chased to shore. Violet was no ocean expert, but the size of the wave was significant enough to make her wonder what caused the aberration. One more thing that didn't sit right with her about the whole situation.

"Tate," she called, forgoing stealth. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."

"I'd love to," he responded with a crooked grin. He kept his eyes on the line of imposing shadow people. "But I seem to be stuck."

"Just shift over here," Violet encouraged impatiently.

"Tried that already."

Violet frowned and headed down the rest of the stairs, to the sandy beach. Stepping off the weathered wood deck, the wind grew suddenly sharper and tugged at her hair. She could smell the briny scent of the ocean strongly on the cold air. The hip-height wave rushed ashore, bringing seaweed and bits of driftwood in with it. The force of the wave staggered Tate. Violet wondered why he let it push him at all.

"Just walk between them," she called to him as she trotted down the snow-capped sand. "They can't hurt you."

Tate wasn't so sure of that. Eyeing the nearest shadow men, he moved forward cautiously, hugging himself against the icy cold that accompanied being half-drenched. It didn't occur to him to try to disbelieve in the discomfort. His attention was wholly focused on the mysterious figures as he passed between them. There was a tense moment as he came parallel to them. The two nearest entities towered over him like dark pillars. They felt like nothing. They smelled like nothing. They made no sound or motion.

With another step, he was on the other side. Though Tate was braced for anything, nothing bad happened. Another large wave rolled in, but he was able to easily outpace it. He hurried up the beach with wide, loping steps that carried him the rest of the way to where Violet was waiting for him near the stairs. He grabbed her in a hug and turned his head so he could look back at the line of shadowy backs and hats.

"What are they?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. Then he looked at her, brows high. "You've never seen them before?"

"No. Have you?"

Tate looked back at the line. They were still just standing there. Somehow, that made them even creepier to him. "Yeah. Here and there. Just one at time, though. Never a whole bunch of them. Nothing like this."

Another big wave came rolling in through the fog, bigger than the last two large waves. This one was nearly as high as Violet's chest when in hit the shore. It thinned out as it rushed up the sand, but it swept the snow from the beach and made it halfway up the sandy alcove.

"Something's not right," Violet muttered.

"No shit," Tate grinned, finding her comment inappropriately amusing. He thought she was trying to be funny, but the grim look she gave him killed his smile.

"Look at the waves," she said, lifting her chin in that direction.

Another large one was chasing the last in. The shadowy hat people continued to stand there, unnaturally impervious to the water that swirled around them. They could have been posts for all the effect the water had. Further out to sea, there was a growing sound of still larger waves that were heading their way. It was like the sound of a stadium audience cheering in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

Violet was torn. Part of her wanted to stay and watch what she could hear coming. It was an intimidating but impressive sound. But another part of her wanted to shepherd Tate back to the mansion. After seeing the water push him around, she wasn't confident he was safe there. He couldn't drown, she knew, but somehow that reassurance just didn't set her at ease.

"Let's get higher up," she compromised. Grabbing his hand, she headed for the stairs.

—

Author's Note:

I listen to a lot of Graham Plowman's compositions on YouTube when I'm writing. His music is very good for writing (and reading) American Horror Story. It sounds a lot like stuff you'd hear on the show. So much so that I've approached him about using some of his music in a short horror film I'll be making later this year. More on that later as things develop.

The title of this chapter is coincidentally shared by a "Two-Sentence Horror Story" on YouTube.

Next time: Violet and Tate's beach date continues.