1982

After nearly five years of pushing, cajoling and nagging her husband, Constance could at last relax. Standing in the front parlor of the old Victorian, she drew in a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. She was home.

Of course the place needed to be thoroughly cleaned out. Part of why they got the place at such a steal was due to the damage and vandalism to the property. With three children to look after, two of them special needs, Constance couldn't possibly do it all herself. Hugo was going to interview housemaids over the next week. It would be nice to have some assistance even without the addition of so many rooms to manage.

She felt a small hand slide into hers and she looked down. Her youngest son looked up at her with an unhappy little pout.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" she asked.

"There's monsters," Tate said.

Her brow furrowed. "What makes you say that?"

"Addie said."

Constance crouched down beside him and pet his hair smooth. "Well, don't you believe what your sister tells you. She's just tryin' to scare you."

The little boy wasn't sure who to believe. "Addie said. She said monsters are- she said the monsters are in the basement." It was a big idea he was trying to communicate using a 5-year-old's vocabulary.

"There aren't," Constance assured.

"How do you know?"

She smiled and brushed a finger under his chin lightly. "Because, honey, this is my house. The only monsters I allow in it are my little monsters." She tickled him then which made him giggle. "Come on, now. Let's go pick out your room."

She stood and together, hand in hand, they went up the stairs.

...

That night Addie showed Tate how to get proactive about monsters. She waited till after everyone was in bed to sneak into his room. She could be very quiet when she wanted to be. The bed Tate was trying to sleep in was huge - all of the beds that came with the house were. She couldn't see him from the floor which meant he couldn't see her. She crept up to the foot of the bed ever so quietly, her cotton nightgown sweeping the polished wood floor.

She smiled to herself and then, when she was ready, she sprang up onto his bed.

He was in the center of the bed so she didn't land on him but she scared him pretty badly. He wasn't a screamer; he just tended to retreat from whatever scared him. He scooted across the bed and got to the far edge before he recognized his sister. She giggled at his reaction.

"I scared you," she said.

"Did not!" the little boy said, fear turning into anger instantly.

She crawled after him and gave him a hug. "Wanna see something?"

Tate wanted to stay mad at her but she always showed him neat things. So he forgave her. "What?"

"Come on." Addie slid off the bed to the floor. Then she slipped under the bed. "Come on, Tate."

Tate hesitated then followed her. It was dark under the bed. "Addie?"

She giggled and he moved that way. "Here. Take this," she said.

He felt something shoved into his hand. "What is it?"

"It's a flashlight."

She grabbed it without taking it from him and turned it on. It was a skinny, weak child's toy with a lens cap die cut to throw the beam of light in the shape of a star where ever it was pointed. The light was wan, yellow, and a lot better than nothing.

Tate shined it around. There was nothing under the bed but them. With the heavy skirt, it was almost like another room to him. There wasn't enough clearance to sit up but he could move about freely otherwise.

"Don't keep stuff here," Addie told him. "Monsters like junk. They... hide in it."

"Why?"

Addie shrugged. "Monsters like junk."

"Oh." Tate shined the light around again. "We're the monsters under the bed." He giggled.

Adelaide giggled too. "Rar!"

"RAR!"

"Shhh!" Addie shushed. "Daddy and Mama will hear you."

Tate covered his mouth with his free hand. They both got quiet for a few moments and listened intently. When it seemed they were in the clear they relaxed again.

"I gotta go potty," Tate told her.

"So go."

Tate didn't move. "Come with me."

"No!" Addie stuck her tongue out. "You're too old."

The boy still didn't move. "I don't wanna- I don't wanna go alone. It's dark."

"Use the flashlight."

Tate looked at the flashlight in his hand.

"It kills monsters," Addie supplied, trying to be helpful.

Something about the way she said it made Tate doubt her. "Come with me."

"Are you... scared?" smiled Addie.

Tate frowned. "It's dark."

"You have a flashlight," she reminded.

"You're mean," he said and scooted backward, out from under the bed.

It wasn't too dark in his room with his nightlight plugged in but it didn't look familiar and homey. His stuff was still mostly packed up. Boxes lined the walls. He got to his feet and went out into the hall. It was much darker. He shined the little flashlight down the hall but the beam was too weak to cut through the blackness. He had to shine it on the floor right in front of him for it to do any good.

He was almost to the bathroom when he heard footsteps behind him. It sounded like shoes, not bare feet; it wasn't Addie. Tate turned and his wan flashlight beam illuminated a ghastly woman's ash-white face. Her eyes were badly bloodshot and her face was twisted in a snarl.

Tate scampered backward then scrambled for the bathroom.

"You're a dirty little boy!" the woman screeched behind him. "Filthy, disgusting thing! You need to be cleansed!"

He got to the bathroom and slammed the door, quickly turning the lock even though he wasn't supposed to lock doors. Then his knees gave out and he sat down hard on the tile floor. He put his back against the door but then he felt something hit it hard. He scrabbled across the floor and hid under the pedestal sink behind the u-bend. He stared at the door, his eyes round with terror.

Seconds turned to minutes. Tate felt his nethers getting cold and, looking down, he realized he didn't need to tinkle anymore. He looked back at the door. He was too scared to cry; too scared to do anything but sit there, watching the door. Eventually he hoped someone would come find him but Addie fell asleep under his bed, waiting for him to return.

She found him the next morning when she went in to use the bathroom. She took one look at him then shouted over her shoulder: "Tate had an accident!"

She wasn't being mean; she was helping the best way she knew how. She went about brushing her teeth like she was supposed to. Tate crawled out from under the sink. Mama came in then, in her nightgown and a robe. Her hair was messy; it was still early. The little boy got up and looked at her miserably.

"Tate, honey," Constance crooned. She came over and crouched down to get a better look at him. She felt his forehead. "Are you sick? Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Addie, hurry up. Can't you see your brother's havin' trouble?"

Addie tried her best to hurry while her mother drew a bath for Tate. Then his sister left the room.

"Mama, the mean lady scared me," he said.

"Get your PJs off, sweetheart. What mean lady?"

"The mean lady in the hall." He stripped down, glad to be rid of the wet clothes.

Constance tested the temperature of the water with her wrist. "There's no mean lady in-"

She looked over at him and suddenly realized he must be sensitive too. She knew Adelaide was. Hugo wasn't in the least. Beauregard... it was impossible to tell what he saw and knew. She motioned Tate over and helped him into the tub.

"Well. If you see the mean lady again, just call mama," Constance said. "I'll make sure she doesn't scare you. "

He looked at her soulfully. "I don't like her."

"That's okay, sweetie-pie," Constance smiled. "I don't like her either. Here. Let's have some bubble bath."

She poured some Mr. Bubble under the faucet. It had the desired effect: Bubbles foamed up and Tate's smile came out of hiding.

...

2018

The large black case sat on the large marble table in what Chad always referred to as the 'Morning Room'. The room was a small one on the 2nd floor that took up the southwest corner of that level. It had broad windows and comfortable chairs. Patrick sat in one. Nikki stood beside him and watched with anticipation as he opened the latches on the black case and pushed the lid up. The two had become acquainted as she showed herself more frequently in the months following Halloween. It was because of a conversation with her that he'd dug the case out of the shed.

The interior of the box was lined with dark red velvet, similar to the inside of a musician's case. He unsnapped the lower liner to expose the contents of the velvet-lined bottom of the container's compartment.

Nikki leaned in for a closer look, sweeping her long black hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't get in her way. "Nice," she nodded. "Have you used them before?"

"Once, on a door," he said. "The guy I was... He had a waterbed."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think that would work."

"No, not so well."

He opened the case the rest of the way and unsnapped the top liner so she could see what was on that side. She moved around to his other side to see better, crowding in next to his elbow.

"You didn't say you had one of those."

" I forgot I had it," Pat said. "It hasn't been used yet."

"That's a shame," Nikki said. Her sympathy was genuine. "Well, if you need any help setting it up..."

"I don't think I'll need help with that," he said. He refastened the velvet liners. "It would be nice to test it first though."

She smiled. "I think you could talk me into helping with that. Strictly for test purposes, of course."

He gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Maybe. We'll see." He shut the case and latched it again then he turned to her. "Hey, I'm going shopping around Halloween. You want to come with me?"

"Where?"

"The Stockroom."

"I'm there," said Nikki. "I don't have money but that's never kept me home before."

"Getting money off the living isn't hard," Patrick said. "If you don't want to steal, there's always online. Fill out some surveys, put up an Amazon store... Small returns but over the months it adds up. Stick it on . They give you a card. You never have to set foot in a bank. Which, for us..."

Nikki shook her head, impressed. "It's crazy what you can do in the future. You're a real ghost in the machine, Patrick."

...

The twin boys stood in the gap where the CAUTION tape had broken. They looked down into the sinkhole from as close to the edge as they dared to get. Which was very close.

"Okay, drop it in," Bryan told his brother. "Then shut up this time."

"You were the one who was talking last time," said Troy. "So you shut up, dickface."

"Just throw it in, stupid," said Bryan.

Troy held his hand over the hole, opened it and let a sizeable rock drop. Both redheaded tweens leaned forward and strained to hear the stone hit bottom.

After a long time, Troy finally turned to his brother. "See? It goes on forever."

"You shithead!" Bryan exclaimed and punched his twin in the shoulder. "It probably made a sound just then!"

Troy rubbed his arm and shot Bryan a dirty look. "It did not. It's probably still falling."

"Nothing can fall forever. You're being a retard."

"You are," Troy said.

They started away from the sinkhole then. Suddenly Bryan fell face-down on the ground. Thinking his brother had tripped, Troy pointed and laughed at him. But when the other boy slid backward toward the hole, he realized something was very wrong. His brother's foot was caught by a foggy black tendril that stemmed from the sinkhole.

Bryan looked back and, when he saw what had him, tried to grab hold of the ground. But there was nothing to latch onto.

"Troy!" he said, panic rising.

Troy scrambled to catch Bryan's hands. Bryan held onto his brother's hands and tried to get to his knees but the foggy tentacle hauled him flat again. It pulled so hard that Troy fell on his ass and got dragged along too. He dug his heels in, which slowed them down but didn't stop their progress toward the hole. Bryan was pulled in up to his hips before Troy could dig in sufficiently to stop.

"Don't let go!" Bryan gasped. The thing had both of his legs now. "Troy!"

The thing below pulled hard. Troy didn't let go. Both boys disappeared into the darkness.

...

The front door opened and a real estate agent, Amy, escorted her client inside the house. She had a sheaf of papers in her hand and a smart blazer and skirt on. Her client entered: A man in his mid-50s, tall and pale. He had long white hair that had gone a couple of days without being groomed. His clothes were nice but outdated, dark hues that contrasted with the light-colored outfit his host wore. He removed his tinted spectacles but kept his old fedora on.

He looked around the front parlor with close attention. "When were the last deaths?"

The real estate agent consulted her notes. "Seven years ago. The murder-suicide was a year before that." She sighed and looked around at the dark wood and stained glass. "Such a tragic history for such a lovely place."

"I prefer places that have history," the man said. "They tend to have more... personality."

"I agree whole-heartedly," Amy agreed in a fake show of solidarity. "Do you have a preference on where we start, Mr. Ambrose?"

"Let's start at the bottom-most level and work our way up," he said. "I'll view the grounds after."

"There is the sinkhole I mentioned in the back yard," the real estate agent said. "But that will be filled later this week. All right. Follow me and we'll start with the basement. There's still quite a bit of property from previous owners left in the house that comes with it. The basement has a lot that you could undoubtedly auction online..."

xxx

Author's Note:

That's it for this episode. Roll credits. Check the ever-changing lineup on my Profile for song suggestions.

Fun fact - the Stockroom is a real place in LA. It's the city's oldest and premier fetish shop. In the show it's the place Chad got the rubber suit from. In reality the place did provide the suit and their shop is the actual one Chad goes to when he buys it.

Next episode is... well. Just more. There's not a quick way to describe it beyond that. More and more. Episode 6 is called Persistence of Memory and is ready to roll out. Episode 7 is nearing completion. Episodes 8 & 9 will deal with the WHS shootings so think of this as the closest thing to a warning you're going to get.

I forgot to add when I posted this: This episode ranked "Gertrude Stein" on I Write Like... I have to admit I'm flattered.