After hours of driving past cragged cliffs, over bridges, and past miles of Pacific Ocean horizons, Clara and Amy, along with their adoptive mother Cordelia, finally reached their final destination in Los Angeles. They stopped at 939 Berro Drive, the site of their new home, and got out of the car after parking it in the flat-brick driveway. Feeling the warm breeze on the length of her long, black hair, Clara stared up at the house—it had an old-world charm in its Victorian style; three stories of red brick and stone masonry surrounding the Tiffany glass windows and front doorway. The manicured lawn was green and lush, and the hedges in the front of the house were clipped to the perfect shape. It looked pristine, perfect, as though someone had already been living there. The sound of heels hitting the ground caught the young woman's attention, looking next to her to see Amy standing there with her hands on her curvy hips.
"Hm," the blonde muttered, "it's…uh…cute?"
"It's better because Clara can just take one bus to school," Cordelia said, adjusting her sunglasses. "It's convenient, really."
"We have all our furniture in here, yes?" Clara asked.
"Yes. We just have the suitcases in the back to unpack," their adoptive mother said.
"Well, let's get going," Amy said snobbily. "My shoes are going to be all smooshed by the time I open them."
Cordelia unlocked the trunk and opened the lid, taking the handles of two suitcases as Clara and Amy followed with two of their own. The older woman was given the key to the house, and as she stuck it in the keyhole, Amy turned around to look behind her, seeing what looked to be a young girl past Clara. She had curling dark brown hair with bangs and a white headband, slanted eyes, a massive double chin, and a black polka dot dress with a white collar that barely flattered her disproportionate figure. Clara looked behind them as well and was nearly startled.
"Oh, hello there," the black-haired young woman said cordially. "Do you live around here?"
"Yes," the young girl said—Down syndrome, Clara thought as she finally noticed the girl's features. "You're going to die in there."
"Huh?" The two young women were confused—Amy bit her lower lip and looked at the girl.
"Uh-huh," the one with blonde curls nodded. "Why don't you go back and play, little girl? Huh? We have shit to do."
"You're going to regret it," the girl said.
"C'mon," Clara said, shaking her head. "Ignore her."
"You're going to regret it." The Down syndrome girl kept repeating herself. However, by the time they made it to the front door opened by Cordelia's key, they turned to see that she had practically disappeared. Clara looked at her younger sister with a worried look on her face, and Amy returned it with a scoff.
"That was weird," she said. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," Clara muttered. Cordelia, who was in the main foyer placing the two suitcases she had been holding down on the polished hardwood floor, came out the door and looked at Clara and Amy attentively.
"Girls?" she asked. "We should start unpacking now."
As Clara and Amy entered the house for the first time, they were in awe of the foyer, a large staircase ascending to the second story. There were two large archways that were paths to a parlor and another larger room that looked like a dining room. Amy looked up the stairs as she stepped closer to the bottom landing, looking back at Clara with a weary sigh.
"Alright, my room first," the blonde stated.
"Who says?" Clara asked.
"Me," her younger sister said, pointing her thumb to herself. "Let's go."
"I wonder how old this place is," Amy said as they finally reached her room—her bed, her dresser, and her full-length mirror had been put in there already by the movers. Clara was carrying most of her younger sister's suitcases, while Amy herself carried two before bending down to place them on the floor. Clara, losing her balance, dropped one, and when she leaned to try and pick it up, her full arms nearly came loose of her sister's numerous, heavy suitcases. Amy looked behind her and sighed.
"What's the point? I'm putting the stuff away, anyway," the blonde said as she leaned down to take the fallen suitcase, half open and flooded with stylish clothing, and placing it on her bed.
"Why didn't you just pack three or four suitcases?" Clara asked. "You have eight here."
"Why don't you mind your own business?" Amy snapped.
"Hey, I just helped you bring this crap up! Don't give me lip!" her older sister stated assertively.
"Well, to answer your question, a girl has to look her best. Especially me," the blonde said.
Clara neatened the suitcases in a pile near her sister's dresser before looking up to watch Amy slink toward the full-length mirror. She leaned down to take a thorough look at her appearance—Amy, even as a child, was beautiful; now, at age eighteen, she was more than gorgeous. She had just graduated high school that June, and she had spent a lot of her summer trying to get a job. Three months later, her search was to no avail, especially since their move and her lack of realistic ambition. Amy ruffled her long, graceful fingers through her curly golden hair, and used her other hand to wipe off any excess makeup that had run off the outer corners of her almond-shaped, intensely azure eyes. For the day, her outfit consisted of hip-hugging shorts, a black halter top which only accentuated her bustiness, and heeled leather boots that were just below the knee. Amy reached into her pocket and grabbed her lip tint, but Clara's voice stopped her.
"You've put on five coats of that today," she stated. "You'll look like a baby hooker."
"So? It tastes like strawberries," Amy said, applying a thin, even layer to each of her full lips before puckering to spread the color.
"Eh," Clara said.
The brunette older sister never felt the need to dress in the latest fashions or wear as much makeup as her sister. At age twenty-one, she had more goals in life than were on her plate already—she was already a student at UCLA and lived away at the dorms when she, Amy and Cordelia lived in San Francisco. Now that they were in the same city as the college, it would be an easy commute and money would be saved in the process; that fall, she would be an incoming student to the junior class. Clara favored a more simple way of dressing, even a style that was closely related to her late mother; her outfit for the day consisted of a knee-length dress with a navy blue stretchy top and a skirt with red, pink, and orange colors infused in a paisley print, a lightweight denim jacket, thong sandals that zipped in the back of the heel, and two pendants that hung freely from her neck. Her hair was long, straight and dark brown, almost black, made voluminous when she pushed her hair back with her fingers. Even in the face, Clara was pretty, but not gorgeous like her younger sister—her lips were naturally pale pink, her nose was small and somewhat straight, and her face as a whole was a bit gaunter than her sister's. However, they shared the same blue eyes, even thought Clara's lacked the colorful intensity of Amy's.
"You could really do with some makeup," Amy said. "You'd be surprised how many wonders it can work for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Clara questioned, cocking an eyebrow up as she stared at her sister.
"Or you can eat it," Amy joked, "so you're pretty on the inside, too."
Her older sister shook her head, biting her lower lip as she chuckled, letting out a giggle at her sister's strange sense of humor.
"You're too much," she stammered.
That night at dinner, Cordelia took care in preparing a special meal to celebrate their first night in their new home; stuffed chicken breast with a vegetable medley and a baked potato. Clara, however, was vegetarian, so a salad with cut watercress and shredded carrots was served. Amy had also begged for a glass of wine—that was not happening, especially since Cordelia knew she was not of age yet; so it was only she and Clara who had some; she had drank before with groups of friends, though. As they ate, the reminisced on their annual summer trip to New Orleans.
"I don't know what the hell Robert was doing," Amy said. "He was giving me a lesson on how to see dead people, and he was telling me to open my mind."
"Then open your mind, silly," Clara giggled.
"I can't, though."
"That is the only way to discover new powers," Cordelia stated calmly as she took a light sip of her wine. "You've both grown over the years in that way as well as in others."
In her late fifties, Cordelia had not lost her gentle touch and eloquent sense of speaking. A pacifistic, natural-born peacemaker, she was an inherently good person with a kind heart and gentle demeanor. She had medium-length blonde hair that was straight, and framing her chocolate brown eyes were her eyeglasses, and she wore a lilac sweater with a tie neckline, a black pencil skirt, and white hose with leather loafers. Cordelia was the daughter of Fiona Goode, former Supreme of the Salem Coven of New Orleans, and spent years there as the headmistress and then the head of the Council of Witchcraft. After her time contributing to the welfare of Miss Robicheaux's Academy and teaching young witches and warlocks how to unveil and use their abilities, she retired and adopted the orphaned daughters of Misty Day and moved to Los Angeles with the promise of visiting New Orleans every summer. Their aunt had been Supreme at the time, and she along with her fraternal twin and Misty had been murdered under strange circumstances—the sisters were told it was an accident. Cordelia also had spent a decade blind after an incident with a witch hunter, but the new headmistress after her had healed her scarred eyes and granted her sight back. Life was good, nearly perfect, as they knew it.
"Maybe tomorrow I can start making a garden in the backyard?" Clara suggested after a brief silence. "If I'm not too busy, that is."
"Classes start in two days for you," Cordelia reminded her adopted daughter. "You shouldn't be too busy other than putting some stuff away that hasn't been unpacked yet."
"I guess I could find time," Clara smiled, taking her wine glass to her lips. "Maybe some roses and petunias. Or bluebells?"
"I think there's a greenhouse back in the yard," Cordelia thought pensively.
"No, there isn't," Amy said, taking a bite of her food. "It's all natural sunlight here."
"Fair enough." The older woman put her wine glass down and took another bite of her food.
"Natural sunlight is much better for a plant," Clara smiled. "Sure, a greenhouse can help plants grow, but they contain the beauty that is meant to be shared out in the open. Flowers are too beautiful to be kept inside a little glass house."
"There's one at the academy," Cordelia said. "I made all my potions in there."
"I grew a lot of flowers there, too. I've been doing it every summer since we've lived here, and every summer trip, they seem to come to life all over again," the dark-haired young woman said as she sipped her wine.
"You sure know how to spruce up a garden, for sure," Cordelia praised. "Maybe you can make some vines going up the side of the house. That'll be pretty."
"Why don't you grow some weed for me?" Amy asked.
"Stop," Cordelia commanded.
"I'm serious. You could make real good money off it if you sold—"
"I told you before, Amy," Clara said, "I'm not growing something for you to smoke."
"What do you know?" Amy sneered. "You never tried it. I know you of all people would like it."
"No, I'd rather not," her older sister said as she took the last bite of her food. "I wish Queenie were here to call for peach cobbler."
Cordelia just giggled—Amy rolled her eyes and continued to eat.
Late that night, Amy put a few unlit scented candles on the floor of her bedroom. She had just finished putting her clothes and shoes away in their respective areas, and now she was unwinding for the night. Nighttime had always been the only time of day she could spend alone or do whatever she wanted, even drinking from a flask of booze she had hidden in her room. This was the last of it, as her friends back in San Francisco would often pour it for each other while one of them threw a party at their house. She raised her right hand and concentrated as she waved it over the candles—the wicks were lit with the sheer willpower of her own mind, and just when all the candles were lit pyrokinetically, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Amy swiftly closed the metal flask and slid it under her bed rapidly.
"Amy?" a familiar voice asked. "Can I come in?"
"Uh…" Clara, she thought to herself. "Yeah."
The door opened, and her older, dark-haired sister held a plate of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies as she sat down next to her sister by the candles. Smiling at the sweet scent of vanilla apple, she placed the cookies down between them, and Amy took one. As she bit into it, Clara watched her—she's eating awful fast, she thought.
"You okay up here?" she asked.
"Yup."
"I like this room," Clara smiled. "And you lit these?"
"What do you think?" her blonde sister snapped.
"Hey, I'm only asking a question," she stated. She took a breathy sigh and took a cookie from the plate. "Cordelia's in bed. I just made these. I was bored. Do you like them?"
"Yeah."
The glistening of something shiny caught Clara's attention. Looking to her left, she leaned across Amy's crossed lap as the blonde glanced over as well. Apparently, the flask of liquor had not gone all the way beneath the bed and was lying there closer to Amy than she thought. As soon as Clara grabbed the flask, Amy suddenly used all her might to push her sister away.
"What's this?" her older sister asked.
"No! Gimme that!" Amy exclaimed, grabbing the same hand that held her flask. "It's mine!"
"Is this alcohol, Amy? Really?" Clara asked with disbelief.
"So what if it is? Who gives a shit?" her younger sister said. "Gimme it!"
"No, Amy. You're going to get into bad habits again," Clara warned. "Let go."
"No, you let go!" Amy hissed, concentrating on her sister's hand as her pyrokinetic powers scalded the skin of the outside of it. Clara gasped, the heat seething into her skin and creating a boil as the sudden agony caused her to let go of the flask. Amy grabbed it, seizing the opportunity to take another sip as she watched her sister grit her teeth and hiss in pain.
"Ah," she groaned. "That hurt! You…bitch."
"Then mind your own damn business," Amy ordered coldly, taking another swig of the liquor.
"Amy, why are you such a bitch? Do you even realize all I've done for you?" Clara asked; she was angry, but whenever she was, she always managed to sound assertive.
"I'm very confused. What are you doing in my house?"
Amy gasped, hearing a strange voice; glancing at her sister, she put her hand out to stop her from speaking.
"Remember when—"
"Did you hear that?" Amy asked.
"Don't cut me off when I'm talk—"
"Shut up!" Amy exclaimed. "Did you hear that? I heard something!"
"Huh?"
Clara and Amy silenced themselves and opened their ears to a strange creaking sound followed by the sound of a woman crying and sobbing. Her broken whines seemed to echo through the house in an almost spectral manner—Cordelia had been in bed and fast asleep that late at night. It can't be her, Clara thought as she heard the strange sobbing.
"Are you sure it isn't Cordelia?" Amy asked.
"She's asleep," Clara stated in a whisper.
"You sure she's not crying in her sleep?"
"No. She's not," Clara added.
"Did you hear the voice talking?" Amy questioned.
"No."
"Hm."
She concentrated and looked down at the candles, putting them out with her mind, standing up and going to her bed. Clara just looked at her and sighed.
"I'm going to bed," Amy said wearily. "The flask is empty. Happy?"
"Just…" Clara muttered. "Don't drink again, okay?"
"Whatever. Get out," the blonde said as she pulled the covers over her. "Good night."
"Alright," Clara said as she closed the door. "Good night."
As Clara walked down the hall to her bedroom, she could have sworn she heard the sound of dragging and the sound of a young man's cries for help.
A/N:
Hey guys, Keri here!~
So I managed to get the opinions of a few readers, and some really wanted to see a Murder House continuation of stories involving my OCs. I originally didn't plan on this endeavor considering after Abominations, I did not get a lot of readers. However, I hope this story will be my last. I did plan on Incubus to be my last in the little series I have, but I know Season 1 was a hit among fans so I wanted to experiment with it a bit.
Kindly leave a Review telling me what you think, and if you really like it, Favorite or Follow!
Thanks everyone! Peace out!