"Mama! Mama!," the six year old had been frightened by the shadows being cast from his bedroom window. That was the conclusion that Constance Langdon would come to when she comforted her child. "There's a monster in my closet!"

"Tate honey there is nothing in your closet," the lights came on and Tate's eyes were still fixated on the closet. "I would never let there be any monsters near my little boy."

"Yes there was. He was looking right at me, I saw him. He had yellow eyes mama, he's gonna get me."

"I won't let him get you baby," Constance held Tate close to her. "Mama will always be here to protect you."

There were dark purple fingertip marks around his throat and a thin trail of blood running from his mouth. The body was bare, save for his shorts. Constance was cradling his head to her chest as Frank explained how it should have been nearly impossible for anyone to get into the house; that Tate must have invited his murderer in. Frank also explained how he had to go to the grocery store earlier during the time of the murder. Constance wasn't listening, she was praying for Tate to come back to her. He couldn't believe the sight of his own dead body, limp and defiled right in front of his eyes. The worst part was that his memory was running rampant on him. Had Frank done this; and if so, the man his mother was now stuck with was feeding her lies. He wanted to scream and cry and drive a stake through the old bastard's heart.

"I wanted to stop him," Tate heard a voice from behind him. He turned to see the face of an old woman. "But I'm just the help."

Moira had been overhearing Frank and Tate's conversation. From day one, she knew there was something off about the man; through her fear of Constance she hadn't found the nerve to comment. Through her hate of Constance, she almost wanted Frank to be some abusive psychopath and leave Constance with the burden. What happened next was not what she had expected; Tate didn't deserve all the phlaque for his mother's mistakes. Moira heard Tate mention the abuse to Frank and halted dusting outside of the room. It wasn't until she'd heard the bed squeak that her stomach turned. Oh god no. All of her memories came flooding back, how much she hated men; how much she now knew she had to step in.

She flung the door open. Frank's eyes snapped up at her, Tate's body had gone completely limp. "Get the fuck out! Don't you get paid to mind your own business!?" He had been trying to wake the boy up; it was too late. "You tell anyone about this and you're dead. That would be funny, Moira thought, If it weren't so damn sad. Frank tried to hide that he had ever touched the boy, but the giant fingertips on his throat and the blood on the sheets were clear proof. She wanted to strangle the man to death but all she did was nod and leave the room. She'd deal with him later, or maybe she'd let Tate deal with him.

When Constance got home, Frank hadn't had time to hide the body and tell the story of how Tate had packed a bag and run off. She was a mess of course, but Moira didn't give a damn about the old witch's feelings. All she could focus on was Tate in the doorway watching. If he'd been alive, she would have thought that he was in shock. He did not deserve what happened to him, especially since he was now stuck in this dreaded house forever. He would never get to grow up, never experience a real life. She walked up behind him and gently touched his shoulder. "I wanted to stop him," she said. " But I'm just the help." All those times she and Tate had played together but he didn't recognize her now in her elderly form. I knew he would see me like this.

"Wh..what's going on? What happened to me," he spoke in a strangely calm manner. " Am I dreaming?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart." Watching Frank trying to lie about Tate's murderers made her sick. It was like all those times Hugo had lied to Constance about his sick obsession with her; all those times he'd watched her. "That sick bastard.."

His fists clenched, "It was him... where's Addie!?"

"In her room crying."

" What did I do to deserve this?"

"You'll find that this world finds beauty and works its hardest to destroy it."

"That monster needs to stay away from my mother. I can't do anything now that I'm dead! He did me in to take my place, didn't he? Did you see it?"

Moira didn't feel she had the heart to tell him that she'd witnessed him being used in such a way, so she lied. "No." He was on the brink of tears when she got an idea. All these years of appearing to Constance and her house guests; how had she forgotten. "Darling, there may be something that you can do."

Constance no longer found comfort in Frank's empty words; he hadn't been there when Tate was murdered, she knew it hadn't even affected the man. She needed a drink and left Frank alone at home and told him she would be back in a few hours. Frank went into the bedroom and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. Why couldn't I have been smarter, this house isn't worth all the shit I've been through. God, I need a hit. He went to Tate's room. Might as well get something out of all this. What he ended up getting was terrifying as hell. Tate looked healthy as ever, lying on his bed sleeping peacefully. When Frank saw, he jumped back into the door. "Jesus Christ!" I

Tate woke up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "You okay Frank? You look pale as a ghost." Tate smiled then and Frank went running. He ran into Constance's room and locked the door. I didn't kill him? I swear he wasn't breathing. Oh God, she's going to know what I did. Turning away from the door, his blood ran cold as Tate faced him; he was propped up on his hands and knees, looking playful and predatory at the same time. Moira had taught him well. "What's wrong Frank? Don't you like me anymore? Why don't you use me one more time; I won't tell." Frank didn't know if it was safe to run, so he held eyes on Tate; terrified of moving. Tate rolled onto his back, eyes seductively locked onto Franks. Frank saw a trickle of blood running from Tate's mouth, the trickle flowed heavier and Frank quickly spun to unlock the door. That was when Tate lunged at him, sending them both to the floor.

"Get off, get off! Tate I'm sorry!" Tate pulled out an old kitchen knife and gripped it tightly in his hand.

"Why should I care about your apologies, I'm dead!" A knock on the door startled them both and a teary voice sprang up.

"Frank can we get ice cream? That's what me and Tate did. I always get chocolate." Addie. God why did Addie have to be all alone.

Frank thought a chord had been struck in Tate and he whispered to him, "Your sister wants to be with her new step-dad. You know it's what's best for her Tate. She needs me."

"Hell needs you, you sack of shit," before he drove the knife into Frank he remembered that he and Moira were stuck here forever. No, Tate thought, I can't kill him here. When the realization hit, Frank could just grin.

"Frank darlin' take that damn girl out for ice cream! Then get some suitcases ready, I can't stand this damn house any longer." When Frank looked back up from where he was lying on the floor, Tate had disappeared.