I watched out of my bedroom window (I didn’t care what anyone said, it would always be MY room) as you and the two men pulled up to the house. My deceased heart fluttered with excitement and I smirked at the thought of all the new mischief I could cause. Most of the spirits in here hated when a new family moved in, but I always loved it. Especially if there was a girl involved, which of course, this time there seemed to be. Nora wouldn’t be happy, because it was two men, AGAIN…but I would try to appease her somehow in hopes of her leaving them alone so I could spend some quality time with this new girl, who appeared to be quite cute….
“Why don’t you go ahead and look inside, Tristan,” uncle Hank told me. “We’ll wait for the moving firm out here.”
I nodded and went up to the front door with Belsebub in his carrier. He meowed and growled for some reason but I didn’t pay much attention to it. He was a bit of a grumpy.
I went inside and checked a few of the rooms out. The house was beautiful but my feeling of being inside a horror movie or maybe something out of an Edgar Allan Poe novel didn’t waver. “If I run down the stairs upside down with a crucifix between my legs by next week – promise you’ll kill me,” I told Belsebub as we went up the stairs to what would be my room.
I made sure I was well hidden when you entered the bedroom, a cat clutched in your arms. I studied you carefully as you walked around, an apprehensive look on your face. I could feel your unease. I shifted my weight where I was standing, still invisible. At the slightest hint of my movement, the cat in your arms whipped its head around to look directly at me, it’s green orb-like eyes staring through me, as if it knew I was there. A low, light hiss escaped it’s throat. I smirked slightly. Animals were always so damn smart.
Belsebub hissed and I cradled his furry black body to me. “What is, sweetie? You feel it too? Yeah, feels like I’ve just stepped into a damn Edgar Allan Poe novel. But what can you do? And it’s not forever.” I sat down on the bed with a sigh, scratching behind his ears while I kept talking.
“It’s just this year and then I’m off to college. Or to hit the road if I don’t get in anywhere. And I’ll take you with me. Of course I won’t go without you, Bubby.”
I smiled and picked up my cellphone. “What do you say, wanna hear some Manson?”
I started Spotify and put on Marylin Manson’s Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) before I dug up my packet of incense in my bag and lit a cone with the scent of eucalyptus. Hopefully that would help me relax. Then I laid down on the bed with a long-haired black cat watching over me
I listened to your monologue carefully. A year, huh? That would be plenty of time to have some fun. That is…if your family even made it that long in this house. I would do my best to keep the other spirits at bay so I could enjoy you as long as I possibly could.
I smiled as Marilyn Manson filled the room. You definitely had good taste in music. I made a mental note to check your playlist later to see if you had any Nirvana on there….
I swept past your bed, still invisible, and made my way into the attached bathroom. As I expected, your cat sprang into action and followed me, stopping at the entrance of the bathroom. I let a soft chuckle escape my lips as your cat studied me. Hopefully you heard me. I wanted to alert you to my presence but not completely frighten you. Not yet, at least.
I looked up as Belsebub suddenly jumped off me and rant to the bathroom. He wasn’t looking for his litter box, he was … studying something. I raised an eyebrow and got up from the bed.
“What is it, Bubby Bub?” I wondered and walked to the doorway of the bathroom, only to meet a pair of dark eyes and an angelic face.
I saw your shocked expression and my dark eyes flickered to yours momentarily before I let myself disappear. I wasn’t ready to fully reveal myself to you just yet, just give you a small taste of what this house had to offer and observe how you handled it. I wanted to get a better feel for you first before I started talking to you. I wanted to make sure everything went right when it came to infiltrating your life and making you mine.
I blinked and then he was gone. What the …? I stupidly ran into the bathroom to the point where he had stood and looked around, even patted the ground.
“He was here,” I said to myself. “Someone was here! And now …” I didn’t finish it because it sounded too stupid. I was no stranger to reading horror novels or watching spooky movies – it was one of my favorite things to do. But I had never believed in ghosts, demons or invisible things that could hurt me existed.
But this … how could I explain this? I wasn’t stoned or drunk. And I doubted that I was seeing things since Belsebub had seen him too. In fact, he had seen him before I did.
The only reasonable explanation …
“Holy shit!” I whispered again and sank down on the bathroom floor as my knees suddenly didn’t support me.
I watched your stunned reaction, including your weak collapse to the floor. Interesting, I thought. You weren’t like most people, who stupidly insisted they were just seeing things. You caught on a lot faster than I expected you to.
Of course, you still knew nothing for sure, and that’s what was so fun about this.
I wiggled my finger for Belsebub to come to me. I needed him. When he climbed up into my lap I buried my face into his soft fur and tried to gather my chaotic thoughts.
Alright. So clearly me and my cat had seen a ghost. But said ghost was gone now.
The only thing I knew about ghosts was what I had seen in horror movies and from tv-shows like Supernatural andsomehow I doubted that making a ring of salt would help. Besides, it’s was not like he had actually done anything to me.
If he had come claws blazing or threw me into the wall it had been a different story but I had only caught a sight of him.
Suddenly uncle Ross called from downstairs:
“Tristan! Your mother’s on the phone!”
I groaned loudly and banged my head repeatedly against the wall.
Great. Just what I needed.
As I got up from the floor with a slight wobble (probably from banging my head into the wall) I decided to let the ghost boy be for now. I could only handle one crisis at a time and my mom was way more dangerous for my mental health than any spirit.
I heard one of the men call your name, something about your mom wanting to talk to you on the phone. You seemed pretty displeased about that, and I wondered why. My mother was such a colossal disappointment so the fact that you didn’t seem to have a good relationship with yours intrigued me even further. We possibly had something in common, something I could use as leverage to drawn you in.
I was debating whether to stay in your room and snoop around, or follow you and eavesdrop on your conversation with your mom. I decided on the latter because I could always snoop through your room another time.
You got up, letting your cat gently off your lap, and walked out of your room into the hallway. I followed silently behind you, still invisible.
I walked downstairs, Belsebub at my heels and went into the kitchen. Uncle Hank was there too and he sent me a pitying look as I picked up the phone and said:
“Hi mom.”
The call didn’t last long. Apparently she only called to wish me luck at my new school and hope I would be happy in the new house and oh yes, she hoped I wouldn’t hate her now but she really couldn’t get away to celebrate my birthday in two weeks because she was going to Florence with the new man (ironically not the one she had dumped me for) and not that she wanted to ruin the surprise for me but apparently this one was really rich and wanted me to have 500 dollar as a birthday gift, since he “stole” my mom away from me on my birthday. Wasn’t that nice?
Uncle Hank had stayed in the kitchen and listened, his mouth hanging open. When I finally ended the call he exclaimed:
“That woman … she’s unbelievable. And not in a good way! I can’t believe I’m related to her.”
“Now, now,” uncle Ross said, standing at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables. “She’s …” he looked up and met mine and Hank’s gazes.
“Alright,” he sighed. “She’s a horrible sister and an even worse mother. I’m so sorry, Tristan.”
He came up to me and hugged me and I leaned against him, sighing. I should be used to it by now but somehow it still hurt.
“It’s alright,” I said as he let go of me. “Just promise you’ll let me pound in the stake on her funeral – I owe her that.”
Ross looked shocked but Hank laughed. “Well, what am I going to do then?” he said offering me a swig of his bear with a wink.
“Oh, don’t worry.” I said with a laugh. I was good at this – hiding the pain behind humor. They actually believed I had already forgotten everything.
“You can cut off her head and show it to the villagers.”
With a last fake smile I left my two uncles and went up the stairs again, digging the nails into my palms to shut out the ache inside my chest.
I may not have gathered much from only hearing your end of the conversation, but I could hear the pain in your voice and see it in your eyes.
I watched as you turned to go back upstairs, and then I had an idea. I shifted my energy from the kitchen up into my bedroom in an instant. I grabbed a small notebook and a pen off of your bedside table and wrote “It will be alright,” before setting it down, open to that page, on top of your bed in plain sight.
Then I sat down on your chair in my bedroom and waited, still invisible.
I moved up the stairs and decided I would skip dinner tonight. I knew it was dangerous, it was easy falling back into old habits but I just didn’t want to see more of my well meaning uncles and the pity in their eyes.
And those 500 dollars that the new man wanted me to have? Yeah, they would make a nice little fire in the backyard some coming night.
As I came into my bedroom I noticed that one of my notebooks laid open on the bed. I raised an eyebrow since I hand’t left it there and moved closer.
It will be alright.
I felt my eyes widen and without meaning to a sob broke out from my throat. I laid down on the bed with the notebook on my stomach, holding it like a teddy bear.
I watched as you curled up on your bed in a fetal position and sobbed. Distressed, I felt a pang shoot through me as I listened to you cry. I felt for you. The pain of a mother who didn’t care, the filth of this world pressing down upon you…I had felt it all before. I still did.
What to do now, though? I hadn’t wanted to reveal myself to you so soon, but watching you upset like this was torture….
I turned on the other side and reached for the packet with matches. I knew this wasn’t right – it would kill my uncles if they knew. But the pain on the inside never seemed to ebb and it would drive me crazy if I didn’t manage to disperse them for a little while until it was time to sleep. I just knew I would never be able to go to my new school after a night of no sleep and only anxiety – I would collapse.
So I lit a match and looked at it a few seconds as the flame burned and then I lowered it, pressed it against the bare skin of my lower arm. I bit my lip so to not gasp as the flame went out against my flesh but the sting brought instant relief.
I watched, horrified, as you burned yourself. “No!” A strangled sort of cry left my throat before I could stop it. Before I realized what I was doing, I became visible and launched myself from the chair onto your bed to attempt to stop you, even though the damage was already done.
I don’t know why I did it. This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen at all. I had only been watching you for less than a day, yet I already felt connected to you somehow. Maybe it was because we both had shitty mothers. All I knew is, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.
I had closed my eyes to enjoy the relief the burn brought to the full but someone crying “no” made me open my eyes in confusion. I didn’t recognize the voice – it wasn’t my uncles.
I had barely opened them when a flash of something threw themselves at the bed and me, making me let out a loud yell!
I couldn’t see who it was but the fright sadly brought out the bad part of my reflexes and without meaning to I managed both a kick and a right hook toward whoever it was before they managed to pin me down. The angelic face of the ghost boy with the black eyes stared down at me.
“You!” I exclaimed.
At the same time my uncles called from downstairs. “Tristan?! Are you okay?!”
I stared intensely into your eyes as I held you down. You didn’t even struggle. I didn’t know if you were scared, or something else.
Your punch and your kick were indeed painful, but I had so much adrenaline pumping through my deadened veins that I didn’t notice it all too much.
I opened my mouth to say something, but I froze when I heard your uncle call up to you. I prepared to disappear again if I had to.
I gazed toward my door and the stairs. “It’s alright,” I called back. “I … I saw a spider but I smashed him with my Stephen King Collection. Now it’s truly a horror book, with spider guts on the cover …” I heard uncle Ross laugh and Hank saying “that’s my girl,” before I moved my gaze toward you again. I didn’t say anything, because honestly I didn’t know what to say. What do you tell a ghost that suddenly tackles you when you’re practicing self-harm? After another moment of silence I silently asked: “What’s your name?”
I stared down at you, horrified by what I had done. Memories of holding someone else down to a bed while wear black latex crept into my mind. Fighting the urge to cry, I quickly withdrew my hold from you and opted to sit on the edge of the bed instead.
“Tate,” I said quietly. “Tate Langdon.” I looked down at my hands, feeling ashamed. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you or be so forceful. When I saw you hurting yourself I got kinda triggered…and I reflexively tried to stop you I guess.” I ruffled my own hair out of nervousness and looked over at you sheepishly.
I sat up and looked down at my arm. The burn had turned into a red, angry blister now and I resisted the urge to scratch on it.
“I’m Tristan,” I said. “But perhaps you already knew that. Well … I’m sorry if I made you upset but … no offense now but why do you care? I’ve kind of figured out that you’re a ghost. Or spirit, or whatever. You showed yourself to me and my cat in the bathroom, only to be gone the next instant. It seemed like you were toying with me, wanting me to get shocked. But now, instead of playing ‘redrum’ you suddenly care about me burning myself. Why?”
I probably sounded a little harsh but I didn’t care. I may only be 17 but I had decided that I’d had enough of bullshit and mind games when mom dumped me at my uncles and dad was nowhere to be found. Life wasn’t fair so you never won anything by walking around on eggshells.
I winced as your harsh words cut me. I looked down at my hands again and started to explain.
“I’m always curious about the person that shares my bedroom. So yes, I watched you. I decided to mess with you and see how you would handle it. I was gonna continue to play little tricks on you, but then I heard your conversation with your mother and I…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.
“I had a shit mother too. She’s probably the reason why I’m dead, I dunno. So I understand what that’s like and well, it made me care about you before I even got to know you really. And this house…is full of negative energy. Sins and sadness. I used to self-harm, and so did many of the former occupants, a lot of them committed suicide, too. So after a while it’s just kinda affected me. I didn’t mean to startle you, I really didn’t. I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt yourself. To see someone else hurt themselves again. Especially because of a shitty mother.”
I dared to look sideways at you, my eyes wet from all the emotions I was feeling. I thought being dead would rid me of this sort of thing, but if anything, it’s only made my emotions stronger.
I didn’t really know what to answer to that. I was still feeling a bit pissed that you had tried toying with me but your sad expression made me want to comfort you as well. It made my head spin.
“Well, that gives the expression ‘being toyed with’ a whole new meaning,” I said, although I kept my voice a bit softer this time. “Listen … Tate. I … I’m not even going to pretend I understand your situation. Hell, I’ve just learned that there’s a life after death, something that science is still struggling with! But … I don’t like being toyed with. Perhaps you do it out of boredom, I don’t know, but … I’ve had enough of games and being treated like a chess piece for a whole lifetime. If you had a shitty mother as well, and that’s even the reason why you’re here – doesn’t that make sense to you? Why do it yourself then?”
A little bit of my former anger could still be heard in my voice but mostly it was disappointment. Disappointment that every. freaking. person. was the same. No matter if they were alive or dead.
I frowned, hurt by your accusatory tone, and comparing me to my mother.
“I don’t do it to hurt anyone’s feelings or manipulate them! I guess…I guess it’s the only way I know how to relate to people anymore. Hell, I sucked at it when I was alive. But after death, it’s gotten even worse. You begin to question what is real and what isn’t. And that time in the bathroom, I didn’t even mean for you to see me. That was an accident. I didn’t realize I had become momentarily visible until it was too late…”
An awkward silence passed between us as we sat there, not sure of what to say.
“But I understand. I’ll leave you alone. You won’t see me ever again…” I felt my mouth quiver as the tears began to spill.
“No, you don’t have to go,” I said quickly because despite all you had launched yourself at me to stop me from hurting myself, that had to count for something. “Just … please, don’t toy with me. No mind games and deceit. You should know how it feels. Can we just be … straight with each other?” I saw that you were on the verge of tears and I put my hand over yours. “Hey, don’t be sad. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just … very much at the same time.”
I sniffled a bit and nodded. Your warm hand on top of my cold one felt nice and comforting.
“I’m sorry,” I began. “No more games. Total honesty from now on. But…can I ask you a question?” I asked tentatively, wiping the tears from my eyes as I looked at you.
I nodded. “Sure,” I said. “But I can’t guarantee that I will answer it. That’s something I’m okay with, by the way. I’d like honesty between us. But if you feel like there’s something you don’t want to talk about or that you’re not read to share it or whatever you can always just keep quiet about it, say you don’t want to talk about it. Total honesty doesn’t mean you have to tell me all your secrets.” I smiled at you. “But go for it, what’s the question?”
“Are we friends now? Can I visit you here in my — I mean your — room any time?” I asked with a hopeful smile. “I think we would make good company for each other.”
I chuckled. “No offense but I think it takes a bit longer to become friends. Just like real love, real friendship takes time. But I’m definitely down to become friends. So yes, you can stop by when you want to. I’d like someone to hang out with,” I said, still smiling. “Can I ask you something?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking sarcastically affronted. “I’m a ghost, remember? I don’t remember how this sort of thing works anymore,” I said with a light-hearted chuckle.
“And sure, what’s up?” I prompted you.
“Well, that’s why I’m letting you off easy,” I said with a smile. “I … I’m sorry if this is offensive to you but I’m just curious. How long have you been here? It looks like you’re from … mid 90s? I think?”
I chuckled at your question. “Not offensive at all. I died in 1994. Now it is my turn to be worried about you — are you psychic or something? Do you know how I died then too?” I shot back with a mischievous grin.
James: *has his wife killed, and kidnaps her lovers*
James: *is literal filth that deserves to rot in hell*
Me: “POOR BABY, Of course I will play cards with you, youll never have to be alone again. You don’t deserve this, my sweet pea. Micheal, please come rescue this innocent man.”
[ Okay let’s see how alive this fandom is. I’m a really new Kai Anderson roleplay sideblog from American Horror Story Cult and I’m seeking for some people to interact with. Can you please do me a favor and reblog or like this post if you would be willing to interact with him? Thank you! ]
Hi and welcome! I have my own Kai rp blog @pinkypowerrp but as you can see, Kai is my baby and I am always down to interact with him! All hail our Divine Ruler! 😊❤️
We just got a notice in the mail today that our landlord is selling the house we’re renting. We have until the 20th of this month (October 20) to move, or we may talk about getting an extended stay, but the rent will be upped to $300 a week and we will have to get rid of most of our animals.
We only have 16 days to move out.
As many of you may know, I have been searching for a job, but I have not been able to secure a position anywhere. We are still paying up on hospital bills and fighting a financial dispute from when I was in school last year.
No one has to, but please, it could help out so much if some of you would be willing to donate to my Ko-fi or PayPal.
Katie is a gem and a dear friend and one of the nicest people I know. PLEASE HELP HER IF YOU CAN. She and her mother deserve security and happiness. 💖💖💖💖💖
when you’re a bi woman, you grow up fully expecting to spend your life with a man. when you’re young that doesn’t seem like a bad thing because you do like boys! boys are cute and make your heart do flips when they give you attention and show you kindness. it feels right that you will spend your life with one. you don’t think about how you feel around girls, because you think it’s normal. you don’t question why you have an urge to be affectionate with the girls in your life, why you are so fixated on pretty girls, why you want to be friends with the girls you think are cute but you’re too nervous to talk to them. you don’t question it because you like boys. but when you get older you realize that not every girl feels like you do about other girls. you hear the word lesbian spat as an ugly word, the idea of liking other girls is talked about like a disgusting thing. you realize it’s not seen as normal to want to kiss other girls or to fixate on the pretty girls in your favorite shows rather than the boys. so you focus on boys.
when you get older, boys are rude and crass and you feel like you should appreciate them if they treat you with an ounce of respect, but the girls closest to you still treat you with kindness and you feel more comfortable with them than you ever have around boys. you start learning about gay people, and that not everyone thinks it’s a horrible thing, but you still know that you like boys, so you don’t think about it. you finally hear the word bisexual, learn that there are people who are able to like both boys and girls. you think that might be you, but you probably like boys more. liking boys has always come naturally to you, so what if you love being around girls? you probably couldn’t feel romantic feelings about them. plus the word bisexual is wrapped in negative thoughts, it’s not real, it makes you a slut, you just want attention, you’re in denial. but time passes and you think that maybe you are bi, but you don’t want to tell people because you think you might just be convincing yourself of an attraction that isn’t there. but it is, and you find yourself thinking about kissing girls more. having sex with girls too. but that’s wrong, you shouldn’t think of girls that way, especially straight girls. that makes you creepy and predatory! no better than the boys you have started to grow wary of. you’re lying to yourself, you’re straight. you are going to end up with a man anyway, your mom says it’s just a phase, she’s probably right. but you start to see girls in relationships with each other on tv, online, some in your school. and you want it. you think it looks real and beautiful, like the most comfortable thing you could do. so maybe you could have that. maybe you can love girls and hold their hand. maybe your attraction to men doesn’t mean you have any less of a capacity to love a woman. you can picture it now. but you will marry a man, of course you will marry a man. but what if you don’t? what if you could have a wife? what if you grow old with a woman and love her more than anyone? what if you don’t have to think of men as the default. suddenly the word “wife” is the best word you can imagine yourself saying. you are attracted to men, but you love women and can spend your life loving one. there is nothing more healing for a bi woman than realizing that saying the phrase “my wife” is a reality you can have, a tangible reality, and one day you can get there.
My Type is Homicidal 