That Witch Bitch

Murder House

After five or six hours of travelling and Maddison asking stuff like'does my butt look big in this photo', you finally arrive at Murder House.

The clip-clop of the horses feet came to a standstill which made the housing estate eerily quiet.

The only noise you heard -besides Maddison fiddling in her handbag for her sanitiser- was the echoing warning cry's coming from the unusual amount of crows in the area.

You both climbed off the carriage. Maddison thanked the driver and then the man clicked the horses reigns and rode off into the sunset of Westfield, Los Angeles.

"Well," Maddison says, admiring the ivy covered structure that had been positioned before the both of you, "That's not completely and utterly terrifying."

Judging by the tone of her voice, she wasn't frightened by the house.

You were.

There was something about it that was so familiar.

Now you were here, you knew that the familiar mightn't of been a good familiar.

But now that you were here, stood directly in front of the building that was somehow related to your childhood, you knew that all the secrets were going to come out, sooner or later.

Maddison started walking through the gate but you hung around at the entrance, transfixed by the incredibility of the 1920s house and how it still looked majestic even in its decrepit state.

"Huh?" Maddison says, swing her handbag and blinking in disbelief, "Are you being a sissy?"

You flash her a winning smile to make her forget about your brief 'main character' moment as you jog up to next to her.

You allow Maddison to fiddle with the key, that had been left underneath the doormat by the last owners, and eventually the door swung open.

Instead of being greeted to an old, cobweb covered interior, the inside of the house looked exactly like some people were still living here.

Maybe they were.

The possibility that there may be ghosts in this house was quite high, given the series of unknown killings and murder suicides that had been reported at this location.

You just hoped they weren't like the ghosts at the Cortez.

"Huh.," Maddison says, rolling her you her younger across her teeth and pointing at the lampshades, "You can tell the last owners were gay."

You roll your eyes but still smile.

Partly because you were nervous, smiling usually helped boost your mood.

"Oh and y/n." Maddison continues speaking, "I was reading the article that Cordelia was reading last night. I hacked into her Apple Mac. And it said that this place was a dark place and that our p-"

Maddison's voice was interrupted by a voice who finished what Maddison was saying, a voice that you hadn't heard in 5 years, it was almost unrecognisable but you knew the name.

"Powers don't work. Witches right?"

It was Tate Langdon.