I'll Be Your Light (Tate Langdon Murder house AHS)

one

One Day Later> > > > > > > > > >

I was left in the house with no one, but the maid, Moira. She just started today, and I think she's great, really nice, and everything. Honestly I have talked to her a lot since my parents introduced us; Moira gives great advice too. Suddenly I heard a loud pound, that sounded like in came from the bathroom in my room, like someone had hit something, or something fell, followed by a guy crying. I joked, "Hey, maybe it's a ghost. I'm gonna go check it out Moira, I'll be back down in a minute.".

Moira insisted, "If you must, but, do take some sort of weapon with you. Some of the things in this house aren't natural, and they're dangerous. You understand me, Ali?".

I tell her, "Yeah, my grandpa got me a pocket knife for my 15th birthday. I always carry it, don't worry Moira, and I believe you. I do believe in spirits, the supernatural, you know?".

Moira replied somewhat relieved, "That's good to hear. Now go on, and be careful.".

I nodded, and headed to my room, carefully opening the door, and quietly shutting it behind me, watching as it shut. I then looked up, in the direction of my bathroom, only to look into the eyes of a teenage boy, with messier wavy, blond hair, with bangs that swept across his forehead, warm brown eyes, roughly about my age, about six feet tall with an skinny practically anorexic build (collar bones sharply sticking out, and I'd bet my life that I cold count every rib bone covered by those thick layers). He was crying as he looked into the mirror at his reflection, dragging a razor blade across his skin. I know, I probably should have questioned-screamed-why some guy-some psycho-, was cutting himself in my bathroom-how'd he get inside here?-but, I didn't. Instead I walked into the bathroom, grabbing his arm that controlled the blade, and looked into the reflection of his deep, warm, chocolate brown eyes as I asked, "Why are you doing this to yourself? You don't deserve it.".

He replied firmly, holding my stare, studying my reflection, I had a cool shade of dark brown hair opposed to his warm eyes, crystal clear blue eyes, my body was littered in random scars, covering my hands, arms, legs; and an average build, at 5"7', "Yes I do. I'm a murderer.".

I state, questioning his statement, "Are you.". His facial expression was probably supposed to scare me off, the blood dripping off his wrists to the sink should make me question if he'd hurt himself why wouldn't he do the same if not worse to me? But people who hurt themselves like that, they are too filled up with self hatred, to even bother with hurting me. So I wasn't scared. Then again I can't remember the last time I ever really was. My parents have always joked I was the fearless one, and I was.

He stares more intensely, almost looking slightly angry, then says, "Yes. Now go on, scream for help already. Tell me to get out of your house-scream at me to leave, call me a psycho-just like the others.".

I asked him, not letting go of his arm, "Why would I do that to somebody in this much pain? You don't look like you need to deal with anymore shit. Plus you wouldn't hurt me anyhow.".

"Wouldn't I?", he questioned.

I stated, "No, you may claim to be a murderer, but I don't get scared, and you'd be too busy tearing yourself apart to lay a finger on me.". His mouth dropped open slightly, in shock.

He replied, "You're not like everyone else, are you?".

I state, "I'm not. And why did you say you're a murderer?". I still wasn't sure what to make of this kid, most might call him an intimidating person, but, I don't consider him to be. Maybe its because from the moment I laid eyes on him I've been getting the good kid of chills.