American Horror Story: A New Chapter

Chapter One: Ruthless

CHAPTER ONE

~ RUTHLESS ~

The hot California summer sun shone on Constance as she walked past the Murder House. Her sharp eyes flickered from window to window, looking for a sign of Tate, Moira or any other soul; she found none. Sweat trickled down her forehead as she walked up to her own front door. Constance wondered whether she should invest in a swimming pool as she unlocked her door and stepped inside her house.

She could hear the sounds of a children's television programme coming from the living room, but other than that, Constance's house was silent. "Michael?" she called, taking off her sunglasses and searching for a sign of Tate's son. "Michael, honey, where are you? I bought your favourite ice cream, but you have to do your chores if you want some before dinner."

Constance waited in the hallway, one hand at her hair, and the other holding her purse. When no reply from Michael came, she sighed heavily, put her purse on the end table that stood beside the front door and made her way to Michael's bedroom on the second floor. What could that little devil possibly be doing? Constance thought.

Michael's bedroom door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. "Michael, what did I say about answering me?" Constance said as she opened the door. As she stepped into her grandson's bedroom, she froze, her eyes taking in the scene before her.

Michael sat on his bed, smiling up at Constance proudly. He looked like a normal ten-year-old child – he had inherited all of Tate and Vivien's best features, so he was quite a handsome boy in Constance's opinion, with a cherubic face and Tate's lovely blond hair. But normal children didn't have mouths covered in blood that dripped onto their shirts. And normal children didn't have dead, mangled bodies lying on their bedroom floors.

Two small bodies of deceased children lay on the floor by Michael's bed. Fresh blood dripped from their bodies onto the pale grey carpet. Constance recognised their faces; Cassidy and Liam Brighton, whose parents lived on the end of the street. They were kind, innocent children who had always trick-or-treated at Constance's home. Constance put a hand over her mouth and held back tears. They had not deserved to die.

Constance looked into the eyes of her grandchild. The boy was still smiling and looked incredibly proud of his handiwork. Normal children were not proud of themselves for ripping out the throats of their neighbours. Constance shook her head and took her hand away from her mouth.

As she turned to leave, Constance looked back at Michael, at the product of Tate's sickened mentality, at ruthless, pure evil in the form of a ten-year-old boy with an angel's face. Constance sighed deeply. "What am I going to do with you?" she said to the child, whose smile never faltered.

Constance walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Artemis Hassinger watched out of her window as her father drove through the streets of sunny Los Angeles, on the way to their new home. Artemis was excited to return to their new house – she had loved it when the family had attended the open house three weeks ago – but she was more excited to start at her new performing arts school. Ever since they had participated in their preschool musical when they were four years old, Artemis and her twin brother Isaac had loved to perform. That small, mediocre musical had stemmed into singing lessons, dance classes, private tutoring in piano and guitar, and larger-scale musical productions. Now, the Hassinger twins had been accepted into Marie DeClaire Academy for Performing Arts in beautiful Los Angeles. Artemis felt that this new school could be the gateway for an illustrious career in show business.