Imagines/oneshots Book 1

52. Tate Langdon* - dream house, death house

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Murder boy is still a cute boy

Happy Halloween y'all!

* - This was not supposed to turn out like this but then I got a little carried away. Oops. All together now 🎶 big smut big smut🎶 (tune of big fun from Heathers)

Song: The monster by William control
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I sat sideways on the couch thinking. I bought the murder house because I thought it would help me with my witch craft, but here I was. I thought I could learn how to cast stronger magik but the only thing I'd accomplished since buying the stupid house was creating a relationship with a murderous ghost. It was a terrible relationship at that, sort of a friends with benefits situation that had gone on for a few months. Neither of us wanted to get attached for various valid reasons, yet here I was. I had been thinking about Tate more often and all the warnings he had given me, and the most important of all: don't die in the house. I huffed and stood up walking over to the phone and dialing 911, when the operator picked up I gave them the address and told them to come quick. There was something happening in the upstairs bathroom and I couldn't do anything about it. I hung up and walked to the main foyer right next to the stairs.

"Tate!"

I looked around and got nothing.

"TATE!"

"What?"

I whipped around and looked at him. I was relieved to see him for the first time in a couple days.

"Have you been upstairs?"

"No, you told me to leave you alone so I've been staying in the basement."

He looked annoyed.

"I have a question for you."

"Okay?"

"How mad would you be if I died in the house? I mean I know you told me not to but what if I did?"

"You didn't do anything stupid did you?"

There was concern lacing his words.

"Oh god no. But I need you to come with me for a second."

I grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs when a knock sounded at the door. I shouted a come in and watched as the paramedics rushed into my home.

"Hurry upstairs, in the bathroom."

They looked towards the stairs before rushing up them, past Tate and I. He looked at me confused before I led him to where the paramedics where, the three of them gathered around my lifeless body. I was laid flat on my back on the white tiles. They tried to shake me awake, then used compressions on my chest, and then a defibrillator. Nothing worked, I knew I was dead, I had been for almost an hour. That's what happens when you simultaneously have a stroke and a heart attack. The medics placed me on a stretcher and wheeled me out of the room. Tate and I just watched from beside the bathtub.

"I suppose I should give one of them my ID."

I looked up Tate but he couldn't move his eyes from the stretcher.

"I'll do it."

He stepped forward, grabbing my wallet out of my dirty jeans that had been laying on the floor and slipped it into the back pocket of my corpse. Of course no one saw him and he had to move quick but it was seemingly painless. I walked forward and leaned against the door frame. I watched him intently, he just stood at the top of the stairs watching them take me away. I appeared next to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. He still didn't look at me.

"What are you going to do now?"

"The same thing I've been doing."

He looked down at me.