American Horror Story

pilot : part one

1978

Everything is grey. The sky, the trees. The house looks as if it has seen its final days. Ivy clings to the faded brick walls, snaking in and out of broken windows. The wrought iron fence gate hangs forever open, like it is welcoming, beckoning poor unfortunate souls into the depths of hell. Homemade wind chimes made of animal bones hang about tree branches. The grass is yellow, as if there hasn't been rainfall in centuries.

A small girl in a yellow dress stands in the front yard-- watching, admiring.

A rock is thrown towards the decaying house, crashing through a window. She turns quickly, frightened, trying to find the source of the stone.

"Hey Troye, you're a dork."

"Shut up!"

Two boys, no older than twelve or thirteen, walk through the gate and into the yard. They are twins, wearing matching striped shirts-- one red and one green-- and each drags a baseball bat along the endges of the fence and the ground.

Passing the young girl, the boy in red (Troye) says, "Hey, freak." The one in green makes kissy noises at her.

She says nothing, staring at them with a look of utter hatred. She watches them walk by for a few seconds before saying firmly, "Excuse me."

They stop and turn around.

"You're going to die in there." she says, matter-of-factly.

Troye, looking a bit nervous, raises his voice a little bit and stammers, "Shut your mouth, or we're gonna kick your ass!" His brother lifts the baseball bat from off his shoulder and holds it out in front of him. "We got bats."

Without another word, they turn away and start to walk into the open door of the house. Troye throws popper snappers onto the ground by his feet, and hits a tree branch with his bat-- "I hate trees."

"You're going to regret it." is the final warning the little girl would give, but it is ignored. Still, the words seem to echo throughout the walls of the old house, going seemingly unnoticed.

The door creaks open and the boys step inside. The hallway displays broken, cobwebbed chairs and wood furniture, old paintings. It seems as if nobody has lived there in quite some time.

The twins look around the old house, a wooden staircase catching their eye.

Troye swings his bat at a small light on the ceiling. It smashes, sparking a fit of destruction. Throwing, smashing, scraping, the two boys travel room by room through the house, destroying almost everything in sight.

Descending down the stairs, Troye's brother sees a freshly-dead raccoon on the floor, its neck slit open, and he calls out his name.

He walks in shortly, and they examine the creature. Blood is still seeping out of the hole in its neck, and it is breathing. It has to have been hurt only minutes ago.

"Awesome," Troye whispers.

Looking down the end of the hallway, the twins notice a door slowly opening.

Troye nudges his brother. "Go."

"You go, shithead."

Troye shakes his head, clearly annoyed, but leads the way, slowly and nervously, down the short corridor. His brother follows close behind.

They descend more stairs, clicking on flashlights. It seems that this part of the house is the basement, and looks just like an ordinary basement. Their lights shine on an old bicycle, and there are shelves on the wall containing maintenance items: hoses, paint cans...