#ahs1

my literal lifelong dream came true!!

for spring break, my family went to california, i dragged them all the way to heaven on earth.

seeing this house was surreal, i couldn’t breath. i’m in love to say the least.

Warnings: death

Notes: female reader. Pre-Hawthorne Michael. We can’t afford Netflix right now and I rely on it for an accurate timeline for my writings. There will be many mistakes with the timeline so please be patient :(. Also my formatting copied weird from Word so I’ll try to fix that. 

Summary: The reader was killed while living in the murder house and she develops a relationship with pre-Hawthorne Michael. 

Word Count: 1.7K

Living in the Murder House was worse than any fiery Hell. At first Y/n thought it would be better than actually dying; but she didn’t realize that it would mean spending an eternity alone. Not even the company of the other spirits could keep her at bay. Y/n would try and make friends with any possible new homeowners, but after she mysteriously “disappeared” and her family moved out of California, not many people resided in the home. For Y/n that meant spending her days alone. After a while, a few months turned into a year. A year alone.

               Mornings were Y/n’s favorite time of the day. The sun slowly rising and filling the room with a vibrant orange was able to lift her spirit on even the worst of days. Even though every morning was the same, she still loved them. Well, one morning was different.

               Everything felt the same that morning. Y/n opened the curtains at exactly 6 AM, sat on her old bed with her favorite book, and continued as usual; but instead of the sound of birds awaking from their slumber, she heard the front door of her home open and close, followed by footsteps and talking. She quickly got up from her sear and ran to the stairs, looking down to see if she could see whoever decided to, quite dumbly, enter the infamous Murder House. She saw a boy around her age walking down the halls, looking into the different rooms. Just looking at him she felt a very specific energy. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It felt dangerous, but not scary like when she first moved into the house and she’d somehow get locked in the basement by herself. His energy felt dangerous, but it excited her.

               Though it’s not like her life could get any worse, Y/n was too fearful to talk to the boy. She feared rejection of a possible friendship, something she had longed for since she died. Instead, she refused to appear to him (or anyone for that matter) but watched him when he was in the home. She’d stand in the corner while he would talk to Ben Harmon, someone she’d never even pay attention too previously. Everyday she’d wait until it was the perfect time to talk to him. She’d pace the halls back and forth, contemplating ways to start a discussion. It was the first time in what felt like a lifetime she felt any sort of anxiety.

               Y/n opened the curtains, letting in golden light. “Today is the day,” she mumbled to herself. She checked herself in the mirror above her dresser, checking her appearance as if it hadn’t changed in over a year. Once she was pleased with herself, she rushed downstairs, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She walked down the halls, looking in all the rooms. She knew he would be there; she just didn’t know where. The adrenaline that was running through her veins disappeared after she couldn’t find him. Frustrated, she made her way back upstairs. She went back to her room, head held low, but she felt that dangerous aura amidst in her room. She looked up and saw the blonde boy standing in front of the window, looking outside. The golden light from the sunrise casted an almost halo like affect around him. Before she knew it, the boy turned around. She hadn’t got a chance to see him up close since she tried to keep her distance.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. “Michael, right?” she asked.

He nodded and looked down. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was actually living here,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

She laughed a little, “No one’s lived here in years. I just happen to be stuck here for like ever, I guess.”

She tried her best to remain calm by sitting down on her bed and reading her favorite book. “Damn it,” she thought, “I finally get to talk to him, and I freeze up,”

Y/n felt the weight on her bed shift, and she looked to her right. Michael was sitting next to her, legs crossed. He was analyzing her face, trying to remember where he saw her face, then a lightbulb went off in his head. “You’re the girl who went missing,” he exclaimed, more to himself than her.

“No one who goes missing while living here is actually missing,” she sighed and put her book on the bedside table. “Everyone who goes ‘missing’ can be found in a garbage bag in the back yard,” she explained. She got up and opened the curtains. Michael followed her. She pointed to a small tree that was just starting to grow. “That’s where my mom buried me after she bashed my brains in with a hammer.”

Michael gasped a little. “You’re joking, right? You’re not actually dead.”

She giggled like it was nothing. “Trust me, I’m serious.”

Michael looked down. Thoughts ran through his mind. Of course, he knew about the ghosts in the house. He also wasn’t foreign to the idea of murder. He had been very close to some of the residents in the murder house, specifically Ben Harmon who became a father figure to him; but this girl felt different to others in the house. The first time he entered the house after his grandmother had died, he felt something in the house that he was drawn to, he could never figure it out though. He felt as if there was someone watching over him when he was exploring the house while alone or talking to Mr. Harmon. He’d gone upstairs before, hoping maybe he’d find what he was looking for, but he never did. When he was around Y/n, that pit of unknown in his stomach felt filled.

 Michael continued to visit Y/n every day, which she didn’t mind since she hadn’t spoken to anyone since she died. Michael would often bring her small gifts. Books, roses from his grandmother’s garden, fresh fruit (even though she couldn’t really eat it, but it’s the thought that counts), or sometimes things for her to paint with since mentioned once her love for art. Michael really felt like he could trust her. He thought she didn’t know about his past, but she’s heard the rumors. Rumors of him killing priests and babysitters. She didn’t really care though. The Michael she knew was caring and determined. That’s what matters to her. Even when strange people started showing up to the house for Michael and him being rather questionable her opinion, she still never looked at him differently.

Michael sat on the floor while Y/n painted the sunrise. Her favorite songs were playing in softly in the background. Out of nowhere she sighed and flopped on her bed. Michael got up and sat next to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing her hair out of her face.

She sat up and leaned against the headboard. She hugged her knees and looked outside. “I want out of here. I want to travel the world, go surfing, try different foods even though I can’t even eat, see the sunrise in every state,” she mumbled. She quickly whipped her tears away, not wanting Michael to see her cry. She didn’t cry often, and she definitely didn’t want Michael to see her cry.

Michael hated to see Y/n upset. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. The room felt heavy for him, like one of those rainstorms that come out of nowhere and ruin the whole day. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her and pat her head. “I can help you, but it might take a while,” he whispered.

She laughed at the thought of what she thought was the boy next door breaking the curse that kept her prisoner in her home. “I don’t think you can do that,” she said in between heavy breathes, making it obvious she’s trying not to cry.

He pulled away from the hug and held her chin up. She tried to look away, but it almost felt like a force was preventing her to do so. “Y/n, it sounds stupid, but I know I can get you out of here, I promise. It’ll be like you’re alive, like good as new,” he promised. “You just need to trust me. We can rule the world together,” he joked, but not really.

She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan. “Promise?” she asked