JACK SHIT

                      ❝ never claimed to    be a genius, anyway — haunted, huh?                       somehow it doesn’t surprise   me you picked that one of all                       the possible bullshit             you could have come of, care to                       enlighten me?   we    already  bought the house, i doubt we                       get a  refund because the local kid told some stories about                        the house. ❞

eyes widen slightly at the sight.  she wondered if she was hallucinating from lack of sleep, but decided it was best not to question it.  he looked about her age, blond and tall– his expression didn’t read disgusted, but she immediately jumped to that conclusion.   lips pursed as she took a step towards the stranger.

         “—- i don’t care how you got in, but i’d prefer if                                  you didn’t say anything about… this.”                        she had no idea what to call it yet.           “if not, then you’ll probably end up like him too.”                        not threatening because she’s too tired, but she                        will give a sigh and turn back to her art piece.

he’s hardly fazed by the onset of words she so unceremoniously tossed  his  way. in  fact,  he  takes  it  upon  himself to close the  distance  between  the  two  and  dares to stand along side of her, dark  eyes  taking  in  the  corpse  before him. threats mean little to  nothing  when  you’ve  already  slipped  into  the  dark silence. he   doesn’t   care  to  play-living  either.  from  the  moment  she and  her  family  had  moved  in,  he  had  invested himself in her little            hobby.            tate            was            mesmerized.

           "Uh… I’m sorry?“

thedeadson.

pale lips ajar, eyes tired but DETERMINED. finishing what has been started in one night has always been an issue.       but starting early was impossible, so here her nimble fingers are,            suturing together        the end of one limb to another with shaky success.    she sighs and puts the needle to rest (directly stuck in the skin.)

       “god, you’re a tough one to work with.              it took me ten minutes to kill you, and                                  you’re still making me tired.” 

                                                                                  speaking to the dead: check.

dimmed  eyes  take in the sight before him for what felt like the  hundredth  time  already.  it was difficult to say whether or not the murder house’s new residents would be tolerable, but  this  one?  she  was  a  fucking twisted little gem. there  was  beauty  in her work, and the darkness in him craved it; longed  to  be  enveloped  in  it.  the  silence  from  him was  almost  deafening.  he  wanted  to  know her so. very. badly.

( thedeadson )

In the basement is where Mary worked on most of her clients or Billy Barker’s ‘friends’ who needed ‘taking care of’. Mary stood hunched over a corpse, stitching up a wound that lay diagonal to the collar bone. Over the soft hum of opera music, she could hear the door creak open.

“I’m busy,” she hissed, cutting a surgical stitch thread. She needed peace and quiet. One slip up and she would ruin the body.

There  was  no  sneaking around this woman, regardless of how quiet he had attempted to be. Even with the sound of music echoing up through the basement stairs, he had still  been  detected. Clearly she was sharp, but her tools even  sharper;  he  had to tread carefully if he were to get somewhere                  with                 her                 talent.

             As the boy spoke Lydia looked around, not realizing where             she was. Neither did she have any memories how she got             there. Her eyes focused back on the boy, widening slightly.             She had these moments, when she was lead by her powers             without knowing where she was going, but never before did             she break in somewhere.

                                                                      “I didn’t     Who are you?”

The   dearly  departed  youth  was  far  from  stupid.  She  didn’t  seem like  the  type  who  got  off  on  thrills  and scares, much less breaking and   entering.   However,   to   contrast,   Tate   had   been  infamously known   for   indulging  in  such  things.  Her  presence  there  was  still unknown  to  him,  but  it  hardly  mattered.  He  had stared at the same faded   wallpaper,   passed   by  the  same  deceased  spirits,  and  had been trapped in the same goddamn house for too long. It was play time.

            ❝ you  don’t  GET  to ask questions yet. you’re the one                        who doesn’t belong in here, remember? so answer                        me  this,  and  maybe i’ll consider telling you who i                        am.     what    are    you    doing    here,    princess? ❞

                        ❝ so your life is so damn boring you have to sneak                         into your old house & hangout with — who, exactly?                         c’mon, i think you can do better than the old bored                         teenager thing. 

                        ————— i’ll tell you all about it when you give me                         a satisfying excuse as for why the hell you keep                         coming back here.  deal? ❞

                  ❝ clever  girl.  i’d  say  smart even, but it doesn’t take                         a  genius  to  call  me  on  my  bullshit.  alright, fine.                          this house? it’s haunted. did your uncle and brother                         bother  asking  about  the  history? it’s a pretty long                          one,  but i wouldn’t blame marcy for not mentioning                          the  body  count.  it  doesn’t exactly say ‘buy me.’

dark  hues  flicker  toward  the  girl.  seemingly  smart, but seemingly unaware of the house and its inhabitants. he’s  not  even going to bullshit her with an introduction. after all, he didn’t want someone else roaming the halls for           the           rest           of           their         afterlife.