A/N Sorry I took so long to update, and sorry it's so short. :)))
Violet slept uneasily that night. She contemplated going to her father about a possible mental health problem, but she felt that Tate was real. She mulled over his presence as she wandered the halls of the old house. Ever since their encounter, the house seemed more alive. No, not alive, just more...inhabited. She often overheard conversations, muted things that seemed to have happened long ago: a gay couple arguing about an unfaithful boyfriend, a woman mourning for her child. But these couldn't be real of course. Violet heard once that houses contained residual energy of their residents, and that they played the memories over like old movies. She looked up at the ancient grandfather clock looming at the end of the hall. It seemed to have stopped. She walked over to the structure in a daze, voices floating in and out of her head. She felt her foot slip on the frayed carpet and swayed towards the railing. Another step and she was halfway over, suspended by a strong pair of hands on her calves. She turned her head, expecting to see her father.
"Be careful. Many people have died in this house," the blonde boy said. Her body grew cold as he pulled her back onto the ground.
"What do you mean?" She asked, continuing towards the clock. He remained in the hallway, his eyes the only thing moving.
"They've died. Their hearts stop beating. Their minds start to rot," he explained, stepping towards her, placing his hands on her hips. She stopped.
"What are you doing?" She breathed, staring into the clock face. He bent to whisper into her ear.
"Have you figured out what I am yet?" He asked, breathing into her neck. She turned to face him.
"You're a memory," she said timidly. She wasn't exactly sure why she was saying it. Normally she wouldn't have said something so silly, but with everything she had been experiencing in the house, it was the only thing she could think of. He smirked.
"Never heard it put like that before," he chuckled. "You're very unusual Violate. I like that," he commented quietly.
"How do you know my name?" She asked, startled that he knew anything about her.
"This house has eyes Violet," he said menacingly. Violet stared in wonder at how a charming boy probably her own age could speak with the wisdom and careful language of someone much older. 'Memory' she reminded herself.
"What are you doing?" She asked once again, hoping this time he would answer her. He smiled and stepped so the tips of their shoes were touching. He bent down until he was eye level.
"Waiting for you to follow me Alice," she blinked. He was gone. She faintly heard the sound of the basement door shutting