♥ luvscharlie wrote 'I Could Have Changed It All' for vamphorrorstory ♥
Title: I Could Have Changed It All
Author: luvscharlie
Summary: Constance is distraught to discover that Murder House has been sold again. She sets out to get rid of its new owners, but something stops her cold.
Spoilers/warnings/triggers: Takes place just prior to the Harmons moving in. Adult and probably offensive language (I mean it is Constance), first person POV
Author's Notes: Dear Mystery Recipient, I very much enjoyed your lack of limits in your request, and the freedom to allow me to climb into Constance's head and write from her POV. She's scary-and I think I find it even scarier that I sort of get her.
I Could Have Changed It All
"Why can't it just stay empty?" I'm shouting at my daughter, Addie, and she's looking at me as though she'd like to find the right answer, but she's not sure what it is. She should know the right words; after all, I've thrown this fit before. So many times.
"Momma, I-" Addie begins.
But the question was rhetorical and I'm too impatient for an answer. "Shush, Addie! Momma's trying to think." I wave my arms and wring my hands, pacing a familiar path back and forth around my kitchen and looking out the window at the house next door. It is a house that I hate and love in equal parts. It is true that we often love the things that cause us the most pain; I have a lot of experience with this.
Travis tries to calm me, but I have no patience for him when I know someone is moving into my house. And it will always be my house. Every one of my curses and my salvations live inside those walls. They are mine and I won't let anyone take them from me. "Connie," he begins, using his most persuasive tone. It's probably gotten him everything in life that he ever wanted when he was using that tone with a female.
Not tonight. I have no patience for coddling right now. This is serious. It's going to happen again. How many times do people have to die in that house before it stops? And I can play the moral card-ooh, nobody else needs to die, I'm so distressed-but really, that's not me. I'm tired of tripping over the fucking dead people walking around in there when I want to see my kids. I mean, the last two "victims" that the house took are even more fucking annoying dead than they were when they were alive. And they were pretty fucking annoying when they weren't ghosts.
Poor Tate, being trapped in there with them. Beau, he sees the good in everyone and everything, but Tate must be beside himself being forced to spend eternity with those drama queens.
The 'For Sale' sign is gone and it's time for me to stop my whimpering and take action. That's what I do; I get shit done. When everyone is sitting around crying about all the things in life that they can't change; I take the bull by the horns and I change it. Just ask my dear, late husband and that slut of a maid. They'll tell you. I'm a product of the old south, and we're proactive bitches.
I look at Addie and it becomes clear to me what I should do to welcome my new neighbors. "Sugar, get momma the mixing bowl," I say.
She smiles at me, and there's a sweetness in her face that hides the underlying bit of me that I know is in my child. Addie is a survivor, just like me. We understand one another-sometimes, she understands me far too well. I can't hide who I am deep down, not from my daughter.
"Are we gonna make cookies?" Addie asks, rifling through the cabinets until she finds my silver mixing bowl, bringing it to me as though it is a prize, a smile plastered across her face.
"Yes," I answer, taking the bowl from her and reaching to take flour from the cabinet.
She runs, giggling giddily, to retrieve the chocolate chips from the cabinet across the way.
"Not those. Not this time, honey."
"But these are my favorite." She seems to stop and think about it for a minute, calculating how best to change my mind. "They're Tate's favorite too, Momma."
I lean across the counter and take the chocolate chips from her. "He did love Momma's chocolate chip cookies, didn't he?" I feel a tear beginning to form in my eye and a lump in my throat. Once upon a time, I had everything; then came the house and now I'm left with this.
I add the flour, sugar, chips and butter as Addie watches me with her spoon in hand, anxious to help as she always is. When everything is nice and mixed, I nod and let her dip in her spoon and take out a helping of raw dough. "That's for you. Now, go get Momma the special ingredient."
She smiles at me a bit puzzled, but sometimes she's like that. Sometimes she needs a reminder. It's one of her challenges. "You know the one. You know what Momma needs to keep our house safe for the boys."
"No new people in Murder House," Addie recites. "New people make Tate sad."
I pat her hand. "You're right. They do."
"Momma doesn't like it when Tate gets sad." Addie looks distraught, feeding upon my emotions. We've been together so long that she understands me better than anyone else ever could. She runs for the cabinet where I keep the syrup of ipecac and comes back with the bottle, a triumphantly proud look upon her face.
"That's Momma's good girl," I praise and smile to encourage her to pour the bottle's contents into the mixture of unbaked cookies.
***
My cookies are golden brown and perfectly round. They are a culinary masterpiece, no doubt. They look delicious and I am confident that the house's new owners will be unable to resist eating them.
The moving truck has been there all day, and I've been watching from my window for hours, the plate of cookies resting upon the counter, waiting to fulfill my wishes.
I start across the lawn with my plate of cookies tucked into my arms, balancing them carefully as I step gingerly across the lawn to make sure that my heels don't sink into the lawn. Addie is close behind me. And that's when I see her-a pretty little thing, with a darkness about her that's evident even before she speaks. It's a darkness I recognize all too well, and I know she is destined to live in this house.
I look up and there he is-my boy-standing at the window and looking down upon the young girl who is carrying in her boxes. She'll probably be unloading them in the room that once was Tate's. He's looking at her and I recognize that look. I know it only too well.
I turn back around with my cookies still in my hand and go back home taking my daughter with me. "Come, Addie. Momma's changed her mind." My beautiful boy never had any happiness in life, never allowed himself to step out of the shadows and embrace a life that would have offered him countless opportunities. I wasn't about to take away the one opportunity that may present itself in death.
"They're going to die in there," Addie says.
I know my daughter's right. The girl would suffer; everyone who touched my boy did. But, that was not my concern. I owed my debts to him; she belonged to someone else and that was not my responsibility.
"Welcome to Murder House." I throw the words back over my shoulder. "It'll never be yours, but you'll belong to it. Of that, I am certain."
FIC PROMPT
Preferred Character: Tate, Constance, Addie, Larry, The Dead Breakfast Club
Squicks/Character Pairings You Do Not Want: I'm open to anything
Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate: What if Tate has a moment of conflict/clarity during the last day of his life while commiting the school shootings and/or setting Larry on fire.
Preferred Rating: Any
Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter: Doesn't Matter
Song to describe the overall theme I'd like: Linkin Park- Leave Out All the Rest
**Mystery Author - Please remember that if you're going to reply to reviews/comments - please do so without logging in and revealing yourself. Anon comments are allowed.
Author: luvscharlie
Summary: Constance is distraught to discover that Murder House has been sold again. She sets out to get rid of its new owners, but something stops her cold.
Spoilers/warnings/triggers: Takes place just prior to the Harmons moving in. Adult and probably offensive language (I mean it is Constance), first person POV
Author's Notes: Dear Mystery Recipient, I very much enjoyed your lack of limits in your request, and the freedom to allow me to climb into Constance's head and write from her POV. She's scary-and I think I find it even scarier that I sort of get her.
I Could Have Changed It All
"Why can't it just stay empty?" I'm shouting at my daughter, Addie, and she's looking at me as though she'd like to find the right answer, but she's not sure what it is. She should know the right words; after all, I've thrown this fit before. So many times.
"Momma, I-" Addie begins.
But the question was rhetorical and I'm too impatient for an answer. "Shush, Addie! Momma's trying to think." I wave my arms and wring my hands, pacing a familiar path back and forth around my kitchen and looking out the window at the house next door. It is a house that I hate and love in equal parts. It is true that we often love the things that cause us the most pain; I have a lot of experience with this.
Travis tries to calm me, but I have no patience for him when I know someone is moving into my house. And it will always be my house. Every one of my curses and my salvations live inside those walls. They are mine and I won't let anyone take them from me. "Connie," he begins, using his most persuasive tone. It's probably gotten him everything in life that he ever wanted when he was using that tone with a female.
Not tonight. I have no patience for coddling right now. This is serious. It's going to happen again. How many times do people have to die in that house before it stops? And I can play the moral card-ooh, nobody else needs to die, I'm so distressed-but really, that's not me. I'm tired of tripping over the fucking dead people walking around in there when I want to see my kids. I mean, the last two "victims" that the house took are even more fucking annoying dead than they were when they were alive. And they were pretty fucking annoying when they weren't ghosts.
Poor Tate, being trapped in there with them. Beau, he sees the good in everyone and everything, but Tate must be beside himself being forced to spend eternity with those drama queens.
The 'For Sale' sign is gone and it's time for me to stop my whimpering and take action. That's what I do; I get shit done. When everyone is sitting around crying about all the things in life that they can't change; I take the bull by the horns and I change it. Just ask my dear, late husband and that slut of a maid. They'll tell you. I'm a product of the old south, and we're proactive bitches.
I look at Addie and it becomes clear to me what I should do to welcome my new neighbors. "Sugar, get momma the mixing bowl," I say.
She smiles at me, and there's a sweetness in her face that hides the underlying bit of me that I know is in my child. Addie is a survivor, just like me. We understand one another-sometimes, she understands me far too well. I can't hide who I am deep down, not from my daughter.
"Are we gonna make cookies?" Addie asks, rifling through the cabinets until she finds my silver mixing bowl, bringing it to me as though it is a prize, a smile plastered across her face.
"Yes," I answer, taking the bowl from her and reaching to take flour from the cabinet.
She runs, giggling giddily, to retrieve the chocolate chips from the cabinet across the way.
"Not those. Not this time, honey."
"But these are my favorite." She seems to stop and think about it for a minute, calculating how best to change my mind. "They're Tate's favorite too, Momma."
I lean across the counter and take the chocolate chips from her. "He did love Momma's chocolate chip cookies, didn't he?" I feel a tear beginning to form in my eye and a lump in my throat. Once upon a time, I had everything; then came the house and now I'm left with this.
I add the flour, sugar, chips and butter as Addie watches me with her spoon in hand, anxious to help as she always is. When everything is nice and mixed, I nod and let her dip in her spoon and take out a helping of raw dough. "That's for you. Now, go get Momma the special ingredient."
She smiles at me a bit puzzled, but sometimes she's like that. Sometimes she needs a reminder. It's one of her challenges. "You know the one. You know what Momma needs to keep our house safe for the boys."
"No new people in Murder House," Addie recites. "New people make Tate sad."
I pat her hand. "You're right. They do."
"Momma doesn't like it when Tate gets sad." Addie looks distraught, feeding upon my emotions. We've been together so long that she understands me better than anyone else ever could. She runs for the cabinet where I keep the syrup of ipecac and comes back with the bottle, a triumphantly proud look upon her face.
"That's Momma's good girl," I praise and smile to encourage her to pour the bottle's contents into the mixture of unbaked cookies.
***
My cookies are golden brown and perfectly round. They are a culinary masterpiece, no doubt. They look delicious and I am confident that the house's new owners will be unable to resist eating them.
The moving truck has been there all day, and I've been watching from my window for hours, the plate of cookies resting upon the counter, waiting to fulfill my wishes.
I start across the lawn with my plate of cookies tucked into my arms, balancing them carefully as I step gingerly across the lawn to make sure that my heels don't sink into the lawn. Addie is close behind me. And that's when I see her-a pretty little thing, with a darkness about her that's evident even before she speaks. It's a darkness I recognize all too well, and I know she is destined to live in this house.
I look up and there he is-my boy-standing at the window and looking down upon the young girl who is carrying in her boxes. She'll probably be unloading them in the room that once was Tate's. He's looking at her and I recognize that look. I know it only too well.
I turn back around with my cookies still in my hand and go back home taking my daughter with me. "Come, Addie. Momma's changed her mind." My beautiful boy never had any happiness in life, never allowed himself to step out of the shadows and embrace a life that would have offered him countless opportunities. I wasn't about to take away the one opportunity that may present itself in death.
"They're going to die in there," Addie says.
I know my daughter's right. The girl would suffer; everyone who touched my boy did. But, that was not my concern. I owed my debts to him; she belonged to someone else and that was not my responsibility.
"Welcome to Murder House." I throw the words back over my shoulder. "It'll never be yours, but you'll belong to it. Of that, I am certain."
FIC PROMPT
Preferred Character: Tate, Constance, Addie, Larry, The Dead Breakfast Club
Squicks/Character Pairings You Do Not Want: I'm open to anything
Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate: What if Tate has a moment of conflict/clarity during the last day of his life while commiting the school shootings and/or setting Larry on fire.
Preferred Rating: Any
Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter: Doesn't Matter
Song to describe the overall theme I'd like: Linkin Park- Leave Out All the Rest
Click to view**Mystery Author - Please remember that if you're going to reply to reviews/comments - please do so without logging in and revealing yourself. Anon comments are allowed.