#map of collinsport me

[themightyfoo]

[shadowslackinglight]

#1 - The Beginning

My name is Victoria Winters. The sun is low in the sky as I make my way up the coastline of the eastern United States. There’s a sense of peace on the train, but my soul is nervous. In a few hours, I will participate in an interview with the reclusive matriarch of the Collinwood Estate. The result of that interview has the chance to change my life in more ways than I know.

From The Diary of Victoria Winters

As the train pulled into the Collinsport, Maine station, Vickie looked out the window. She had just finished up her architecture degree about a month before, and this was her first job interview as an official architect.  The interview, however, had not happened by accident.

A few months ago, national news had been made when Elizabeth Collins Stoddard announced that the historic original Collinwood Estate would soon undergo a massive restoration and be opened to the public as a hotel. The Collins family was an old, elite family that had long been considered the First Family of Maine, and while their power had waned significantly in the last half-century, their name still carried some weight to the public.

The announcement was a big deal for two reasons. The first was because the home had sat vacant for nearly a century after the Collinses had moved to a new home built on the Collinwood Estate. As far as anyone knew, the original home was the oldest building still standing in the state. According to the town records, the house was built in the late seventeenth century, and the town below was founded by the Collins family themselves, hence its name. Since that time, the house had been meticulously cared for, keeping its original look. The idea of converting it into a tourist attraction was not looked upon fondly by the public. This was especially true among the citizenry of Collinsport. Daily protests began almost immediately and had continued every day since.

The second reason the announcement was such a big deal was that it was the first time Mrs. Stoddard had been seen in nearly twenty years. The Collins-Stoddard family suffered a great tragedy two decades ago that took the life of the then-current patriarch, Paul Stoddard, as well as several others. Stricken by grief, Elizabeth had become a recluse. In the time that followed, as far as anyone in Collinsport knew, Mrs. Stoddard had not left her home. 

The announcement had happened while Vickie was finishing up her final semester as a student at a very prestigious, ivy league school. As it happened, her attendance at this exact school was extremely fortuitous. Her advisor for the last four years had been a woman named Patricia Stoddard. She was related, though fairly distantly, to Paul Stoddard, on her father’s side. Working with Vickie as a professor and advisor had led her to the conclusion that Vickie was one of the most talented architects to ever have attended the school, and given some of the famous architects who had graduated from the university, that was high praise. 

No matter the potential, though, The Collins family would have never granted an interview for such a delicate project to a newly-graduated professional. At least, they would never have done so on their own. A letter of recommendation from a family member, however, convinced them otherwise.

Vickie was nearly the last person off of the train. She had a small overnight bag with her. The interview was scheduled to start in about forty-five minutes. She would be spending the night at the Collinwood Estate, the new one, currently occupied by the Collinses, at the behest of Mrs. Stoddard. 

The weather was drab. There was a heavy fog in the air, and the clouds above gave a warning that rain was on the horizon. Despite this, Vickie decided that rather than taking a taxi, she would like to walk through the town to Collinsport so she could get a sense of the general architecture in the town, hoping to use it as inspiration for the renovation. She pulled out her phone to map the walking route to the estate but found that she had no reception. She sighed, placed the phone in her pocket, and approached a man sitting nearby reading a newspaper.

“Excuse, me,” she said, “Can you tell me how to get to the Collinwood Estate?”

Without looking up or speaking, the man indicated the general direction with his finger. Vickie looked that way and saw through the fog a vague outline of the estate in the distance overlooking the town from a large hill.  

“Thank you,” she said to the man and began her trek through the town.

The town of Collinsport was a town that felt stuck in the past. Most of the buildings looked old and run down. It was as if every building constructed during the town’s founding was still there.  Vickie couldn’t find a single modern looking building. She understood now why the restoration was so controversial. If the new design had even a hint of modernity, the hotel would stick out like blood on a white blouse. 

In the center of town was an old-school town square. In the center was a large, gothic church. There were also several small stores, and a bar called The Blue Whale, which was the busiest establishment in the entire town. 

Vickie continued her walk from the square toward the other side of town. The rest of her journey was more tiring as she started uphill toward the mansion. After another fifteen minutes or so, Vickie finally made it to the gates guarding Collinwood. She looked around and found a small call box with a black button. She pushed it. A buzzer rang from the speaker a few times, then a distorted female voice came through.

“Who is it?” the voice asked.

“Hello,” Vickie replied in a slightly louder tone to make sure she was heard properly, “My name is Victoria Winters. I have a meeting scheduled with Mrs. Collins Stoddard.”

A buzzing sound came through. The gates opened slowly, creaking the entire way. As Vickie entered the Collinwood grounds, lightning struck, and it began to rain. 

To be continued...

[shadowspellchecker]

Dark Shadows 1966 Episode Revisions - Episode 0001

When my creativity spells run dry for one fandom, I sometimes switch around. There are basically three on my docket, so I eventually cycle through back to each. Currently, though, I'm on Dark Shadows (1966). 

This is my attempt to revise the original series' events with a stable continuity. It's heavily based on the series; basically, a novelization, since I've been trying to keep the dialogue true to the original despite adding my own touches. Eventually, I'll write my own version; this is basically as much my in-depth study of the series as a fan-rewrite.  Other than the videos, my main source is the Robservations posts on dsboards.com; from reading them, I discovered I like the present tense in this context and am trying to keep true to it.

Please note: This is a very rough draft.

All credits to Dan Curtis and his estate. 

Episode 1

My name is Victoria Winters. My journey is beginning--a journey that I hope will open the doors of life to me and link my past with my future.

The young woman looks up from her notebook, and glances out the window. It is past midnight; a quarter moon skims the treetops, but whatever scenery might lie below is lost in inky black. She can see her reflection in the window, and those of other passengers. She returns to her notebook.

"A journey that will bring me to a strange, dark place to the edge of the sea high atop Widows' Hill--a house called Collinwood a world I've never known, with people I've never met--people who tonight are still only shadows in my mind, but who will soon fill the days and nights of my tomorrows."

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Roger Collins pours a drink and, staring into the fire, downs the shot. He observes Elizabeth, his older sister, staring out the window, and remarks, "A watched pot never boils, to coin a phrase." 

“Don’t you think you ought to look in on your son?” comes the sour reply. 

“The little monster is asleep, and I’m delighted,” he says jauntily. At her angry look, he retorts, “I choose my words with infinite precision.”

“You're a fool,” she says. 

“Not one tenth the fool you are,” he accuses back. “Look at you, standing at the window looking out into the night, looking for someone who never should have been asked to come here in the first place!” 

“She'll work out very well, I'm sure,” says Liz. 

“Doing what?” he demands. “Holding my little son's hand? Comforting you when the shutters creak? Elizabeth, with all our ghosts, we don't need any strangers in this house, and you know it.” 

“I think I can be the judge of that,” she says. 

“But you don't even know the girl,” he reasons. “I'm your brother, and I'm thinking only of your own welfare. Why bring somebody all the way up from New York to do something we are perfectly capable of handling ourselves?” 

“Because I choose to do so,” she retorts. 

“Come to your senses,” he says, annoyed. “When the girl arrives, give her a month's salary and tell her to go back where she came from. Or,” he chides, “Why don't you just open the doors and let the whole town come trooping through the house and be done with it?”

“The girl will stay,” states Liz, striding away from the window. 

“You are a fool,” he says. “Yes, you are, inviting problems...” 

“The only problem I've invited is standing before me at this moment,” she says coldly. “I have asked Miss Winters to live here and here she will stay.” Roger mockingly toasts her with his glass as she opens the double doors to the room and glides into the adjacent foyer. 

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The conductor passes through the car collecting tickets. “We’ll be arriving in Collinsport in ten minutes, Mr. Devlin,” he reminds the tall man sitting closest to the door. The man ignores him, lost in thought. Undeterred, the conductor makes his way to Vicki. "We'll be at Collinsport in ten minutes, Miss." 

Vicki looks up from her notebook. “Thank you.”

“Better have your baggage ready,” he warns. “With only two of you getting off here, it won't be a long stop.” He walks away.

“It doesn't sound like much of a place, does it?” Vicki remarks to the lady sitting next to her. 

She snorts. “There hasn't been a stop there in five years, that’s what kind of a place it is. The kind where nobody leaves, nobody comes—willingly—and anyone who can will leave—nobody wants to be there once the summer ends. You’d be hard pressed to find a visitor at this time of year. Why are you going there, anyway?”

“I’m hoping to take up on a job offer,” Vicki answers.

“What kind of job would bring a girl like you all the way out here?” the woman asks, smelling gossip. “Let me tell you something. I’ve been living in this part of the country all my life and I’ve heard the stories—oh, yes, there’s stories,” she emphasizes, against Vicky’s disbelieving look. “They say the whole place is a danger to anyone who stays there. Now, I’m not one to believe in such things, but I’ve only been in Collinsport once—just once—and that was more than enough to convince me!” 

Vicki has slipped a letter out of her purse and begun reading it. Her memory drifts away to another time with the letter… 

An older woman office sits across the desk from Vicky, reading the letter aloud. “‘Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, Collinsport, Maine.’ I'm sorry, Victoria, that name doesn't mean anything to me. When did you get this letter?”

“This morning, Mrs. Hopewell,” Vicki replies, “I don't know why she should offer me the position; I've never heard of the woman.” 

“Obviously she's heard of you,” says the matron. 

“But how?” asks Vicki. 

“I wouldn't know,” she replies. 

“Are you sure?” Vicki presses. 

Crossly, the older woman replies, “Oh, Vicki, I've already told you”, the other woman says. 

“I've looked at a map,” says Vicki. “Collinsport is only 50 miles from Bangor.”

“I see.” The other woman raises her eyebrows, understanding but skeptical of something. “Surely you don't think there's any connection?” 

“I don't know what to think,” says Vicki, rising from the chair. “All I do know is I've spent most of my life here in the foundling home, living, working now, and suddenly I get a letter from a woman I've never seen, living in a place I've never heard of—wouldn’t you say that's a little bit strange?” 

“What I would say is,” she replies, “is that you have an offer of a job as a companion and governess—at a very fair rate of pay, I might add. The only question you have to answer is: do you want to take the position?” Mrs. Hopewell hands her back the letter. Vicki takes it and gazes down at it.

When Vicki returns to reality, her seatmate is still trying to dissuade her from going. “You might not like a small town after living in New York City, either. You're so young! What would you do? Pray?” She trails off, finally realizing she has lost her audience. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!” 

Vicki, staring at the passing countryside, turns to look at the woman. “I’m sorry; I was daydreaming.” 

“I was asking you,” the other woman repeats, “what are you going to do for fun?” 

“Next stop, Collinsport,” calls the conductor, moving through the car. 

“Oh my goodness!” exclaims Vicki, rising to get her suitcase from the overhead rack. 

“Need help?” the lady asks.

“Oh, no, I don’t need any help.” 

“Well, goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye.” Vicky turns to walk away, when the other woman adds, “Oh, Miss, good luck!” 

Mr. Devlin stands, too, puts on his coat and takes down his suitcase and briefcase. 

Vicki steps down the ladder, bag in hand, and stands on the platform, looking around. It is too dark to see much, but a floodlight illuminates a sign: "Welcome to Collinsport. Pop. 3000." Someone seems to have scratched peace signs into the "o"s. 

A whistle rings out. Vicki turns around, and watches as the train leaves the station. Now what do I do? From the corner of her eye, she spies the tall man from before standing by the rail. Relieved not to be the only human around, she walks over. “Do you know if they have any taxis here?” she asks.

“I wouldn't know what they have here—not anymore, anyways,” he replies dismissively.

“So you’ve been here before? Then how can they expect anybody to get to town?” she asks him. 

“Broomsticks and unicorns,” he answers in jest, “and chauffeured cars,” he adds as Vicky notices one pulling up behind him. “Can I give you a lift?” he offers. “I can take you to the hotel—you’ll get a taxi there, if there is one.” 

“That's very kind of you, Mr...?” Vicky trails off, realizing awkwardly that she doesn’t know his name. 

“Devlin,” he replies. “Burke Devlin.”

The oil baron? Vicky holds her tongue on that thought, and reciprocates. “I’m Victoria Winters.”

“Well, then, Miss Winters,” he says, matching her formal tone. “Welcome to the beginning and the end of the world.” 

She smiles. “I’m afraid I’m not going that far—only to a house called Collinwood—do you know it?” She notes, surprised, as he develops an odd expression on his face.

“Yes, I do.” Nervously, Vicky concludes that it must be a very touchy subject for him. Why? “Very well, shall we go?” They walk to his car, and both get into the back seat.

The car pulls up in front of the Collinsport Inn, and the chauffeur helps Burke and Vicki out of the car.

Burke gazes around the lobby, observing, “It hasn't changed a bit.” He blinks; while he had been admiring the scenery, Vicky had stridden over to the front desk. “Do you still want a taxi?”

In response she asks rhetorically, “How else can I get to Collinwood?” 

“You can take my advice,” he says seriously, “take the next bus to Bangor—get a train there for New York and be home by morning.” 

“Thanks,” she says dryly, “but I'll settle for the taxi.” He huffs, evidently displeased, and rings the bell on the desk. 

“Coming!” Vicky follows the voice to a wide door on the left, exited by a slightly balding man. “Sorry about that, folks,” the clerk explains. “Just getting a cup of coffee.” 

“My name's Devlin,” says Burke. 

“What?” The clerk’s face lights up, recognizing the name. “Why Burke,” he explodes enthusiastically, “it’s nice to see you!”

“Burke Devlin!” Burke repeats angrily, ignoring the other man’s welcome. With trepidation, Vicky wonders what bad blood runs between them. “I wired for three rooms.”

“Yes sir,” says the clerk, his expression dulling. “Oh yes, we’re expecting you. Your rooms are ready; I think I have a message for you.”

“And I want a taxi for this girl,” orders Burke. 

“Sorry, but I don’t think that will be possible for a while—Harry—you know Harry,” he reminds Burke hopefully, trying to seek some recognition of someone out of the man. 

“I don't know anyone,” interjects Devlin nastily. Victoria notes how his sudden flicker of hope fades out, and files the words of the rejection in the back of her head. Apparently, this Devlin guy wasn’t very discriminate with his bad mood. What’s with him?

“Harry Jones,” the clerk reiterates dejectedly, “he runs our taxi, he's got a flat and is getting it fixed.” 

“The only one in Collinsport?” Vicky asks, incredulous. 

The clerk smiled. “Yes, Miss; no need for more than one here.” 

“How long will that take?” Burke butts in. 

The clerk starts to speak, but Vicki, sensing the tension, assures both of them that “I don’t mind waiting—I’m sure it won't take too long.”

“Thank you, Miss,” says the clerk, relieved. 

Vicki, trying to placate the implacable for the poor clerk, tries to reason with Burke. “I’ve come this far; I can wait another few minutes.” 

“If you want to,” says Burke, skeptical. The clerk hands him a message, not bothering to speak.

“Why don’t you go over to the coffee shop? I’ll let you know when your taxi’s here.” He directs her over to the door from whence he came, Vicky thanking him for his kindness.

Before she could exit the room, however, the man—Burke—crumpled up the message, demanding, “When was this left here?”

“About an hour ago.”

Burke hands him some bills. “The red suitcase is the girl’s; the black ones go upstairs.” With that, he leaves the Inn. The clerk looks down at the money. 

“What a strange man,” says Vicki. “You know him, don't you?” 

The clerk nods. “Yes, since he was just this high.” With his hands, he indicates a child’s height. After a moment’s reflection, his hands go back into his pockets, and sighs, looking away. “He sure has changed.”

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At an old bar, a man paces the bar, beer in hand, hat on head, while other patrons sit at the bar, enjoying drinks. Seeing something out the window, the man sits down at a table. Devlin enters and strides toward him. “Hello, Mr. Devlin,” says he, “and have a seat. Bring another beer for my friend,” he directs the bartender.

“I’m not interested.” The bartender nods, leaving the men alone. Burke waits a moment, then says, “You were supposed to meet me at the hotel, Strake.”

“Come on,” says Strake, smoking a cigarette, “you pay me for my work and I do it—don’t begrudge a man the chance to buy his employer a drink.”

“Let's find out what I’m paying you for,” Burke says curtly. 

“Fair enough,” nods Strake, taking a paper out of his coat pocket. “I should charge you double the way these people clam up—where do you want me to start?”

Burke is silent when Bob Rooney, the bartender, comes to the table. “He's a nice fella,” says Strake, smiling at Burke's discomfiture. “He thinks I’m a secret agent for the FBI posing as real estate salesman, that’s a laugh, isn't it? Can’t seem to think of anything less complicated, these people. Anyway, he says this joint really starts jumping in about half an hour when the kids get here.” 

“Suppose you get started,” growls an impatient Burke. “I want to know everything you have on the Collins family—everyone who lives in that house on the hill—and anyone who has anything to do with them.”

“Then can I go back home to New York?” asks Strake. 

“Start talking,” orders Burke.

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Back at the in, the clerk enters the restaurant and looks in on Vicki, has taken a seat at the counter. Overhearing the waitress on shift—one Maggie Evans—list off “one roast beef sandwich, rare, and a coffee, plain,” setting the food down before the newcomer, he nodded, satisfied; not only was Maggie the type who would make sure anyone who could eat would eat, and if not, try to remedy the problem, but she—or any other bored waitress on the night shift—would be certain to fill in newcomers on anything they want to know. The system prevented a lot of questions from being asked later, and gave Henry a chance to get that darn old car—which had been deemed unfixable by the garage five years previous—started. He chuckles, and quietly shuts the door.

“Thank goodness; I’m starved,” says Vicki. 

“You’re also a jerk,” says Maggie Evans. 

Vicki stares at her, appalled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Jerk,” repeats Maggie. “J.E.R.K. Or so the gossip mill says.” She shrugs, the hostility melting away into wariness. “People in this town don’t like strangers, especially those who come here to take up on jobs—we got enough unemployed here for most of the year that much of the town sees jobseekers as a personal insult. I thought I’d warn you.”

“Well, thanks,” says Vicki. 

“Don't mention it,” the waitress says dismissively. “I’m Maggie Evans, and right now I’m the last link in a long string of gossip—the sandwich rare enough for you?”

“It’s fine,” says Vicki, bemused, “but I still don't understand.” 

“The gossip mill? Don’t try. But it goes kinda like this,” says Maggie, “the chauffeur tells the desk clerk, who tells a housekeeper, who tells me and the minister’s wife that you're going to work up at Collinwood—and that makes you a jerk. And everyone knows it, because old Mrs. Turner can’t keep her flap shut.”

“But why?” asks Vicki, still confused.

“Easy,” relates Maggie. “The Collins family is the foundation of the town—Check the name. It’s called “Collin’s-port” for a reason. They live in this big old house at the top of Widow’s Hill—some name, huh? They got legends about that, too—and for a long time, they had quite a few families working up there. They let them go, a few decades ago, and they had to go elsewhere. Almost the entire town felt it; all the full-timers but some real newcomers are all related. So, whenever someone goes to work at Collinwood, there’s easy bad blood against them. And someone from outside of town…” She shakes her head. “It won’t be pretty. Or so we think; you’re the first of your kind. Maybe you’ll be pitied, instead.”

Vicki looks at her questioningly. “‘Pitied’? Why would I be?”

Maggie shrugs. “The Collins clan is the foundation of the town, yes—they built it, been here ever since, are the single biggest employer so everyone is related to someone who works for them, they own the biggest cannery, the biggest fishing fleet, and live in the biggest, darkest, gloomiest old house—but they’re so full of kooks, the state placed a sanitarium right nearby!”

“I don't believe that,” says Vicki. 

Maggie chuckles. “Check the map—it’s on there. Windcliff.” Victoria stared; she didn’t expect evidence! Nor did she expect the waitress to shrug and say, “Okay, move in there, but take a good look in that mirror right now—because in two months that pretty hair of yours is going to be one glorious shade of gray!”

Vicki grins and shakes her head. “You make it sound like some old English novel with rattling chains, ghosts in the corridors…” 

“You think that's wrong?” asks Maggie; “I could tell you things about that house that would rock you from here all the way back to the railroad station.”

“I'd rather not hear them,” says Vicki. 

“And I’d rather not tell them,” says Maggie, “but you do need to be warned.”

“I don’t like to judge by heresay,” Vicky says; Maggie sighs.

“Ok,” she says, turning away from Vicky, muttering, “There’s one born every minute.” She turns around, and lands another plate before Vicky. “But you are going to need your strength—apple pie on the house, and I won’t take no for an answer.” 

“I’ll say yes to that,” Vicki says, and sits there, thinking pensively, checking her hair in the mirror, and remembers…  

She was still at the foundling home, packing to leave, when her roommate asked her, “What are you trying to do, bury yourself?” 

“Just the opposite,” Vicki replied.

“With your looks and brains, you could get a dozen jobs you want, right here in New York—hey, that's my slip you're packing!” 

“Sorry.” Vicky returns the item to the girl, and returns to her preparations. “It’s not the job, Sandy, it's the place.”

“You’ve got a yen for fishing villages?” asks Sandy. “So go out to Long Island!—have a ball—but a nowhere place like Collinsport, Maine?”

“I don't really want to go,” says Vicki, “but I have to.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“But it’s true,” Vicki justifies; “This could be the most important step I've ever taken in my whole life!” 

Sandy rises from the bed. “What?” 

“To me, finding me,” says Vicki, staring at herself in the mirror, “Seeing who I really am.”

“Did you say you were looking for something?” asks Maggie, bringing Vicki back to the present, and the mirror behind the counter she’s looking into. 

“Sorry. I was just thinking,” says Vicki. 

“Say, you are in trouble,” jokes Maggie. “Talking to yourself, and you haven't even been up on the hill yet—maybe you do belong in that house.”

“Maybe I do,” agrees Vicki, and sips her coffee.

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Meanwhile, at the Blue Whale, Strake is still giving his report, “The big problem was the old lady, Elizabeth Stoddard.” He lights a cigarette, and leans back in his chair. “Not much I could dig up about her.”

"Does she still run the business?” asks Burke. 

Strake shrugs. “She makes all the important decisions, if that's what you mean. The manager of the fishing fleet goes up to the house to see her about once a week.”

“Does she ever go into town?” asks Burke. 

“Nope,” says Strake. 

“So,” he mutters, “that hasn’t changed.” 

“The best I can learn, Mr. Devlin,” Strake adds helpfully, “is that Elizabeth Collins Stoddard hasn't left that hill in 18 years.”

“Did you find out why?” asks Burke.

“There are a number of stories going around,” says Strake, none of them make much sense—they’re all in the report. Personally, I think she needs a keeper.” 

Burke smiles—a first in the town. “Perhaps she's getting one.”

“Like who—you?” asks Strake, chuckling. 

“No, a girl,” says Burke, “who doesn't know what she’s getting herself into.”

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“The thing I would do,” Maggie advises Vicki, “is stay here in the hotel overnight, go on up to the house in the morning, look around, then make up my mind.”

The clerk comes in. 

“Well,” says Vicki, “I’m not sure.” 

“Maggie bending your ear?” asks the clerk. 

“Just giving her a little sound advice,” says Maggie, “that's all.” 

“Don't listen to her,” says the clerk, “she’ll have you running for the hills before you have time to pack your bag—your taxi’s here.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to do?” asks Maggie. 

“Exactly what I came up here to do. Thanks for the pie,” says Vicki. 

“Consider it part of your last meal,” advises Maggie. “Good luck.” 

Vicki starts to leave, but hesitates. “Tell me the truth,” says Vicki. “You were just trying to make me nervous, weren't you?”

“I wish I was—but you don’t lie about things like this,” says Maggie, after hesitating a moment. Vicki looks at her skeptically, then leaves. Maggie shakes her head.

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The taxi ride passes uneventfully, and, to Vicki's relief, silently. She needed to think, and she knew that this was the last time she could review her papers before arriving. What would be required of her? Some sort of interview, maybe a test? She hopes that at the very least, any quizzing will wait until morning… 

"Miss, we're here," the taxi driver—Harry— announces, interrupting her train of thought. As she gets out of the vehicle, the driver retrieves her suitcase. "Last chance to turn back," he jokes.

"No chance," Vicki grins tiredly, and rubs her hands to warm them before grabbing the handle. He shrugs, and leaves.

Vicki waits until the taxi doors are shut, then reaches for the knocker. But before she can grab the metal ornament, the right-hand door opens to a tall, stern-looking woman. “Come in,” she says. Vicki complies, and the woman shuts the door. Vicki sets down her suitcase and looks around the two-story foyer. For some reason, she feels as though it was intended to make people feel small. She shivers, and looks at her new employer.

[notyourdeadgirlfriend-a]

@morenabitch liked this for a starter!

derry, maine felt so familiar in the worst of ways. there was something intangibly off about the place, and that in and of itself was a characteristic it shared with her hometown. but despite the similarities, maggie has never felt so little at ease. she was beginning to wish she had never come here. a resident of a small town all her life, she knew how outsiders were treated; -- yet, the hostility with which she has been received upset her greatly.

she didn’t want to leave so quickly, though. not until she’s explored the town, visited the library, done a little investigating, at the very least. coming from collinsport, she thought it a bit too coincidental, how two towns so plagued by horrific legends and tales of the supernatural were so close in proximity. could there be a connection, is what she wants to find out.

right now, though, she was more annoyed than intrigued. nowhere in this damn town could she find a map, and on a cold, miserable day like this, there was nobody outside to ask. nobody who was willing to talk to her, anyway. so she was somewhat relieved when she came across a child -- maybe she’d be kinder  than her elders.

❝ excuse me, would you be able to give me directions to the library? ❞  she smiles apologetically.  ❝ i’m not from around here, and i’m afraid i got turned around. ❞

[wholockedcumberwumber]

Haunt Me! ~ An AHS Extended Universe Fan Fic ~ Part One

Tate “I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything.” actually he was scared. Lucy had somehow managed to become his friend. and he was worried she would become a victim of this house.

Lucy had been sneaking into the murder house every night for three months “I don;t believe that. I think you say it to try to scare me off so the other ghosts won’t hurt me.” 

“ I ......can’t meet your parents. I can’t..... marry you. There is no future with me.” he finally said after a few minutes

“There doesn’t need to be a future.  you’re my best fruend Tate. Please don’t push me away. you are my best friend.” she looked down “:you never would have been able to meet them if you were still mortal anyway Kyle.... i mean Tate. they were killed in the Hotel Cortez almost 2 years ago. By the ghost of maternal great grandfather.”

“It is okay. I am Here.” he had wondered why she was taking a haunted house tour in LA. He was just afraid to bring it up. 

“it is okay. Mom told me to Run.  the last thing i remember was screams and seeing their spirits standing at the window facing the alley. the hotel is like this house anyone wh o dies here can’t leave.”

“Who’s  Kyle? You called me Kyle a few monutes ago.”

“I qouls ay it is long story but that would be a lie.”

Flash almost three years ago in New Orleans.....Quentin and Daphne had decided Lucy needed to experience life so they were taking a road trip. The car had broken down in New Orlead outside hte home of Alicia and Kyle Spencer.  

Quentin got out of hte car and went up to the door and knocked and Kykle had opened hte door his mother was passed out. he was laways thankful fo those times “My mother is resting. What would you like?” he had asked 

“My family and I are on a cross country roadtrip and our car broke down. My name is Quentin Collins.” 

“Daddy, i know you asked us to wait in the car but i need to use the bathroom.” Lucy said as she blushed “I am sorry i was interrupting.”

Kyle looked at her “Mister Collins, the phone is over there and we have a phone book. MY name is Kyle Spencer.”

“Lucy.” they would end up spending almost a month in new orleans because the engine part that was required needed to be ordered and sent from anothr state.

Their second week there Kyle had taken Lucy with him to a Party at his friends “Lucy you said you’ve never been to party that just had teenagers.” he takes her into the basement where there are somepeople playing seven minutes in heaver/spin the bottle.. 

When lucy spun it stopped on Kyle. he took her hand and took her into the closet “we don’t have to make out if you don’t want to.”

“that’s not it. I;ve never kissed anyone and I can see sadness in your eyes. i saw it when you realized your mother was awake the other day.”  she said and they would end up spending seven minutes mostly talking when they went otuside for some fresh air he turned to her and kissed her passionately.

“i hope we meet again Lucy.” he looked at his friends “If any of you assholes try to take adventure of this young woman while she and her parents are visitors to this town i wil l personally kick your asses.”

Present Day.....2011 Tate’s room “He told me his secret and i promised not to tell anyone.” she had told tate the whole story except for the conversation i nthe closet where Kyle had told her about what his mother had been doing to him since his father left.

“I can respect that though. If you ever choose to leave this place find someone who deserves you Lucy. You are genunely special person I keep telling you to leave and you choose to stay.” 

Meanwhile in New Orleans....”You are full of shit. everyone knows you are big old softy dude. this music is totalyl amazeballs.” he had been searchign o nthe itnernet and come across an article about the deaths of Quentin and Daphne Collins and he cfound himself wondering.what had happened to Lucy. it didn’t mention her. he had decided that once this semester was over he as goign to take a trip to California and see if she was still there.

a few weeks later.......”Have you seen this young woman?”

Liz looked at hte photo “Not since the unfortunate deaths of her parents they were staying in this hotel and stranger.” she writes the words FOR THE LOVE OF GOD RUN!  SHE ONLY LIVED BECAUSE HER PARENTS TOLD HER TO RUN! speaking “I wish i could be of more help young man. but i’ve been working  here for almost 30 years and certain days are a blur.” 

He left and as he was tryign think of plan he gt in his rental car and drove around looking at Art Deco Houses. as he Drove bast the Murder House. Tate had inssited Lucy get some fresh ar and somethign to eat if at all possible since she had spend three days inside that soul sucking house.

he reachign down to get the map and momentarily looked away from the road and lucy had been momentarily blinded by hte sun causing Kule Spencer to nearly hit the object of his search. he Quickly hit the breaks and they looked into eachother eyes at the exact same moment. and he got out of hte car “Lucy, thank god you’re alive i saw the article about hte remains of your parents being found in shallow grave.” he grabbed her and she nearl fainted. he stuck her i nthe car and buckled the seatbelt

Tate watched fro mthe window “at lwast one of us can be happy.” his mother had received word the house has bee sold to a family. “Be happy Lucy. You deserve it.”

an hour later in their spot at nearby sonic “OH. fuck. I just realized my room at the motel only has a single bed.”  he looked at her “How did you live for three years without your parents.”

“2 1/2 years. There was an adendam to my father’s living will that said should anything happen all property in his possession at hte time of his death reverts to the possession his only legal heirs. so i sold rh car to the mechanic for 3,000 dollars and i was living in hostel until i realized there were drug dealers and prostitutes there and so i was spendign time in the mansion with Tate. he’s the ghost of the guy who died in the house almost 20 years ago.” she looked at him “I trust you Kyle.”  she sfinished eating

“For such a small girl you can sure pack it away.”

“I havenlt eaten since yesterday.” she blushed she knew she hadn’t bathed in in about a week. 

“I am taking you back to my motel room i wil let you sleep on the bed and you can sleep in one of my shorts after you take a shower.” 

two days later “Would you ever consider being my girlfriend?” Kyle asked as they sat at the diner he was still trying to conceptualize that person he had been told was ghot had left lucy;s things on hte backporch for her to pick up with a note.

Lucy blushed and kissed him on the cheek “Yes. if you can accept me as i am.”

Six Months later.....New Orleans after the bus accident had killed his friends Kyle had been having hard time sleeping “Lucy stay in my room with me.  he said as he he puts his head on his pillow. “YOu saved my life you know.”

“It was little selfish on my part though i just don’t want to lose another person I LOve to something that could have been prevented.”

“this road travels both ways.” he wasn’t sure if he could say he loved her. he did. she ha told him she loced him th day before that frat party. “I give you permission to wash below my waist. i noticed when i ask you to help me bath when i am tired you stop just above that area.” none of his friend really believed they were intimate in non sexual way. “I trust you.”

the day of the memoriial for his friends he held her hand and wouldnlt let go.  “I trust you, Kyle.” she could see the embarassment in his eyes when he woke up aroused i nthe mornings. they had been sharing his bed for almost two weeks after the fineral he sat on the edge of the bed and started crying

he just looked at her “I need you to stay away from my mother. I have this sinking feeling that because of what she’s done to me most of my life if she finds out i am in love with someone she will try to kill you.  I...LOve you. i know that now.  and I don;t want to lose you.”  he looked at her “ever since that day at the party three years ago  you burrowed your way into my heart. I thought it had been destroyed by Alicia. but the lioght around you gave me hope. the chain of events  recently made me realize I need you.”

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened hte day your parents died.”

2009......Hotel Cortez LA Daphne Harridge Collins , Lucy’s mother had woken up that day with emmense sense of dread in her soul.  She and Quentin Waited until Lucy woke up “Lucy. I have this premonition that your father I are about to die if anything goes south we want you to save yourself. we;ve already oacked your duffel bag. “

Quentin “The Darkness in this hotel is deeper and murkier than collinwood and its master means to claim us soon.” that evening just after they finished dinner James March appeared in their room.

James “I hope you enjoyed your final meal.” he said in matter of fact tone. Without another word he lunged at Quentin and slit his throat but it was clear he wanted it to be slow death witnessed before he killed the others.  wile he was focused on his death he hadn’t noticed o nthe prerifery that Lucy was sneaking out of hte room with her duffel bag and as she walked away she could hear screams of anguish and maniacal laughter coming from behind her and after she had stopped running. she rested against a building.

She stood outside the police station but she doubted anyone would believe her. She constacted her Father’s Lawyer “Monty. my parents were just murdered in the hotel we were staying in.”

“You’re not any safer In collinsport than you are in that hotel. Gabriel snapped and killed everyone in the house Except for Galen.” Desmond was in the fct the only one who knew Galen was Quentin’s son and not Gabriel’s  “Find some place to stay for a while.” Monty wasn’t just Quentin’s attorney had been Lucy’s Godfather. 

Present Day 2012.....”My Cousin Galen is the only blood relative i have left in the US.” she said 

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna leave you alone.” h was goign to do his damndest to protect her and love her. “Keep this with you.” he said as he reched over into a small box on his boox shelf and took out his class ring from high school and placed it on the chain with her locket.

“Why is hte stone blue?” 

“Somethign about it called to me an the first time i saw you your eyes sparkeled like the stone in my class ring. these things are the things i brought with me when i moved out of Alicia’s house.” he kissed her passionately. “when you are ready tell me.” he said “I don;t want to force you like she always did to me.” he whispered in her ear “your touch turns me on. I never thought it would feel good to be touched. You said your only livign relative in the united states.”

“My father has cousin who live in France. we were planning on gopoing to France and Rome for my 21st Birthday.”

“We could go. MY degree gives me hte option of studyong abroad for two semesters i could ask if they have program in Rome. The only flaw i nthe plan i was never realyl all that great at learning french or italian.”

“My grandmother taught me french and three other languages.” she said.

To Be Continued.......