Death had left him bitter, unfinished; trapped. The Murder House had become a personal Hell, an eternity tethered to an unhappy relationship & the home he'd meticulously restored, only to watch it turn over from owner to owner, his appointed handiwork deteriorated along with each new hand to destroy update the fixtures and upholstery he'd picked out.
But an exorcism had ripped him away from it, landed him in unfamiliar surroundings. Violet's threat hadn't been as idle as he'd assumed, the voodoo jibberish, in which he'd scoffed at, worked. Burned him out, tore him FREE. In a disoriented blaze of fire, his soul was PURGED from it's prison, and suddenly, self awareness had forged clarity. & as the months passed, his static presence became well acquainted with the occupant, Jesse. And, from what Chad gathered, he wasn’t entirely human; if he were alive, he never would have believed it.
❝ ------ those drapes are an eyesore.
they’ve been bugging him for awhile.
❝ they clash. you can’t have contemporary with....--- vintage. tacky vintage, i might add.
