Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

Mysterious - Tate Langdon

Do you ever get that vibe that someone is not right in the head? Everything feels fine and dandy until they're in your presence. Your body hairs rise like homemade bread in the oven. The room turns into Antarctica, making you shiver as the cold takes over your body and the voice inside your head pleads for you to turn back, a pre-warning about the consequences. My radar went off the charts once I entered the eerie manor. I ignored it and accepted my new babysitting gig. 'Michael is just a kid. He can't do any harm,' I thought. I should've applied to Chipotle like I wanted.

I gasped for air as blood pooled underneath my body; my vision blurred as I watched the maroon liquid spread. A soft, maniacal giggle rang in my ears. Michael smiled at the scene he'd caused. Whatever he'd stabbed me with was not child-friendly. Whoopings were how my parents disciplined me as a child, so I didn't condone them, but that little spawn needed his ass beat. I would've picked the switch off the tree for his grandmother. Michael made children with silver teeth seem like apostles, and they bite. My eyelids fell, and the world turned black.

"I can't lie and say I didn't see that one coming."

The voice awakened me as I batted my eyelids open, still face-down on the floor I'd collapsed onto earlier. The fact I was still alive was a miracle. It felt like a samurai gouged his sword into my back as I pushed up from the ground. I couldn't move my legs, as it felt like they were under anesthesia. I winced as I fell back onto the floor. The voice's owner walked closer as I lay there.

"You might need my help," he suggested. "The effects of how you died still linger for a while sometimes before you get used to it, and he got you good in the spine. You might've ended up paralyzed if you survived."

My mouth dropped at the revelation. I'd already prepared to make my 'I got stabbed, but a killer and survived book' in my mind. There went my future fortune; I would've never needed another job again. If he was the person who guided the dead to the other side, then he needed to speed up his process.

"Are you Azrael?" I asked.

"Azrael- like the angel of death? Thanks for the compliment, but I'm no angel," he chuckled. "I'm Tate, but you got killed by the Anti-Christ, ironically."

Damn. My family always said the Devil would get me if I kept falling asleep in church. I should've helped myself to some tithes and offerings. The preachers splurge with church money, and we're supposed to follow their word. Why not follow in their footsteps, either? Death at 18 was in my destiny, anyway. Who cares if God would spite me?

"Here, let me help you off the ground." Tate insisted.

He held up my arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, lifting me off the ground before guiding me to Michael's bed. His face was more visible now that I lay upright on the bed. The pale boy claimed he wasn't an angel, but could've fooled me in a heartbeat. God or Lucifer could only handcraft a face like his, as he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. His brown eyes were like double fudge brownies, soft and warm. His dirty blonde hair If I stared at them for too long, I'd want a piece of him. I'd never resort to cannibalism, but Oliver Thredson might've been onto something.

As attractive as he was, something seemed off about him. Michael was not around, but that terrible gut feeling still lingered. I had no clue about his association with the child. He could've known the kid from being observant in his ghost life, but they looked very similar. I'd assume he could've been Michael's father if he wasn't so young. He dressed as he had died way before the anti-Christ's conception; Tate's outfit came straight out of a 90s MTV Unplugged concert, so the chances of him being his dad were slim to none, but he still posed a threat of being related to the demon. My fight mode awakened as he hovered beside me on the bed.