You’d moved into the infamous ‘Murder House’ earlier that morning. With a box in hand, filled with your personal possessions, you filed up the stairs to your bedroom. When you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you, you were met with a blonde boy sitting atop your bed, eyeing you with a smirk. “Hi, I’m Tate. I’m dead. Wanna hook up?” He asked, and your heartbeat quickened, your head swarming with questions.