At least, for now.
The season's big twist is a stroke of genius.
The big question: Where does everything go from here?
Holy exposition, Batman, this episode sure has a lot jammed into it.
It's official: Cricket Marlowe is my favorite person in Roanoke.
Like it or not, we're stuck with My Roanoke Nightmare.
American Horror Story has basically turned into The Blair Witch Project.
Where's Lady Gaga? This season finale really needs more of her.
You only get to be a ghost if you're a main character or Naomi Campbell.
Only vampires and people who listen to too much Morrissey will understand.
You're still on probation, Ryan Murphy.
Almost everything makes sense! That never happens in Murphyland.
Thank God they were not zombies!
There is nothing at all interesting about John Lowe. Not one single thing.
I might be almost, maybe, kinda, sorta, a little bit prepared to say that American Horror Story is good again. Almost. Maybe.
I never quite understood why American Horror Story needed to have a Halloween episode.
There are a lot of interesting stories going on here, but the one that I don’t give two Toblerones from the minibar about is the stupid killer.
God, I really hope AHS didn’t blow its load before episode three.
There is no way the Hotel Cortez could exist in modern-day Los Angeles, because if it did, I'd be booking a room faster than you can type Kayak dot com.
So glad this is finally over.
After tonight, is there anyone on this show worth caring about?
We'll watch Neil Patrick Harris in anything.
For the second week in a row, the ending really got us.
Stay away from Tupperware parties.
These carnies are supposed to be broke. Where do they get these amazing clothes?
Another song of the week!
Someone needs to impose some rules on this show.
"Who cares, I want a new hat!"
This is the episode where it finally got good.
I never quite understood why American Horror Story needs a Halloween episode.
This year, we’re doing a “songs from the future performed at a freak show in 1951” theme.
Contortionists of the world, unite and take over.
Burrito Supreme? No, just a new witch-type Supreme.
A major player becomes gator bait.
The third-to-last Coven was in no way like a dried-up Hot Pocket.
To the gypsy who remains — and is remains, amirite, Misty?
Patti LuPone finally sings! Catatonically and depressingly, but we'll take it.
Fiona: "less Samantha and more Endora with every day."
“Are you James Franco?”
Séances and spirit boards.
Things are heating up. Literally.
Happy Halloween, Fiona.
We have found the Seven Wonders, and they are all in this show.
Like we're supposed to believe someone as fabulous as Jessica Lange would use the Marimba ringtone ...
If you thought that you’d be spared truly dark stuff after last season’s Asylum … you thought wrong.
A surprisingly moving end for our Asylum characters. Except for that one guy. He got it good.
Forward in time, then back, then forward again.
"There's so many questions, I don't even know where to begin."
Crazy crazy bo bazy banana-fana fo fazy ...
Was this kind of a good one?
Merry early Christmas, you godless pinheads.
Well, we guess it can't be rainbows and colostrum every week.
Little girls with blonde braids: not dangerous. Little girls with red braids: not dangerous. Little girl with brown hair: murderers.
So now we know who the serial killer is.
Last night we pole-vaulted over the boundaries of good taste with an episode titled "I Am Anne Frank."
Wait ... so how many Bloody Faces are there?
There was a young priest and an old priest.
This whole season is going to be like a Marilyn Manson video.
And to all a good night.
Time for those babies to be born.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the ham."
The stakes are no longer just really gory, they're the end of the world.
The identity of rubber man is revealed.
"Every pregnant woman worries they've got a little devil in them!"
"I've just come from a meeting with Lifetime, they're interested in making a pilot of me."
Halloween finishes up with oh so many ghosts.
"You're screwing that twink trainer of yours, and I need gourds!"
Another murder in the house happened in 1983, and there's a Camaro reference to prove it.
And a stabbing.
This show does not waste time.
And keep an eye out for Taissa Farmiga and Finn Wittrock in Roanoke.
American Horror Story: Tinder.
In part due to Glee fatigue.
She was 43.
Someone get Lea Michele a prison jumpsuit.
I'll be watching.
"I don’t think I’m a convincing woman, but I’m a convincing character."