Book Six
No one is safe. Everyone is in danger. They will all die.
Darkness rises.
**
Season 6a
Disclaimer: I do not own the t.v series, "Teen Wolf", nor do I take part in creating episodes.
I only own Ka...
Malia, Scott, and I slowly crept down the hall of this very outdated house, the thick, musky odor of age seeming to push itself from the walls on either side of us. I felt my lip curl in disgust, the hair on the back of my neck rising as Scott opened the door of which the creepy boy disappeared behind.
"I don't like this," I muttered, eyes narrowed as we walked down the stairs of the room.
Malia nodded at me in agreement, both of us jumping as our feet stepped into shallow water, deep enough to encase our ankles in a pool of darkened filth. The three of us shared a weary look as we caught the young boy standing in front of a static showcasing t.v.
I caught sight of a small window at the top of the wall to my left and I nudged my brother, "Scott," I said, catching his eyes and nodding towards it.
He wasted no time making his way over, reaching up onto his toes in an attempt to open the window. He sighed softly, lowering his arms in defeat, glancing back to the boy watching us with a blank stare darkening his features.
"Caleb," Scott started, "can you help us find a way out of here?" He asked the little boy.
I watched the kid as he looked at my brother, face unwavering before he turned around, squatting in front of the tv to replace the VHS. The static flickered away and the age of the tape showed as it grainy pixels played Caleb running around and blowing bubbles with a boyish grin lighting his now ghostly features.
"You have to stay because Mommy said so," he told us.
I stepped away from Malia, towards Caleb, "We can't stay, Caleb. We have to go home, to our home," I emphasized.
"This is home," his voice altered, sounding much more demonic than before.
I jumped as the door behind me slammed firmly shut, "What the hell?" I made my way to the door, jiggling the knob before growing frustrated, moving back to Malia and Scott. "So what? We're the freaking Ghostbusters now?" I scoffed.
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"Look at the date," Malia told me nodding to the t.v.
I glanced back at the film, eyes narrowing at the white numbers at the bottom of the film, "1985?"
"Uh, Caleb," Malia cautiously inched towards the boy, "do you know what year you were born?"
He slowly rose to his feet, pausing for a moment before he turned back towards us, features much more sinister than before, his hair suddenly soaked and dripping with water, "1976," he lisped.
