The Banshee In Question

Chapter 6: Little House

Little House

“She doesn’t look, she doesn’t see… Opens up for nobody

Figures out, she figures out
Narrow line, she can’t decide, everything’s short of suicide

Never hurts, nearly works.

Something is scratching its way out…

Something you want to forget about.”

-          The Fray

                Lydia is hysterical as she dials the numbers to Stiles’ cell, her clammy hands slipping over the keys of her phone as desperately tries to get in touch with him.  If she’d given herself a moment to consider it, she would’ve called Scott, but she was working purely on instinct right now. Lydia can’t even begin to form a coherent thought; she can’t process what just happened. All she can do is call Stiles. The ringing doesn’t last long, but for Lydia every second sends a more painful tendril spiking in her heart. The need to vomit was growing as her stomach swirled uncomfortably.

            “Hey,” Stiles answers quietly, his voice barely even there.

            She wants to say something but she can’t get the words out, can’t stop sobbing. This time, she isn’t even embarrassed. An arm grasps her chest as it becomes difficult to breathe when she begins hyperventilating. “The box –” she cries out, “the box Allison gave me.”

            “What?” Instead of trying to soothe her, he immediately goes for answers. “Lydia, what box?” he asks sternly. He knows he sounds harsh, but it’s impossible for him to be comforting right now. Not with the news his father just gave him.

            Lydia chokes as she sucks in a great deal of oxygen, finally able to stop the steady stream of tears long enough to get a chance to breathe. She was almost beginning to turn blue. “Chris Argent gave me a box of stuff Allison put together for me!” She stumbles over her explanation a few times in her haste to get it out. “I haven’t opened it until now and…” she swallows hard as her eyes trail back over to her comforter, where the box still sits open. “The only thing inside was the dress I wore to Allison’s wake. Her dress.” she shudders and a tear trickles across her lips. “It’s completely soaked in blood.”

            “Blood?” Stiles pales. “Whose blood?”

            “I don’t know, Stiles!” She’s now wishing she’d called Scott. “God, can’t you just be a little sympathetic?” she digs her nails into the skin of her arm as she rants. “You’re so selfish lately, Stiles! You don’t even try to be there for me, you’re not understanding how upset I am right now!” she’s as overwrought as before, unconcerned with how offended he’d be or how overemotional she may seem. There was absolutely no reason forthat dress to be in that box, especially covered in blood that could belong to anyone.

Immediately, Calvin came to Lydia’s mind. He did tell her he was going to show her not to mess with him for allowing Stiles to touch her hand. She originally thought he was going to immediately retaliate, to hurt Stiles. This was something else entirely, and she was now worried about her other friends. If Calvin had gone after them and left their blood on the dress… No, it didn’t make sense. She was with Calvin a half hour ago, he didn’t have the time to do any of this.

“Lydia,” Stiles says low, but forceful.

“No! Don’t even talk to me right now, I don’t want to hear your stupid voice.” Yet she doesn’t hang up.