The house she stood before was beautiful. It peered down at her as if to intimidate her and assert its dominance, causing a slight chill to radiate down her spine. It was the kind of house that you saw in movies, horror movies, to be exact. Her father claimed that he had purchased it at a "steal of a price", though she couldn't find it in herself to believe him. She never believed anything he said.
A breeze blew by, her strawberry blonde locks tickling the back of her neck and the exposed skin of her shoulders. She couldn't help but to wonder if it was Mother Nature's doing, or if the house had heavily exhaled on her. It looked as if it had that sort of ability – it looked as if it was alive.
"Lydia!" Her mother called to her with a joyful tone, her hands clasped in front of her chest. "Come on! Come look through the house with us!" The last thing Lydia wanted to do was look through the house. Just the thought of stepping into the large, overbearing doorway gave her the creeps.
"I guess we're the Addams Family now," she mumbled to herself as she forced herself to walk, her legs feeling as heavy as lead, as if she had been treading through quicksand all morning.
It was later that night and Lydia sat around the dining room table amongst her parents. Chinese takeout containers were scattered along the tabletop, though she couldn't find it in herself to take interest in any of it. Her appetite was virtually gone. The groaning in her stomach said otherwise, but she was trying to prove a point. She was trying to show her parents that this new life of theirs wasn't going to happen. It was just a quick façade.
"Aren't you going to eat, honey?" Her mother's tone was full of worry, just as her gaze was. Her father, on the other hand, was distracted with his Chicken Lo Mein and his iPhone – two things that were obviously more important than his own family.
"I'm not hungry," she replied after a few beats. The words felt thick in her mouth and that uneasy feeling from earlier that day settled within her again. What was it with this house? Lydia would never admit it, but she was constantly getting the feeling like she was being watched. She tried telling herself that it was just the effect of a new house and a different atmosphere. Could it really be that, though?
"Lydia, darling, you have to eat something." Her mother further pressed as she reached over to place her tan hand over her daughter's much paler one.
Lydia liked to believe that her mother was once beautiful, before the age and constant tanning had set in. She still had aesthetically pleasing features, ones that Lydia wished she had inherited. She often wondered why she wasn't born tall and thin like her mother. Why couldn't she have the perfect dancers' body? Instead, she was stuck at standing no taller than five-foot-three with curves that made it hard for her to even wear a simple pair of jeans. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Rolling her eyes to her mother's concern, she stabbed her fork into a piece of glazed meat and shoved it into her mouth. "Happy?" She raised her eyebrows, speaking with her mouth full before then pushing away from the table and stomping up to her new room.
"I start school tomorrow," she sighed heavily as the words left her mouth, her green eyes focused in on the computer screen that currently held the image of her best friend from Boston. The brunette on the other end smiled reassuringly, releasing a sigh that mimicked her own.
"You'll be fine," she stated with a nod, "the Great Lydia Martin can make the best of any situation."
Lydia wanted to reach out and pull Malia into a hug that threatened to cut off her air supply. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. Not anymore. She instead settled with cuddling her pillow into her chest, her chin resting at the top of it.
"How can you be so sure?" The strawberry blonde mumbled out, her confidence dwindling down further with each word that passed her lips. "How do you know that I won't be considered a complete freak?"
Malia's lips pressed into a thin line when she said the "f-word". It was a word that Malia hated because of what it meant to Lydia. She had been labeled a "freak" on more than one occasion and she knew how much it upset her best friend. Hiding her oddness was easy, but not when it came to her closest friend. Even from across the country she could cause Lydia's eyes to turn apologetic with a simple look.
"Sorry," she grumbled with a faint groan, further burying her face into the squished pillow.
"Just put on your best pair of heels and make sure you pack your I-Don't-Give-A-Shit Attitude, okay?" The computer screen flickered a bit between Malia's words, causing her face to become slightly distorted before freezing on that image for a few short moments. Lydia furrowed her eyebrows together and she suddenly realized that she was becoming her mother. Her facial expressions were proof enough.
"I'll just talk to you tomorrow, Lia." Her voice was a bit louder than usual, as if the glitch on her end made it so Malia couldn't clearly her hear words. Malia's voice cracked and gurgled before the Skype screen went dark, claiming that it could no longer establish a connection.
Lydia figured that it had to be a problem with her internet. The house was large and they only had one receiver, meaning that the signal probably wasn't very strong in her room. "Stupid fucking house," she mumbled, slamming the screen of her computer shut.
Lydia had left the house that morning before her parents could even speak a word to her. She figured that her father would be busy with setting up appointments with new patients, while her mother was distracted with unpacking the rest of their belongings. They were all tired of swimming through a pool of cardboard boxes.
Her first class of the day was English, the subject she was best at. It had always come easy to her for some reason, though she claimed that it was the language they spoke, so why wouldn't it? She didn't look at anyone as she strutted into the classroom with her head held high, immediately taking a seat wherever she pleased.
Even though she wasn't really looking at anyone, she could still feel all of their eyes on her. They were all wondering who the new girl was. Why was her dress so short? Why did she waste so much time with curling her thick hair? Why didn't her shoes match what she had on? Oh, wait – those were just her own insecurities creeping into her thoughts.
While nervously twisting a pen around in her lap, she glanced over to her right to sneak a look at her fellow classmates. They all looked pretty normal, aside from the girl in the back row with blue hair and metal pierced through multiple places of her face. Lydia made sure to not let her gaze linger too long on her. The last thing she needed was to make enemies on her first day.
"Who's the new girl?" She heard someone whisper from behind her, causing her to sink further into her chair.
"I don't know – haven't heard anything about her yet," the voice replied, this one belonging to a male.
The bell signaling that class was to begin drowned out the rest of the conversation. Lydia cursed the school system inwardly, her lips pursing.
Although she adored the English subject, she was not a fan of the teacher. Mrs. Blake had placed them in a group project on her very first day. She explained that they had to create their own story in which the character suffered some sort of tragic loss. She was very vague with the prompt, saying that she wanted them to use their imagination and creativity for the assignment and that it would be due in one month. Lydia was placed in a group with another girl and two guys. The girl she came to find was named Allison and she could tell by her clothes that she was more of the "free spirit" type. Whether the two would get along was unknown at the time, though Lydia was more of the prim and proper kind. Scott and Isaac, the two guys within the group, were entertaining, to be completely honest. She remained silent for long moments of time just to listen to the two playfully bicker back and forth. Isaac claimed that he wanted their character to lose a limb. It was rather cliché to her, but he was adamant about it – saying that most people would write that their character had lost a family member or another loved one.
"I don't think so," she spoke up for the first time after introducing herself. Isaac turned his attention to her, his eyebrows raised in a way as if he was daring her to challenge him. "This is AP English," she began to slowly explain, her eyes never wandering from his, "people are going to be more creative than the loss of a loved one."
Allison snickered, signaling to her that people didn't go up against Isaac often. Sure, he stood a good foot taller than her, but that didn't mean she was intimidated by him. Nothing and no one scared her.
"Okay then, what's your grand idea, red?" She cringed slightly at the overused nickname, faintly glaring in his direction.
Pushing her distaste for him away, she thought. Her pen tapped against the notebook she had opened before her which was now filled with random little notes about different characters here and there. She had always been a fan of creating a fantasy world full of made-up characters, even if only in her head.
"What if the main character is losing his mind?" She then suggested, glancing between the three friends in front of her. "We can take the reader on a journey throughout the character's twisted thoughts, allowing them to determine what's real and what isn't." Lydia couldn't tell if they approved of her idea at first. She wanted to pull her hair over her face and hide within it for the rest of the day, but the goofy smile that was soon plastered over Scott's face made her feel a little better, but only a little.
"That's fucking awesome, Lydia. Seriously." He nodded his head in approval and shifted his gaze over to Allison, whom she was guessing was his girlfriend by the way he affectionately squeezed her bare knee.
"I've got to give it to you, red, it's good." Isaac voiced his admiration for her story idea, both of them sharing a slight smile. That being one of the first times she's truly smiled since arriving in Los Angeles.
"Hey, come sit with me!" Allison chirped, her dimples clearing showing within her wide smile.
Getting through her next couple of classes had been easy. Easier than expected, actually. She came to the realization that her new school was a bit behind than her old school in Boston was, meaning that she already knew most of the material. It felt nice to actually be ahead of her new peers for once.
Lydia nodded to Allison's request, not wanting to lose a friend before truly making one. So, she did as she was told and sat down across from Allison at the lunch table. It didn't take long before Scott joined them, him and Allison sharing a chaste kiss as he found his place at her side.
"So, where are you from?" The brunette spoke up, being the first to break the ice between all of them.
"Boston," she replied without hesitation before then bringing the can of Diet Coke to her lips and taking a generous swallow. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until right at that moment. "My parents thought that a fresh start would be good for me. Well, I mean, for all of us." Lydia figured that she would go ahead and answer the next question she knew Allison was going to ask. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out.
"Oh wow, so this is like completely different for you, yeah?" It made her slightly happy to see that Allison was actually interested in hearing about her. She could tell that the other girl wasn't asking just to be polite. If only everyone else could be this kind.
Shrugging in response, Lydia unwrapped her small packet of celery and bit into one, slowly chewing. "It's not that bad," she easily lied, glancing back and forth between Allison and Scott.
"What do you think about Scott and I coming by tonight? We can work on our story. Ya know, get a head start on everyone else," Allison's smile never faltered and Lydia couldn't help but to wonder if her cheeks ached the way she thought they would. Was this girl always this peppy?
"Here – write down your address," the brunette was sliding a pen and a napkin in her direction before she even had the chance to disagree, making her feel as if she didn't really have a choice in the matter. As Lydia scribbled down her address in perfect cursive, Allison took a sip from her water and then reached for the napkin once she was done. It was then that her smile completely fell, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"No way! You live at the Murder House?!" Scott's face brightened dramatically after peering over his girlfriend's shoulder to read the address himself. Her eyes widened in shock and slight fear – what the hell was a murder house?
"What?" She questioned with the confusion clearing showing through in her tone. "No…my house isn't a murder house. Why would you say that? What are you talking about?"
"Chill out. It's just that that house has a bit of a reputation. You should definitely Google it." Scott explained with a nod before then standing from the table just as the bell rang throughout the cafeteria, letting the students know they had seven minutes to get to their next class. "We'll definitely be there, though," he added with a nod, his hand clasping Allison's and tugging her along with him. The brunette still hadn't said anything, though she had a fearful look in her eyes.
What the hell just happened?
Instead of going to her last class of the day, Lydia decided on impulse to skip and make her way home. She couldn't stop thinking about what Scott had said during lunch. Google her house? What kind of person did that? Confusion and fear bubbled within her as she fell onto her bed, her fingers immediately lifting her laptop open and typing manically along the keyboard. What if she didn't like what she would fine? Or what if Scott had just been fucking with her and it wasn't anything at all? Maybe this was just some trick that they played on new students merely to get a slight rise out of them. Most of the students did seem too consumed with their own lush lives to really pay attention to her, so it wasn't as if they would go to great lengths to prank the new girl.
Lydia's brows knitted together as she read through article after article. The first death within her house dated back to the 1920's; it was a murder suicide – Nora Montgomery had shot her husband before then shooting herself in the living room. The article stated that it had taken nearly a week before their bodies were discovered and that the details were too graphic to be printed in any newspaper during that time period. The next death was in the 1950's, a few decades after the first. Some poor girl and a nurse had been the victims of a sick man that liked to fake injuries just to get into their house.
"Kinky," she mumbled to herself after reading a section that said man liked to hog tie his victims before then stabbing them countless times. She laughed silently under her breath, though she knew that this wasn't a laughing matter. The list just went on and on, and she was transfixed.
"What's so funny?" She jumped at the unfamiliar voice coming from her doorway. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped past her lips, her palm pressing forward against the pounding of her heart from over her chest. In her doorway stood an unfamiliar boy; he was about her age, with dark hair and equally dark eyes to match. His hands were shoved into his pockets as if he was trying to tell her that he was comfortable, maybe too comfortable.
"Who are you?" She demanded in a stern voice, quickly closing her laptop as if she was ashamed by what she had been viewing. It's not that that was the case. No, she just didn't want her parents to step in and see the gruesome articles she had been reading. They would more than likely complain that 'it was happening again', then her mother would dramatically run to her bedroom to cry over her only daughter. It was a scenario she had seen played out one too many times.
"Who are you?" The guy mimicked, his eyebrows rising in a taunting gesture.
Lydia remained silent for a long moment. She merely stared at him – silently studying the way she could see the beginning of a bicep from beneath the short sleeves of his tee, and the fact that he had eyelashes any girl would kill for. He obviously wasn't movie star pretty, but there was definitely something attractive about this guy.
Before she could say anything he was making his way into her room. He was gazing at her intently, as if they were the only two people in the universe and he just wanted to devour her. The look made her uneasy, causing her to shift slightly before standing from her bed completely.
"I'm Stiles," he finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them. It was then that the corners of his lips curled up into a grin and she felt her breath catch in her throat. If she had seen such a smile on any guy passing her on the street she wouldn't think anything of it, but this wasn't just some guy on the street she would never speak to or even see again. No, this was a stranger standing in the middle of her room acting as if he owned the place.
"Look, I don't know who you are or what you want, but you need to get out of my house. My parents should be home any minute," she crossed her arms over her chest and flipped her hair off of her shoulder, now standing her grounds. How did she know that this guy wasn't going to kill her or possibly just steal all of her family's belongings? Ugh, she would never hear the end of it from her father if that were the case.
The guy that claimed to be named Stiles chuckled. Wait – he chuckled? He found her demand to be funny, not even bothering with taking her seriously for even a split second.
"Now," she continued in a stern tone, her gaze turning into that of a fierce, fiery glare.
Stiles' face became void of all emotion and he slowly began to make his way towards her again. She swallowed nervously, silently praying that he hadn't noticed how uneasy she had become. He took another step closer; she could now see the little mole on his left cheek. One more step. His gaze was intense and serious, though she couldn't help but to become lost in the golden hue of his eyes. Then, he took one last step. He was now close enough that she could reach out and touch him. Something within her was telling her to do it, to touch him, but at the same time every fiber of her being was screaming for her to not to. Something was warning her – letting her know that he was dangerous and that this wouldn't end well for her.
"Lydia," he spoke softly, her name falling from his mouth like it was one he had been saying his entire life. It sounded natural coming from him, but how did he know her name in the first place? She knew for a fact that she hadn't revealed such information to him.
Before she could process what was happening, he was pressed against her. His hands were on her hips, his forehead leaning against her own as he closed all of the space between them. A small gasp escaped her from the suddenness of it all. It was enough to steal the breath from her lungs once again.
"You need to wake up, Lydia," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers with each word he spoke.
The strawberry blonde was lost in his voice, so much so that she wasn't even paying attention to the words. His fingers clutched tightly at her dress, causing it to lift up slightly to reveal even more of her thighs. She couldn't help but to wonder what it feel like to have his hands gripping onto her fragile skin; groping and kneading her like his life depended on it.
Stiles suddenly pushed her back with such force that strands of her hair fell from the messy bun she had been sporting. Her green eyes widened and she shook slightly with fear. His touch was no longer gentle and full of need like it had been only seconds ago. Instead, she had gone back to fearing for her life. His fingertips practically tore into her sides, his teeth gritting together as he yelled, telling her to wake up one last time.
"Lydia! You need to wake up!" And with that, she jolted awake with a scream, her chest rising and falling in rapid movements.
It took the girl a minute or so to realize that it had only been a dream. She clutched onto her chest, her hands them moving up to push her hair out of her face. Her eyes danced around the unfamiliar room, though the realization of where she was soon sunk in. Not all of it had been a dream. She was still in Los Angeles and in the new house her parents had forced her into. Damn. The dream had been too good to be true. Well, up until the last few minutes.
Rubbing her eyes, Lydia climbed out of bed glanced towards the clock on her bedside table. The digital numbers let her know that it wasn't even seven yet, and that Allison and Scott would be arriving in about an hour. That gave her more than enough time to shower, hopefully washing away all memories of the nightmare she had just lived within her subconscious.
The steam from the hot water clouded the bathroom in no time, though she could still see the faint discoloration of her hips in the mirror. "What the…" she mumbled, glancing down to the pale skin of her nude body. Aside from the small birthmark that was located on her inner thigh, her skin was usually flawless. This was not normal. The purple and black marks that now lingered along her hips were not normal. The fact that the bruises were in the shape of fingerprints were really not normal.
Lydia's hands began to shake the further she investigated the bruises. How could this be? Had she somehow managed to bruise herself from within her dream? No, the bruises weren't in the right position for that. It had only been a dream, though. Dreams weren't real, right?